She picked up a stone from the dusty path,
and threw it over the water, skimming,
bouncing like a tiny ball until swallowed whole,
the rings of radiation intersecting,
amalgamating in wild patterns,
across the mirror surface of reflected blue.
The sun was at its zenith, high and blisteringly hot,
but under the old Banyan tree the air was cool,
and its solemn aged voiced echoed in her mind,
“be still,” it said, inviting her to be seated,
to imbibe its soothing energy,
its open arms of nurture.
She sat pensively, playing with a grass stalk,
as the Banyan spoke in dulcet tones.
“Troubled minds, like a crown of thorns,
hold tight the freedom of thought,
and without expression they calcify
and their tenure more rooted.”
“I am but a girl of poverty,
a circumstance I cannot readily change,
and even if I were not, I am not a male,
able to learn holy scripture,
yet I long for instruction,
my place is in the temple,” she pleaded.
“You are indeed special,
a soul of vast strength and understanding,
and so open to truth, it pours from you
like a torrid stream, and you shall be taught,
if not the common practice, privately,
as within the temple is someone who will believe in you.”
“Truly, someone would do that?”
“you must show them, display your wisdom
and they will cater for your spiritual needs.”
The Banyan fell silent,
having said what was needed,
and at no point did Della even question a talking tree.
Della was chosen, an old soul
reincarnated to become great in the world of men,
and her heart felt suddenly light,
no longer burdened by her circumstance,
but filled with promise
for a new beginning.
Tony DeLorger © 2018