by Columbine
The rock is very hot against my face. I take another deep breath, and let it out slowly in a long sigh. My eyes are still tightly closed, but I do not need to open them to know the nothingness that surrounds me on all but one side.
The rock is very rough against my face. I am sure it is leaving a permanent mark on my cheek. I can do nothing at this point to stop the damage from happening. I press myself more heavily against it and wonder what I will look like if I ever get out of this situation.
I smell the rock. With every breath I smell its heat, minerals evaporating molecule by molecule in the intense light of the sun. I take a deep breath and breathe in the essence of the rock. It is becoming a part of me. I am becoming a part of it.
With all my senses on high alert I also smell the blood. My fingertips are raw and the open wounds sting as dust and grit work their way deeper into the lacerations on every tip. My fingers hold on to the tiny crack in the rock above me, gripping so tightly I wonder if I will ever be able to straighten them again. My arms are scratched and bruised.
My toes are numb. Many hours ago I could still feel them, jammed as tightly as possible into the small space provided by a ledge just two inches wide. The full weight of my body now rests on that small space. My legs begin to cramp and shake in exhaustion.
I am in agony.
The words of a Psalm run through my mind.
“He leads me beside still waters.”
I laugh. I laugh out loud. Still waters. When was the last time I saw water, much less still waters? I remember struggling through a bog some time ago. Perhaps that is the still waters the Psalm refers to? But my memory is of brackish water, unfit to drink. Of pulling my foot out of the mud and the muck with a sucking sound, of dragging it a few inches ahead, stepping down through the filthy water and feeling it sink deep as I shift my weight to pull the other foot free. Still waters. Yes. Very still. With lots of mosquitoes and black flies buzzing around and taking nips at any exposed skin. I laugh again, a dry croaking laugh, empty of mirth.
“He makes me lie down in green pastures.”
I remember the green pastures. Soft breezes, flitting butterflies, beautiful wild flowers, a place to sit, relax and rest. A time of renewal. Green pastures – how I miss you. But I cannot think of you right now. The pain of remembrance is too deep and I cannot handle it while hanging here against this rock. I will think of you at a later time, when the pain is less inside my mind.
Another Psalm flits through my mind.
“I lift up my eyes to the hills.”
Ah, those hills! I saw them in the distance and thought them beautiful. Mountains, really, jutting high into the deep blue sky. Some of them were covered in snow and gleamed brightly in the morning sunlight. Yes, I lifted my eyes to the hills – and there they were! Ever ahead of me, a goal to reach one day. I had never doubted that I would reach them, never doubted that there would be a way through them when that time came. Yes, I always knew that they would be difficult, but I never doubted that there would be a way, a pass, a trail marked clearly for me that I could follow. I never dreamed of what truly awaited me.
“Where does my help come from?”
My help… Can I call this ‘help?’ Is this really what it is? If this is ‘help,’ then what is ‘hindrance?’
I cling to the face of the rock. I know a thin scarlet cable stretches below me and if I gather enough courage to open my eyes for a second or two, I can see it stretching just an inch or two above my fingers. I know that my carabiners are securely fastened to this cable. I know that the cable is firmly secured to the rock. I just have no idea where this cable goes from here. Do I really want to follow it? Now, after leading me to this place where I am hanging on for dear life, can I go on?
I am afraid. I do not want to be here. I never asked to be here. I never dreamed I would be here. I did everything I could in my own power to keep from being here. Yet – I am here, clinging to the face of this rock wall, high above the valley floor, with no end of the climb in sight. I taste fear as I have never tasted it before.
I am also angry. I have never been this angry before. I am sure that anyone looking at me would never guess that my greatest emotion right now is anger. Yes fear, but definitely not mixed with excitement or boredom – just a lot of anger. Anger rages inside of me, my face against the rock hot in the midday sun. I keep my eyes closed as I keep my face tight against the rock, taking shallow breaths, fingers clinging, toes pushing.
I rage.
I have been betrayed.
I first saw the scarlet cable when I was a child. My parents had told me about it, I had heard about it from other people. Then one day, there it was in plain view to me as well. The cable fascinated me, called me by name, took me for its own. I spent many happy years following the cable. It led me over hills, across creeks, through gardens, down country lanes and city streets. True, I could never see it more than just a few feet ahead, but I never doubted that wherever it led, I would be happy I had followed. Many times I turned to look behind and saw the way I had traveled and felt peaceful. I tested my carabiners several times and each time found them to be securely latched around the cable. Sunshine and clouds, snow and rain, heat and cold – the carabiners and cable never failed me.
It never failed me, but I became careless and spent too much time looking around and not following it attentively.
One day, I was looking at the mountains, valleys and plains ahead, wondering where my cable would lead me. I took a step, came down on a lose rock and twisted my knee. Pain. Unbelievable pain shot up and down my leg. It was several days before I could put my weight upon it again. I have a permanent limp with pain as a reminder.
Another time, a few months later, at evening, I took a step, slipped and fell. I fell a long way, down and down and down. The valley was very deep and very dark. I landed with a thud on soft ground, the air knocked out of me for several moments. Darkness surrounded me and it took a few minutes to figure out where I was. I felt for the harness at my waist and found it secure. My fingers traveled up the lead rope to the carabiners and found them still securely fastened to the cable. I remember breathing a sigh of relief, tears cascading down my face.
It took a long time to climb out of that valley. The day I broke out over the ridge I rejoiced. Sunshine! Birds singing once again. I wept with joy.
Soon after my path grew steeper with large rocks blocking it at times. I scrambled over or around the rocks, wherever the cable led. Until one day I came face to face with the rock wall.
I could not believe my eyes. The cable turned straight up at that point. I could see its route farther than usual, straight up the rock wall for several feet. The cable and the wall disappeared up into a mist.
I knew this cable. At least I thought I knew and understood it. The cable had never let me down before. Oh, yes, I had twisted my knee and I limped, but the cable was there for me to hold on to at all times. I had fallen into the valley, but even in the dark I could follow the cable. It had always been securely in my reach as well as securely fastened to my waist.
But I am afraid of heights. I am terrified of heights. Follow the cable at this point – how could I do this? My knee was weak and painful. I felt sick with fear. I closed my eyes and took a step closer to the rock. Reaching out I felt for and found hand holds for my fingers. I reached up, stepped up and began to climb.
It has been several months now, and here I am. I am no nearer the top. I can no longer see the bottom. My whole life is the rock. The sun beating on my back and head. The cable between my body and the rock. The hated cable. It is the fault of the cable that I am in this situation. I would never have climbed up here by myself. But now I have no choice.
So, I cling to the rock. I rage at the rock. I rage at the cable. I tremble in exhaustion and fear. I have little hope of ever reaching a top. My only hope is the cable that holds me fast. My only hope is at what I rage.
Still waters. Green pastures. Rest. I laugh at the irony – pressed here against the rock, afraid to go forward, unable to go back. Nothing below me, nothing above me, nothing beside me, nothing behind me. Every nerve in my body focused on the cable and the rock.
I weep.
Eyes still closed, I reach out my right hand and feel for a handhold a few millimeters higher.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
A Metaphor
by Columbine
The first time the girl became aware of the Mirror, she was very young. The Mirror hung on the wall, just out of reach for a year or more, but as time passed she realized that she could see the top of her head, and later, her forehead. Soon she could jump up and catch a glimpse, just for a moment, of her whole face.
A few more years went by and the girl saw herself in the Mirror, from head to toe. She was pleased with what she saw reflected back to her. Tall and shapely, a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye.
Every day she looked at herself in the Mirror and marveled at what she saw. She was very aware that not all of the young women around her were as pleased with what they saw in their Mirrors. She thanked her father, the King, for creating in her the self-confidence she had because of her assurance of his wonderful love and acceptance of her.
One day the King came to her and said, “I have another gift for you, my daughter. This gift is for you, and you alone, no one else has anything exactly like it. Take care of this gift and treasure it. Remember my love for you whenever you look at it or use it.”
The King opened the box, took out a golden circlet and placed it on her head. “This is a symbol of my love for you. Wear it every day and always remember – I love you.” He placed the box in her arms.
The box was made of intricately carved wood, beautiful to touch and look at. It was very heavy and she carefully carried it back to her room and set it down beside the mirror. She opened the latch on the front of the box and slowly lifted the lid.
Her eyes grew wide with wonder as she gazed at the gold inside. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered, and slowly drew out a gold necklace. The necklace was made of tiny rosy gold feathers fastened together with links of copper gold. She held it in her hand and tested it weight. She lifted it and poured the necklace into her other hand, like a stream of golden water. A few grains of sand fell from between the links and glittered on her palm. She took the necklace and with her fingers brushed the sand back into the box. She stood and looked at herself in the Mirror, holding the necklace against her body, turning this way and that, and then fastened it around her neck.
“Thank you, Father!” she whispered. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she gazed at herself. A circlet of gold around her head, the golden feathers lying softly against her breast – she looked at herself and a shiver of pure delight tingled through her, from head to toe. “I am happy,” she thought. “What better gift could my father have given me? None! Look how beautiful I am in this!” Late that night she took the necklace from her neck and placed it carefully on the bed of sand in the box. She took the golden circlet from her head and laid it carefully next to the necklace. Softly she shut the lid and closed the latch.
The next morning the young woman’s first thought was of the box and of the golden necklace lying inside, safe and secure. She quickly rose, dressed and brushed her hair in front of the Mirror. She opened the box and there lay the circlet, but the necklace was gone. In its place was a golden bracelet, more beautiful than the necklace had been. In great delight, the young woman took the circlet and placed it on her head. Then reaching into the box, she took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist. A few grains of sand fell unnoticed on her wrist and clung to her skin. The bracelet was heavy. Each time she moved her arm she remember her Father’s words, “I love you.” She stood in front of the mirror, looked at herself and smiled. “I am loved!” she whispered to herself. “I am loved and I am beautiful because of it! Thank you, Father!”
This continued day after day, year after year. Each evening she placed the circlet and the golden jewelry back into the box. Each morning she opened the box, took the circlet and placed it on her head. Every morning, without fail, another golden article was there for her to wear. Sometimes it was another necklace. Other times it was a heavy golden ring, or an ankle bracelet or earrings or another bracelet for her arm.
Sometime later, the woman became aware that other women in the palace envied her because of the golden jewelry. She knew that robbers could break in and steal her box. She talked to her Father, the King, about this possibility. He assured her that it would always be guarded, that he had set his soldiers around the palace and no one could break in.
After many years, the woman had grown older. Each day she looked into the Mirror and although she saw the signs of aging, she still rejoiced in her Father’s love for her. The golden circlet sat beautifully on her graying hair. Her eyes still sparkled and a smile was on her lips. Each day as she opened the box she thanked her Father for the gift inside.
One day the woman opened the box and there alone on the sand lay the golden circlet. Surprised, the woman quickly ran her fingers through the sand. There, just under the top lay a gold ring. A simple gold ring with no intricate design. The woman shook the sand off and quickly placed the ring on her finger. “Oh, Father! Thank you! I was so afraid!” She stood and looked in the Mirror.
Looking at herself, for the first time she saw a shadow of doubt in her eyes. “Why?” she asked herself. “Why was the ring not ON the sand, but buried within it?” She shook her head in impatience, smiled at herself and adjusted the circlet more firmly on her forehead.
Several mornings later, she opened the box and again, there lay the golden circlet alone. She ran her fingers through the sand, deeper this time, until they suddenly touched a piece of gold.
Shaken inside, the woman pulled the bracelet from the sand and looked at it. A simple gold circle. Quickly she put her hand through and pushed it up high on her arm. Standing in front of the Mirror, she saw frightened eyes looking at her beneath the golden circlet.
The next morning no matter how hard she dug through the sand in the box, she could find no golden jewelry. With shaking hands she placed the circlet on her head and went to see her Father, the King.
“Father!” she cried. “My box is empty!”
“Empty?” her Father asked. “What is that on your head?”
“The golden circlet you placed there yourself so many years ago. But Father, the golden jewelry – it has been harder and harder to find each morning. And Father!” she began to cry, “there was nothing there at all today! Father,” she whispered, “Father, do you still love me?” The old woman hung her head and wept.
“Oh my daughter! My precious daughter! Of course I still love you. I have always loved you and I will love you forever. You are my daughter, the apple of my eye.” The King smiled gently at his daughter, reached out, put his finger beneath her chin and lift her head. “Daughter, what is in the box each morning?”
“The golden circlet, a piece of beautiful gold jewelry and sand,” the old woman replied.
“Look deeper, Daughter. Tomorrow and the day after and the day after that – look deeper.” The King smiled. The old woman smiled back through her tears, a shaky smile.
She returned to her room and looked once again into the Mirror. The gold circlet on her gray hair shone in the morning sun. But the old woman’s eyes were looking elsewhere. Yes, the circlet was there – but her neck was bare! Her arms were bare! Her ears and ankles were bare. Everywhere she looked she saw nothing but emptiness. She looked at her eyes and realized they were filled with deep pain.
The following morning, the old woman approached the box hesitantly. With shaking hands she lifted the lid and looked at the golden circlet lying on the sand. Shaking with fear she placed it on her head. A few grains of sand dropped into her hair. She pushed her fingers through the sand, swirling them forward and backward. Nothing. She dug down to the bottom of the box and searched each corner. Nothing.
The old woman placed her hands in her lap and cried. After some time, she stood and looked at herself in the Mirror but all she could see was gray hair and wrinkles and eyes shadowed in sorrow. She returned to her Father.
“My Father, I do not understand. I looked deeper. I searched all through the box this morning, but there was nothing!” she out cried in pain and sorrow.
“Nothing, my Daughter? Nothing at all?”
“Oh Father, you know the circlet was there because you can see it here on my head right now,” she responded in anger. “Father, are you playing games with me? Are you testing me? Have I not said over and over to you how thankful I am for the jewelry you gave me each morning? Why? Why is there nothing there now?” The old woman stamped her foot. “I can barely stand to look at myself in the Mirror now! All I can see is my gray hair, my wrinkles, how stooped and old I am becoming! The gold is gone!”
“Daughter, my Daughter.” The King sat back on his throne and looked at her, eyes filled with compassion. “Look deeper.”
The old woman wept. “I looked, Father. I searched and searched. I do not understand what you are asking of me!” She turned and left. That night, before she laid her circlet back into the box, she stared at the sand. Slowly she reached inside and began to run her fingers through the sand. Back and forth, sand swirled between her fingers, slowly relaxing her, her eyes closed. After some time, she roused herself, placed the circlet on the sand and softly shut the lid.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The old woman opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of her room. Slowly she turned her head and looked at the box, sitting there beside her Mirror. Dread filled her heart. She pushed herself up and swung her feet to the floor. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she leaned an elbow on her leg and rested her hand on her chin. She stared at the box sitting beside the mirror for several minutes.
Rising from the bed, she slowly walked to the box. Each step was an effort to complete. Her muscles had never felt so tired. She unlatched the lid and slowly opened the box. There on the sand sat the golden circlet alone. With unsteady hands she lifted it to her head, grains of sand falling off onto her gown and into her hair. With eyes closed she reached into the sand and slowly began to sift through it. The sand was warm and soothing. She rubbed several grains between her fingers. Suddenly she felt something hard deep beneath the surface. Her eyes opened in surprise and quickly she began to dig.
In shock she looked at what she held. A rock. A polished piece of turquoise, streaked with veins of gold. The rock dropped from her hand and disappeared back into the sand. The old woman laughed in anger. Without bothering to shut the lid or look at herself in the Mirror she ran to her Father’s room and burst through the door.
“Father, is this some kind of joke? A rock! A ROCK. You replaced my golden jewelry with a ROCK?” She glared at him.
“Daughter, did you look? Did you really look in the box? What did you see there?”
“I saw my golden circlet, that rock and sand, Father! That is all. Nothing else. Nothing! This is all your fault, Father!”
Suddenly the anger left her. “Father,” she sighed, “When I look into the Mirror I don’t see myself any more. I see an old woman. Everything was good and I was beautiful when I wore the golden jewelry. Now all I see is what I am lacking. Youth. Beauty. Joy. These things were precious to me, Father, and they came from the golden jewelry. I want my golden jewelry back. Please! I beg of you, please give me back my golden jewelry!”
“YOUR golden jewelry, Daughter?”
“Yes, MY golden jewelry!”
“But Daughter, I gave to you a gift, a simple gift, a box. The box is the gift I gave to you. Think carefully, my beloved Daughter. The box is yours, but the jewelry inside has always been mine. I have loaned it to you every day, and each night I take it back so that in the morning I can give you another gift. No, my dear, the jewelry is not yours.”
The old woman looked at her Father in shock. “Not mine! I don’t understand, Father. Every morning for many years I have looked in the Mirror and have seen myself clothed in that beautiful jewelry. MY beautiful jewelry! Father, I don’t know who I am without it. I do not recognize that person in the Mirror now. That cannot be me, because I am not me without the golden jewelry! I don’t know who I am! I am lost without it.”
“Who am I?”
“You are my Father.”
“Then – you are my daughter! You are the daughter of the King! You cannot define yourself by the gifts I give you, but instead you must define yourself by who your Father is. Now, tomorrow morning – look deeper into the box. Look beyond yourself in the Mirror. Open your eyes and see clearly.”
The old woman wept. “It is impossible. I cannot see myself clearly. I only see the lack, I only see what is not there, not what is there in the Mirror. I don’t like what I see in the Mirror!” She turned and stumbled back to her room.
The following morning it took a long time for the woman to gather enough strength and desire to arise. Wearily she walked over to the box. She ignored the Mirror, not wanting to see what it would reflect. She opened the box and there, lying on the sand was the golden circlet. Sighing, she picked it up and placed it on her head. Sadness filled her mind and heart. Without thinking she ran her fingers through the sand while she sat staring at nothing. Back and forth her fingers swirled through the sand, deeper and then shallower, around and around. Tears of despair trickled down her cheeks.
Across the room a breeze blew through the open window and pushed the curtain aside for just a moment in time. A sunbeam streaked across the room and splashed into the box. From deep within the box a burst of brilliance sparked up into the room and in the next instant, disappeared. The old woman sat stunned, fingers suddenly still within the sand. Slowly she gathered a few grains of sand in her palm, stood and walked to the window. Pushing back the curtain, she held her hand open in the sun. Once more the room was filled with brilliance.
As she turned her palm this way and that, the sun reflected off each grain in her hand. For the first time she saw the sand for what it truly was. There in the crease near her thumb was a brilliant sapphire and there near her ring finger lay a ruby. In the very center of her palm lay a diamond, refracting colored beams of light throughout the room.
She looked up, across the room at the Mirror. In silence the old woman gazed at herself. There on her head was a circlet of brilliant gold. In her gray hair and from her skin a million tiny rays of colored light flashed throughout the room. The old woman stood in shock, slowly closing her hand around the sand.
In a daze she turned and walked out the door to her Father’s room.
“Father?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes, my Daughter?”
“What do you see when you look at me?” she asked him quietly.
“Oh my Daughter! What do I see!? I see my perfect Daughter, my perfect creation.”
“Father, the box…the box alone truly was the gift you gave me all those years ago, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the box. Simple wood, carved by my hand just for you. In that box I created just for you, my Daughter, I placed the greatest gift I could give you.”
“The gift, the greatest gift was not the golden jewelry the box gave me every morning, was it?”
“No.”
“The greatest gift was the box itself and what it continued to contain every day after it had given the beautiful jewelry to me?”
“Yes.”
“Father, what do you see when you look at me? What do you really see?”
“I see you, my Daughter. I see the real you. You with a golden circlet gleaming in your hair, a circlet which tells the world that you are my daughter. I see you shining and sparkling, reflecting the Light in beautiful colors. Yes, the box and what is contained in the box was, and still remains, my gift to you. I assure you that you will still find golden jewelry every now and again, but the most precious gift, my Dearest, is the sand. One day the box may disappear, but since the first time you took a piece of gold jewelry in your hand, the sand became a part of you and will always continue to be a part of you. I love you, Daughter, and I have given you the best of the very best gift I could give.”
The first time the girl became aware of the Mirror, she was very young. The Mirror hung on the wall, just out of reach for a year or more, but as time passed she realized that she could see the top of her head, and later, her forehead. Soon she could jump up and catch a glimpse, just for a moment, of her whole face.
A few more years went by and the girl saw herself in the Mirror, from head to toe. She was pleased with what she saw reflected back to her. Tall and shapely, a smile on her face and a sparkle in her eye.
Every day she looked at herself in the Mirror and marveled at what she saw. She was very aware that not all of the young women around her were as pleased with what they saw in their Mirrors. She thanked her father, the King, for creating in her the self-confidence she had because of her assurance of his wonderful love and acceptance of her.
One day the King came to her and said, “I have another gift for you, my daughter. This gift is for you, and you alone, no one else has anything exactly like it. Take care of this gift and treasure it. Remember my love for you whenever you look at it or use it.”
The King opened the box, took out a golden circlet and placed it on her head. “This is a symbol of my love for you. Wear it every day and always remember – I love you.” He placed the box in her arms.
The box was made of intricately carved wood, beautiful to touch and look at. It was very heavy and she carefully carried it back to her room and set it down beside the mirror. She opened the latch on the front of the box and slowly lifted the lid.
Her eyes grew wide with wonder as she gazed at the gold inside. “Thank you, Father,” she whispered, and slowly drew out a gold necklace. The necklace was made of tiny rosy gold feathers fastened together with links of copper gold. She held it in her hand and tested it weight. She lifted it and poured the necklace into her other hand, like a stream of golden water. A few grains of sand fell from between the links and glittered on her palm. She took the necklace and with her fingers brushed the sand back into the box. She stood and looked at herself in the Mirror, holding the necklace against her body, turning this way and that, and then fastened it around her neck.
“Thank you, Father!” she whispered. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she gazed at herself. A circlet of gold around her head, the golden feathers lying softly against her breast – she looked at herself and a shiver of pure delight tingled through her, from head to toe. “I am happy,” she thought. “What better gift could my father have given me? None! Look how beautiful I am in this!” Late that night she took the necklace from her neck and placed it carefully on the bed of sand in the box. She took the golden circlet from her head and laid it carefully next to the necklace. Softly she shut the lid and closed the latch.
The next morning the young woman’s first thought was of the box and of the golden necklace lying inside, safe and secure. She quickly rose, dressed and brushed her hair in front of the Mirror. She opened the box and there lay the circlet, but the necklace was gone. In its place was a golden bracelet, more beautiful than the necklace had been. In great delight, the young woman took the circlet and placed it on her head. Then reaching into the box, she took the bracelet and fastened it around her wrist. A few grains of sand fell unnoticed on her wrist and clung to her skin. The bracelet was heavy. Each time she moved her arm she remember her Father’s words, “I love you.” She stood in front of the mirror, looked at herself and smiled. “I am loved!” she whispered to herself. “I am loved and I am beautiful because of it! Thank you, Father!”
This continued day after day, year after year. Each evening she placed the circlet and the golden jewelry back into the box. Each morning she opened the box, took the circlet and placed it on her head. Every morning, without fail, another golden article was there for her to wear. Sometimes it was another necklace. Other times it was a heavy golden ring, or an ankle bracelet or earrings or another bracelet for her arm.
Sometime later, the woman became aware that other women in the palace envied her because of the golden jewelry. She knew that robbers could break in and steal her box. She talked to her Father, the King, about this possibility. He assured her that it would always be guarded, that he had set his soldiers around the palace and no one could break in.
After many years, the woman had grown older. Each day she looked into the Mirror and although she saw the signs of aging, she still rejoiced in her Father’s love for her. The golden circlet sat beautifully on her graying hair. Her eyes still sparkled and a smile was on her lips. Each day as she opened the box she thanked her Father for the gift inside.
One day the woman opened the box and there alone on the sand lay the golden circlet. Surprised, the woman quickly ran her fingers through the sand. There, just under the top lay a gold ring. A simple gold ring with no intricate design. The woman shook the sand off and quickly placed the ring on her finger. “Oh, Father! Thank you! I was so afraid!” She stood and looked in the Mirror.
Looking at herself, for the first time she saw a shadow of doubt in her eyes. “Why?” she asked herself. “Why was the ring not ON the sand, but buried within it?” She shook her head in impatience, smiled at herself and adjusted the circlet more firmly on her forehead.
Several mornings later, she opened the box and again, there lay the golden circlet alone. She ran her fingers through the sand, deeper this time, until they suddenly touched a piece of gold.
Shaken inside, the woman pulled the bracelet from the sand and looked at it. A simple gold circle. Quickly she put her hand through and pushed it up high on her arm. Standing in front of the Mirror, she saw frightened eyes looking at her beneath the golden circlet.
The next morning no matter how hard she dug through the sand in the box, she could find no golden jewelry. With shaking hands she placed the circlet on her head and went to see her Father, the King.
“Father!” she cried. “My box is empty!”
“Empty?” her Father asked. “What is that on your head?”
“The golden circlet you placed there yourself so many years ago. But Father, the golden jewelry – it has been harder and harder to find each morning. And Father!” she began to cry, “there was nothing there at all today! Father,” she whispered, “Father, do you still love me?” The old woman hung her head and wept.
“Oh my daughter! My precious daughter! Of course I still love you. I have always loved you and I will love you forever. You are my daughter, the apple of my eye.” The King smiled gently at his daughter, reached out, put his finger beneath her chin and lift her head. “Daughter, what is in the box each morning?”
“The golden circlet, a piece of beautiful gold jewelry and sand,” the old woman replied.
“Look deeper, Daughter. Tomorrow and the day after and the day after that – look deeper.” The King smiled. The old woman smiled back through her tears, a shaky smile.
She returned to her room and looked once again into the Mirror. The gold circlet on her gray hair shone in the morning sun. But the old woman’s eyes were looking elsewhere. Yes, the circlet was there – but her neck was bare! Her arms were bare! Her ears and ankles were bare. Everywhere she looked she saw nothing but emptiness. She looked at her eyes and realized they were filled with deep pain.
The following morning, the old woman approached the box hesitantly. With shaking hands she lifted the lid and looked at the golden circlet lying on the sand. Shaking with fear she placed it on her head. A few grains of sand dropped into her hair. She pushed her fingers through the sand, swirling them forward and backward. Nothing. She dug down to the bottom of the box and searched each corner. Nothing.
The old woman placed her hands in her lap and cried. After some time, she stood and looked at herself in the Mirror but all she could see was gray hair and wrinkles and eyes shadowed in sorrow. She returned to her Father.
“My Father, I do not understand. I looked deeper. I searched all through the box this morning, but there was nothing!” she out cried in pain and sorrow.
“Nothing, my Daughter? Nothing at all?”
“Oh Father, you know the circlet was there because you can see it here on my head right now,” she responded in anger. “Father, are you playing games with me? Are you testing me? Have I not said over and over to you how thankful I am for the jewelry you gave me each morning? Why? Why is there nothing there now?” The old woman stamped her foot. “I can barely stand to look at myself in the Mirror now! All I can see is my gray hair, my wrinkles, how stooped and old I am becoming! The gold is gone!”
“Daughter, my Daughter.” The King sat back on his throne and looked at her, eyes filled with compassion. “Look deeper.”
The old woman wept. “I looked, Father. I searched and searched. I do not understand what you are asking of me!” She turned and left. That night, before she laid her circlet back into the box, she stared at the sand. Slowly she reached inside and began to run her fingers through the sand. Back and forth, sand swirled between her fingers, slowly relaxing her, her eyes closed. After some time, she roused herself, placed the circlet on the sand and softly shut the lid.
The next morning dawned bright and clear. The old woman opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of her room. Slowly she turned her head and looked at the box, sitting there beside her Mirror. Dread filled her heart. She pushed herself up and swung her feet to the floor. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she leaned an elbow on her leg and rested her hand on her chin. She stared at the box sitting beside the mirror for several minutes.
Rising from the bed, she slowly walked to the box. Each step was an effort to complete. Her muscles had never felt so tired. She unlatched the lid and slowly opened the box. There on the sand sat the golden circlet alone. With unsteady hands she lifted it to her head, grains of sand falling off onto her gown and into her hair. With eyes closed she reached into the sand and slowly began to sift through it. The sand was warm and soothing. She rubbed several grains between her fingers. Suddenly she felt something hard deep beneath the surface. Her eyes opened in surprise and quickly she began to dig.
In shock she looked at what she held. A rock. A polished piece of turquoise, streaked with veins of gold. The rock dropped from her hand and disappeared back into the sand. The old woman laughed in anger. Without bothering to shut the lid or look at herself in the Mirror she ran to her Father’s room and burst through the door.
“Father, is this some kind of joke? A rock! A ROCK. You replaced my golden jewelry with a ROCK?” She glared at him.
“Daughter, did you look? Did you really look in the box? What did you see there?”
“I saw my golden circlet, that rock and sand, Father! That is all. Nothing else. Nothing! This is all your fault, Father!”
Suddenly the anger left her. “Father,” she sighed, “When I look into the Mirror I don’t see myself any more. I see an old woman. Everything was good and I was beautiful when I wore the golden jewelry. Now all I see is what I am lacking. Youth. Beauty. Joy. These things were precious to me, Father, and they came from the golden jewelry. I want my golden jewelry back. Please! I beg of you, please give me back my golden jewelry!”
“YOUR golden jewelry, Daughter?”
“Yes, MY golden jewelry!”
“But Daughter, I gave to you a gift, a simple gift, a box. The box is the gift I gave to you. Think carefully, my beloved Daughter. The box is yours, but the jewelry inside has always been mine. I have loaned it to you every day, and each night I take it back so that in the morning I can give you another gift. No, my dear, the jewelry is not yours.”
The old woman looked at her Father in shock. “Not mine! I don’t understand, Father. Every morning for many years I have looked in the Mirror and have seen myself clothed in that beautiful jewelry. MY beautiful jewelry! Father, I don’t know who I am without it. I do not recognize that person in the Mirror now. That cannot be me, because I am not me without the golden jewelry! I don’t know who I am! I am lost without it.”
“Who am I?”
“You are my Father.”
“Then – you are my daughter! You are the daughter of the King! You cannot define yourself by the gifts I give you, but instead you must define yourself by who your Father is. Now, tomorrow morning – look deeper into the box. Look beyond yourself in the Mirror. Open your eyes and see clearly.”
The old woman wept. “It is impossible. I cannot see myself clearly. I only see the lack, I only see what is not there, not what is there in the Mirror. I don’t like what I see in the Mirror!” She turned and stumbled back to her room.
The following morning it took a long time for the woman to gather enough strength and desire to arise. Wearily she walked over to the box. She ignored the Mirror, not wanting to see what it would reflect. She opened the box and there, lying on the sand was the golden circlet. Sighing, she picked it up and placed it on her head. Sadness filled her mind and heart. Without thinking she ran her fingers through the sand while she sat staring at nothing. Back and forth her fingers swirled through the sand, deeper and then shallower, around and around. Tears of despair trickled down her cheeks.
Across the room a breeze blew through the open window and pushed the curtain aside for just a moment in time. A sunbeam streaked across the room and splashed into the box. From deep within the box a burst of brilliance sparked up into the room and in the next instant, disappeared. The old woman sat stunned, fingers suddenly still within the sand. Slowly she gathered a few grains of sand in her palm, stood and walked to the window. Pushing back the curtain, she held her hand open in the sun. Once more the room was filled with brilliance.
As she turned her palm this way and that, the sun reflected off each grain in her hand. For the first time she saw the sand for what it truly was. There in the crease near her thumb was a brilliant sapphire and there near her ring finger lay a ruby. In the very center of her palm lay a diamond, refracting colored beams of light throughout the room.
She looked up, across the room at the Mirror. In silence the old woman gazed at herself. There on her head was a circlet of brilliant gold. In her gray hair and from her skin a million tiny rays of colored light flashed throughout the room. The old woman stood in shock, slowly closing her hand around the sand.
In a daze she turned and walked out the door to her Father’s room.
“Father?” she asked hesitantly.
“Yes, my Daughter?”
“What do you see when you look at me?” she asked him quietly.
“Oh my Daughter! What do I see!? I see my perfect Daughter, my perfect creation.”
“Father, the box…the box alone truly was the gift you gave me all those years ago, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the box. Simple wood, carved by my hand just for you. In that box I created just for you, my Daughter, I placed the greatest gift I could give you.”
“The gift, the greatest gift was not the golden jewelry the box gave me every morning, was it?”
“No.”
“The greatest gift was the box itself and what it continued to contain every day after it had given the beautiful jewelry to me?”
“Yes.”
“Father, what do you see when you look at me? What do you really see?”
“I see you, my Daughter. I see the real you. You with a golden circlet gleaming in your hair, a circlet which tells the world that you are my daughter. I see you shining and sparkling, reflecting the Light in beautiful colors. Yes, the box and what is contained in the box was, and still remains, my gift to you. I assure you that you will still find golden jewelry every now and again, but the most precious gift, my Dearest, is the sand. One day the box may disappear, but since the first time you took a piece of gold jewelry in your hand, the sand became a part of you and will always continue to be a part of you. I love you, Daughter, and I have given you the best of the very best gift I could give.”
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