She was sitting at the stoned seat incased in one of the tall arched windows of the room, in the early winter dawn.

It was that moment of the day, blessed by purity and stillness, when darkness is still lingering but few shapes slowly begin to emerge from it, dripping from the nocturnal mist, from the fog of the undistinguished.

 

The one that was leaving had been a long, desperate night spent in silent prayers, lying on the bare and cold floor of her cloistered cell.

 

Now she wanted to seat at the window for a little bit.

Grateful.

 

She touched, slightly, the fabric of her wool, poorly made tunic. And yet she appreciated its consistency and the heaviness underneath which her body would have shivered occasionally.

 

She was still too weak.

 

It had been two days and two nights since the last time she allowed herself food and water.

 

But she had finally heard the angel’s voices singing.

She was sure of it, just like at that very moment she was sure of the muffling sound the deer was making in the fog while walking in the padded distance.

 

She had let the heavy silence of the night being penetrated only by the musical sounds of His holiness.

She had let her body filter and understand it all.

She would expiate and consummate for as long as it was needed.

She didn’t have any rush in the world.

Her destiny was sealed and the humility had regained in her heart the place that lust had taken for too long.

 

His name would never be pronounced by her lips again.

The thought of him would be erased.

There is always completeness when the heart surrenders.

She knew it now.

 

So she smiled and bowed her head.

At last, the acceptation and the understanding had arrived.

She was finally feeling safe again.

 

Oh home, sweet home, precious boundaries and accepted limits. Take me in.

 

As hard as she could she had pressed her soft pale cheeks against the cold floor, as much as she could she had refused to let go the tight corset of cruel wires around her chest. She knew her breast was meaning nothing anymore.

 

 

The peaceful silence of the cluster was surrounding her like a loving mother’s arms.

The fog was slowly lifting.

 

Finally, the pale yellow wheat fields facing the monastery took the place of the night’s dark patches of unsafe and sinister black and the wood started to reveal its intricate maze of branches and colors, leaves and trunks

.

She could see now the small road.

She could see the roof of the barn in the distance.

And beaming with joy she understood that the roof could have stood there in front of her eyes and she wouldn’t have looked somewhere else.

She wouldn’t have felt fear or attraction anymore.

She didn’t have any desire to get up and walk there.

The barn would have faded away from her memory like mist, evaporated, finally, from her memory.

 

She touched the thick glass of the window....clever artisans had molded and decorated those frames.

Like her body, the iron was only the container of those glasses.

Like her body was only the container of her soul.

The light shining thru was His light, illuminating her, warming up her cold essence and giving her back the life and the joy.

 

Everything she could possibly do she would do it as long as she could feel that warmth and that wholeness forever.

 

So she got up from the seat and started to walk, slowly, deeply immersed in her prayers, toward the church.

A smile on her face.

 

Outside of the thick belt of those sacred walls a man was staring at those windows.

Crying.