The old woman is completely yellow. She struggles along a city street with stern facades rising around her.
She’s growing tired, and begins to stoop, lower and lower until she’s like a lizard or something prehistoric, exhausted and bony. Yet still she’s all yellow, and struggles on.
Then she begins to dissolve. Gradually, she becomes a yellow vapour or liquid and rises gently from the pavement, up the face of a building, until she breaks free into the sky.
Rising further, she coagulates into a blinding centre, the sun, and we know this only because we’ve no choice but to avert our gaze from what she’s become, alone and triumphant in that clear empty sky, high above the city, and know that it’s only the sun that would make us avert our gaze like this.
The empty city basks in her yellow rays.
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
mm. Its nice, Ron… from a matriarchal descendant.
like a mother’s passing..the earth sky and sun in turn
becoming perfectly absolute. My experience of there
being no mother figure above to lift you up anymore …
(strangely enough included in her last words were ‘lift
yourself up’)…and you’ve made it into a story and a very
beautiful confirmation, for myself.
That’s very touching Rose, “lift yourself up”, I have a sense that you do that in your important soul work.
The sun is the man, the moon the woman and the earth is mother earth, according to my friend, who has bright colours in all his work too. To respect their belief I cannot go further but this I am sure is not exclusive.
Interesting version where the sun contains the feminine. What is the container for the masculine in this culture?
A good question Robert, maybe I’ll have to wait for the answer to come (this scene came upon waking)…
Possibly the masculine is the son (as in The Book of Revelation)?
And as an aside, an aboriginal sun woman: Wuriunpranilli.