Post by Inès nó Camellia on Feb 5, 2011 16:03:30 GMT -5
The sounds of doves struggling in their cages broke me from my reverie. I was thinking of that day, dimly-lit and half-remembered, when Mother brought me to House Alyssum. The slight tremble in her hand. The gliding of adepts, near soundless, like barely-real nymphs dancing through life. The tremor in mother's voice... it's that, that I remember, rather than the words she spoke.
The House Temple was decorated for the occasion. Each small topiary, perfectly manicured and placed on each side of an effigy of Namaah. Beatific and beautiful, impossibly soin it's style and in it's make. She seemed to look upon us, the small group that slipped in, in welcome. As though each glance embraced us.
The priests of Naamah were here as well. Wearing well, their scarlet surplice, one a corona of shimmering brown curls -- the color of earth. She kissed me – the scent of peaches and apricots following in her wake, “Be welcome, sister.” Her glance to me as she pulled away was just as welcoming, just as embracing as the Companion she serves.
I heard her kiss Frances behind me. And her voice faded into the milieu of shifting weight and fabric and murmured greetings. Rapt in my gaze upon Naamah, I knelt before her. As did all the others who would be taking their vows this day. The sunlight streamed in, in ribbons. Falling through the skylights, open to the blue cerulean sky.
I nearly missed the priest arrive with the attending acolytes coming alongside him. Each of them carried items. He bade us rise and so, we did. He was a younger priest with sandy-blond hair and kind green eyes. And one by one, he bade each of us to appear before him.
My turn came quicker than I expected. The priest's voice was solemn but his eyes were kind as he asked me quietly, “Is it your wish to be dedicated to the Service of Naamah?” For I was taken in by the Night Court, when Mother could no longer. I was taken care of, like the other Companions were by the ministrations of Naamah. It is an honor, truly, for me to give back to those fosterlings who too were like me once.
“It is,” my voice melodious, quieted and solemn. Echoing the warmth in the room. The scent of Camellia flowers in their arrangements dotting the landscape.
Drops sprinkled over me, “By Naamah's sacred river, I baptise you in her service.” I could only imagine what the drops looked within my hair, sinking into my dress. On others, it looked like the stars had fallen upon their hair. A portion of honey-cake was placed upon my tongue, it's sweetness enfolding, “May your flesh be bound into the sweetness of desire." A chalice found my lips and I drank of it, “May your blood rise to the headiness of desire and passion.” Oil and chrism brushed upon my brow, the final blessing in a long, old and traditional one, “May your soul ever find grace in the service of Naamah.”
My eyes were closed then, feeling warmth blossom in my body. I had come home. Grace in her service. For I have seen what it is like to be bereft of it. The Second held my cage for me, and I reached in. Delicate hands reaching for the brilliant, perfect dove that came into my hands. It struggled as a bird is wont to do. My murmured prayer, met with trepidation and joy and I released the bird.
The beating of it's wings, matching the thrum of my heart.
The House Temple was decorated for the occasion. Each small topiary, perfectly manicured and placed on each side of an effigy of Namaah. Beatific and beautiful, impossibly soin it's style and in it's make. She seemed to look upon us, the small group that slipped in, in welcome. As though each glance embraced us.
The priests of Naamah were here as well. Wearing well, their scarlet surplice, one a corona of shimmering brown curls -- the color of earth. She kissed me – the scent of peaches and apricots following in her wake, “Be welcome, sister.” Her glance to me as she pulled away was just as welcoming, just as embracing as the Companion she serves.
I heard her kiss Frances behind me. And her voice faded into the milieu of shifting weight and fabric and murmured greetings. Rapt in my gaze upon Naamah, I knelt before her. As did all the others who would be taking their vows this day. The sunlight streamed in, in ribbons. Falling through the skylights, open to the blue cerulean sky.
I nearly missed the priest arrive with the attending acolytes coming alongside him. Each of them carried items. He bade us rise and so, we did. He was a younger priest with sandy-blond hair and kind green eyes. And one by one, he bade each of us to appear before him.
My turn came quicker than I expected. The priest's voice was solemn but his eyes were kind as he asked me quietly, “Is it your wish to be dedicated to the Service of Naamah?” For I was taken in by the Night Court, when Mother could no longer. I was taken care of, like the other Companions were by the ministrations of Naamah. It is an honor, truly, for me to give back to those fosterlings who too were like me once.
“It is,” my voice melodious, quieted and solemn. Echoing the warmth in the room. The scent of Camellia flowers in their arrangements dotting the landscape.
Drops sprinkled over me, “By Naamah's sacred river, I baptise you in her service.” I could only imagine what the drops looked within my hair, sinking into my dress. On others, it looked like the stars had fallen upon their hair. A portion of honey-cake was placed upon my tongue, it's sweetness enfolding, “May your flesh be bound into the sweetness of desire." A chalice found my lips and I drank of it, “May your blood rise to the headiness of desire and passion.” Oil and chrism brushed upon my brow, the final blessing in a long, old and traditional one, “May your soul ever find grace in the service of Naamah.”
My eyes were closed then, feeling warmth blossom in my body. I had come home. Grace in her service. For I have seen what it is like to be bereft of it. The Second held my cage for me, and I reached in. Delicate hands reaching for the brilliant, perfect dove that came into my hands. It struggled as a bird is wont to do. My murmured prayer, met with trepidation and joy and I released the bird.
The beating of it's wings, matching the thrum of my heart.