Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

It so happened that there lived, in the beautiful and peaceful land of Vrindavan, a maiden of rare charm and loveliness. Her name was Lotus Blossom and she was a miller's daughter. She lived with her mother and father at the mill house by the river. While her father tended the mill, which ground grain from the valley into flour, Lotus Blossom and her mother wove the material to make into flour sacks. Then on market days her father would take the sacks of flour into town in a horse cart to sell or trade.

It is true that Lotus Blossom is an unusual name. When she was born, her parents saw that she was so fair of face and form that an ordinary name just wouldn't do. Most of the girls of that day had names like Surya, Urvashi and Ganga. She was of such surpassing beauty that her parents decided to name her after a flower. The Lotus is very special in that it lives in the water but the flower opens above the water and remains untouched by it. And as it proved to be in the life of the miller's daughter, she lived in the ways of the townspeople but remained untouched by the struggles and injustices of life in the world.

Lotus Blossom helped her parents in many ways as they went about the business of the mill. One of the chores she did every morning was to go down to the river and fill the water urn that she carried very gracefully upon her head. Just by coincidence Bija, the reclusive mystic and sometimes advisor to the king, happened to be gathering herbs early one morning down by the river bank. As he was walking along the river gazing intently at the grasses and shrubs growing there he heard in the distance, singing. He stopped abruptly and listened. "Hmmm," he thought, "that is quite lovely; methinks I hear magic in that voice." The song finished, Bija stood still for a moment or two then hurried round the bend in the river to behold the source of the angelic refrain. He looked and there was no one there. "Well; either the angel lives close by or my grandfather (from whom he learned his sorcery) has sent a spirit to sport with me. We shall see in the sun-up of the morrow which is what."

With that he slung his sack of herbs over his shoulder and returned to his little house on the hill.

All day and into the night Bija couldn't decide which he would rather deal with; an angel with magic in her voice, or a spirit of beguilement sent from the other side.

Up before dawn and on his way to the river, Bija was ready to untangle the mystery. Surely enough as the sun was burning away the dew drops from the flower petals on the meadow, he heard the sweetly lilting voice of Lotus Blossom drawing near to him.

Quickly he hid himself in the purple shade of a great Cypress lording over the riverbank, and then he saw her. The water urn balanced perfectly atop her head, her slender body swayed to and fro as she walked slowly and gracefully on her morning errand. Her simple homespun peasant dress lent an air of reserve to the sparkle of her byzantine eyes and her face shown pink, like alabaster in the sunrise. Bija sensed about her strength and tenderness, intelligence and simplicity, excitement and serenity.

He watched as she easily unseated the urn from atop her dark braids wound round the top of her head, and in a single motion kneeled to fill the vessel with clear cold river water recently melted from the snow of the mountains. When it was filled to the weight of her satisfaction she placed it beside her and gazed out across the river to the wooded banks on the other side. There she sat seemingly lost in reverie as she rested awhile after the walk from the mill house.

In the stillness Bija noticed he had hardly taken a breath or thought a single word as he watched in rapt attention the unfolding of this lovely scene.

"Hello Bija," Whispered a gentle voice within his mind.

"Whozzat!?" Said a startled and befuddled Bija.

Lotus Blossom turned and smiled.

Unable to fully grasp what had just happened Bija stared wide eyed with no words coming from his open mouth. A fragment of a previous thought came to him "...methinks I hear magic in that voice."

"Oh no, this can't be." Said Bija to no one in particular.

"Would you like to walk me home?" Bija still hadn't moved...

"My name is Lotus Blossom. I live at the mill house." She arose lifting the water jar to its traveling perch.

As she slowly strode toward the Cypress and its immobilized companion, Bija adjusted his vision slightly out of focus and looked to the side of her so as to see her spirit. What he saw was a radiant light-being three times life size with golden rays issuing forth from her heart and a violet glow at the outer edges of the radiance of white light.

Thought Bija to himself, "Truly this is an angel come from heaven to bring goodness and grace upon the Earth." And again from within came a giggle, and, "Thank you."

They stood and looked at each other both knowing everything. Their minds and hearts blended together seeing the vision of the entire universe and knowing all past, present and future. They remembered before time when they were one soul. The saw their many lifetimes, twin souls finding each other time after time. They transcended the infinite, merging into the ocean of bliss becoming one again. They saw themselves in each other's eyes; two, yet one. Separate, yet united. Different, yet the same. Mortal, yet divine.

Thus it was that Bija and Lotus Blossom were together once again, this time in the wondrous land of Vrindavan. They beheld each other like two raindrops risen from the sea, seeing in each other both themselves and the unity from which they emerged. They knew also that their souls would merge again in time and in another millennium play at the drama of separation and remembrance. Mayhaps even now they are reaching out for the heart that, in truth, is their own.

~*~          dbhill@ainet.com          ~*~