The Arrival of a Small Painting

Sono Kuwayama

     The painting arrived, shrouded in a black cloth.   In her desire to see the small painting, she did not notice how it was wrapped.  Did it arrive to her like a newborn, swaddled in the infinite darkness from where all life began?   Or as a precious gift, the loving gestures of another, permeating the folds and delicate enveloping?   She did not consider the haphazard, for the small bundle was already cradled in her hands, and called to her.

     She looked at the painting to remember the place, the moment  - and wondered why she felt so sad.   The shroud of black signified a death.   She knew what had died and looked at the three white figures – stepping away, fading into the distance – white and glowing as they transcended the murky soft tissues from which they emerged.  Here, they had found the courage to face the past, the lifetimes that called for love above all else.   They knew it would be lost to them to remember the pacts they made to each other, as they set out on that star filled night, through the darkness, surrounded by the pulsing of blood, the womb that would hold them and set them forth – to meet again, to fulfill intentions that would be forgotten to them.   They glowed like stars, because of course, they were stars.   Even the small holes in the painting allowed the light to shine through the layers of black paint – to remind them, to remind her, that they were truly born of stellar incantations and alchemy.    She longed for a moment, to hold them again in the embrace of her body, to feel them squirming and stretching inside her.  The little painting, at that moment, at that time of the new moon in Leo, could only pull her in full heartedly, fool heartedly into a longing for a past that was now ended.   The blood red marks framing the darkness spoke to her of the passions that allowed life to blossom.

     In a short while, she would swaddle the baby in the darkness of the cosmos and set it off to meet its next encounter – the next iteration of life.  But for now, she lingered, remembered, touched, smelled and watched lifetimes pass, grateful for the company of the painting and what it wanted to talk with her about.