The Bride Allegorical, not rhetorical.

There once was a young woman, soon to have a child. She was visited by the old wise hag that lived nearby and given advice on how to raise the beloved daughter she would have. As the years went by and the woman followed all the advice she had been given, her daughter grew into a woman who moved with an assurance of regal, yet always graceful proportions. She was a strange combination of everything not useful but of the highest quality, like the finest walking, talking, piece of art so sublime your heart becomes useless in it’s presence.

When it came time for the daughter to marry, her mother grew anxious, unsure, senile almost in her confusion over how to accomplish the very specific task the wise old hag had given her. Each night she would lay awake pondering and begging for a better option. She had been warned by the knowledge keeper, that her daughter’s choice of husband would be a thorny one and many would be aghast that something so fine, would become coupled with one so controversial. Aye, but the old one has been so, so right about everything else, I cannot falter now, she chided herself relentlessly, seeking escape from the task before her.

She was out in the garden pulling weeds when she heard her daughter weeping. She went to her with more confidence than she had anticipated and in fact, in the walking, the exactly right words, came to her. The daughter told her the news that she had not received any confirmations from the guests invited to her wedding. It seemed they could not see past the confusing nature of her choice and unable to block out the gossip any longer, she fell as a puddle of desperation and misery into her mother’s arms.

Her mother revealed what the old hag had said. She repeated every last note. The daughter reacted with a strong desire to run, to implode, to escape by any means, but she remained, for loyalty was a prize far better than any other. “Do you think it will work, mother?” she asked. Her mother looked at her with the Universe reflecting in her eyes and said, “yes, my Dear One, it will work, but with this comes the knowing, there is no other way.” Though fear bit her heart, the love for her groom soothed it. And she nodded yes, her fate playing gentle tunes across the contours of her mind, images dancing in the distance, just out of her mind’s current reach. The knowing would come closer and she would remain.

On the day of the wedding, the mother enlisted her closest friends, the confidants she had always relied on. Together, they fanned out far and wide and convinced 500 guests to come celebrate the bride to be and her groom in honor. They came from all around and filled the seats with excited cheer, waiting with anticipation and some even helping to add a few spectacular finishing touches to make the wedding hall and reception even more befitting the special occasion.

Soon the groom was standing at the alter, tears streaming down from his eyes, trembling from the outpouring of love. The music began, the people sang and laughed and celebrated with actual joy, some for the first time in so long and for no other reason than they were asked to, encouraged to. They were all told that the man was the most powerful Being to ever walk the earth and there was no telling what blessings he would bestow on those who showed honor to his bride and his consecrated union to her. Seeing his moving and deep appreciation, the crowd became even more ecstatic. Guards, chosen from amongst the guests had been set at all the entrances to avoid permitting even one antagonist entry.

The music softened and the blessings began, guests rising again from their seats, one by one, calling out blessings to the couple, each blessing becoming more and more profound and divine as they went, adding and topping each other as best they could. All of this, with only the groom at the alter. And soon the groom became grieved, pained at the absence of his beloved, he became angry at the crowd of guests for shouting blessings without her here to witness them, how callous, he thought, how confusing, when it is usually the bride that is honored.

And the mother sat silently. Knowing, but not wanting to know. And soon, the groom left his post at the alter and demanded to know where his bride was. He begged the mother to find her.

The friends were enlisted once again to search the building’s every nook and cranny for the missing bride. The guests continued carrying on but with muffled whispers and murmurs where joy and excitement had once been. They spoke loudly against one another now hoping to steer the groom’s resentment away from themselves. The mother met his eyes from across the expanse and made her way to the exit. At the foot of the building sat her majestic daughter, covered in dirt, broken finger nails and hair amiss, the dew she had freshened her pleasant face with had long been washed away by salty tears that reeked of anger, bitterness, disgust, and broken heart. Defeated, she met her mothers steps without feeling.

“They wouldn’t let me in.”

“Aye, now you know.”

The bride met her mother’s eyes and reached out her hand. “That I do.”

The groom, unable to hold back any longer, burst through the doors with a flock of enamored guests following steps behind him. The scent of cedar and oak had long been overpowered by the scent of fear and sweat, his loving eyes now those of a madman.

And still┬áthe people thronged around him, in between him and that hope for relief, balm, water in a woman’s form gazing at him now from the depths of a heart stronger than any mountain and he threw the people off and ran to her. She held him to her bosom, and turned her eyes upon the crowd, they were silenced, and bowed their heads to take two steps back, and then three until they felt a little relief of their own from that reflection of their own mistake.

And the couple wed.

And the blessings made the knowing a little easier.

The end.







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