Once upon a time, upon a little hill in the middle of nowhere, stood a little blond-headed girl about the age of thirteen. And although she probably had any number of faults, there was one that stood out terribly to her: She loved. She loved with a terrible fierceness of devotion and passion that at times her whole body shook with the emotion. And perhaps this would not have seemed so terrible except for this one slight inconsistency: She loved, but she did not know who.
Many days this question wracked her until she didn’t know what to do, for though the love she felt was quite strong and specially reserved for a particular someone, she was also quite certain she had never met him. When she was younger, this question had not quite so much bothered her, for she spent her efforts in many things and sought after her love in many ways and for the most part was distracted enough not to be bothered too much. First she had tried this love on her parents, her mother and father, whom she loved very dearly, and she gave her best efforts into being the best child and the most obedient, serving her parents in even the smallest ways. She tried siblings; she tried pets. She even tried to love a boy in the village at the bottom of the hill, a poor and desolate boy, who needed her love. But, somehow, not to say that any of these were unworthy of this depth of love (though some could say that), somehow with none of them did it ever seem to fit. She loved. Passionately, tenderly, deeply, longfully at times, and it would not go away.
She knew he was a man. And the more she thought about it, she felt sure he was nowhere near her small town in the middle of nowhere. And so, one day, standing on the top of her hill, crying with longing for one she had never met, she decided. She would go on a Journey. She would seek her lover, though he be forever far away. Her parents cried to see her go, her brothers and sisters sighed, the dog whined, and even the little boy in the town seemed sad, but it everyone seemed to understand. And so she left.
Love is a funny thing, if it’s the kind you can’t get rid of: it has a sort of knowing about it. And as the little girl walked, quite all alone, she thought about her love. And as she thought, she began to think certain things of him. This was a special kind of love, reserved for a special lover, and there had to be some certain special things about him. First, any such love certainly has to be at least equaled by its recipient. So he had to be a very passionate man. Yet any girl as she, given to leaving everything she had on fits of love, was a tender type and could not bear any man given to fits of unreasoned rage. And as she thought more of him, she began to know more of him. He was tall, and with a soft hand, and caring. He had a big smile. And cried a lot. But most of all, even if everything else was wrong, he had to love her. And she knew when she found that kind of love that equaled her own, her quest was ended.
And as she thought about her lover, she began to notice the spring all around her, the bright yellow flowers, and the green green grass, and the blooms in all the trees along her way and she began to think of what her lover would think of all these things. How he would love all the flowers and all the spring and love her and oh how everything was wonderful, and oh how she missed him! If only she had once met him. It seemed to her that every flower was made by a loving hand and every green stem was carefully crafted by her lover to show his love for her. What a great and awesome love this must be, and oh how happy it is to love, even if one knows not what she is loving!
And for a while, time seemed to slip out of her mind. She had brought nothing on her journey, no knapsack to tide her over into the arms of her love. For she had thought she would come quickly to find him, not realizing how big is this world. But it did not matter to her. For a long while she was not hungry, and what water she drank, she found in pools and streams alongside the road. And just when she did notice her hunger, she ran into a grove of apple trees and pear trees, and it seemed to her that her lover had been here before and knew just when she would be hungry and mysteriously provided for her. When nighttime came she slept, not caring for the cold, because it was spring and things were warming. And for many days she went on like this.
Then, it seemed all at once, she met him. And it was not at all like she had expected. He held out his arms to her. But he did not run to embrace her. He seemed almost suspended in the air, loving her. But she knew it was him the minute she saw him. Their eyes locked, and in him she saw such passion and fierceness of love, her own love seemed small and insignificant. It seemed all very clear to her now, that the road and the fruit and even the warmth of the air somehow had been a gift from him to her, to show some small token of his love. And looking at him now, it seemed he was quite capable of doing things quite beyond her comprehension, just because he loved her, even if she were to never find out. True love. Pure love. Deep and True. And as she broke her eyes away because she could not bear it, she wept because her greatest longing and desire had been answered. She had met him. He was here.
Then she began to hear sounds of anger and rolls of mocking laughter. And looking back to him, she realized he was completely naked. And he was suspended in the air, if not by love, then by those cruel spikes shoved through his wrists. There was something ugly jammed on his head, and blood was dripping down. Whole huge pieces of his side hung on to him simply by a single thread of skin. And as she looked close, she began to see in those eyes another emotion mixed with love, though you could hardly tell, so much was love there: pain. She wept again. And through her tears she saw he was crying too, though not for pain. It seemed to her that he cried because of the inconvenience the nails brought to him, to keep him from holding her. And as she looked at him, one last drop of blood fell from his side. His head hung low; the earth and sky went black.
neumatikos 