Historical setting: Inside a daub and wattle sepulcher — 584 C.E.
At this waking the new light of morning is splashing and surging in clear patterns of brightness throughout the whole weave of the wattle.
Anatase is here with a cup of water again, and her flute.
Dear God, thank you for this wonderful waking.
She tells me, “Daniel has returned from Poitiers with your monk.” I sip the cool water and it feels so good that I can swallow it today. The child chatters on. “But the old monk is very frail now, so Daniel and Ezra are taking him to my teacher’s house. Then they will come and take you down there to see him. I have to tell you a secret that the old monk told me when I first came here so many years ago. It’s something only I know and that’s why it’s secret. He didn’t want me to tell it. But this is what it is. He feared he would be dead before your waking so he wrote some pages for you to hear. I’m supposed to read them to you in case I’m still here when you wake, which I am. But then, he isn’t yet dead either so now I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with the pages.
“I must say, you did much better at sipping water today. I will tell my teacher you have already learned sipping. She will be pleased. And she said I am allowed to play my flute for you today, unless I see you close your eyes. That will mean you don’t want to listen and I’m supposed to stop.”
Now, I guess I must pray I don’t blink. I so love to hear the music. She’s getting more proficient at the little tune every day. Now her fingers speed over the beats of the dance faster than any dancer’s heel can flurry. But now she has chosen to pick through her five notes for a new tune she doesn’t yet play. She’s collected the proper notes, but making a tune of it is a dreary repetition. I would sleep, but if I close my eyes the music will stop. So, this bliss of dreaming is inside out. The goodness and music are on the waking side of dream.
“Sorry the music was not to your liking. I will leave now.”
(Continues Tuesday, April 20)
Lazarus Ink 