Moon-maidens and Hidden Tree

There were two of them; Moon-maidens, as we call them.
And they stood in the Wood of Voices.

"It was there! I saw it, Rian!"

Rian blinked, and stared at it again.

"But I don't see it."

"But it's there! Just at that point, between that tree and that one, over there!"

"Leraia, look again, there is nothing there but a little brook with a lot of turquoise-colored rocks. Come; let us go there, to see it, if it truly was there."

They walked along a path, long trodden on by weary feet and weary with the weight of leaves. It was a tired path, but sturdy.

They came along, and searched at the little brook. But there was no tree.

"Oh, but it was there, that tree, all green and leafy, all, well –perfect."

Rian laughed. "But we are in a wood, and the green-leaves are everywhere. How can you ask me to see one little tree?”

“Oh, I don’t know any more, but I thought I saw it.”

“Maybe you’re a little tired, little sister, for the day is long and the night shall come soon.”

“I suppose, but I really thought I saw it. . .”

Then Leraia’s eyes flickered suddenly.

“There it was! Again! Over there! Right between those banyans, by the brook we talked about!”

Rian turned her head to look again. “Leraia, you are dreaming again. It is not there. What is this tree you see? My eyes and heart sense naught, and Leraia, listen; there is wind, but I hear no more trees rustling than it has in three years. How can there be a new tree I do not see?”

“Oh, but I see it no more.” Leraia paused, as she pondered a little more on what she had seen, “It was tall.”

“How tall? How wide? Can you see through the trunk and count the rings?”

“It is tall, and I can say no more, it was wide, wide and sturdy; like it all the world pressed on it could not crush it,” she squinted, “And the tree rings –I cannot say, for I count so far two thousand rings, but the rings do not get smaller inside, only bigger, and wider, and more.”

“You speak riddles, little Sister,” she sighed, “as you always have. But tell me more. Tell me of its branches. The life within it. Tell me of the leaves, and their color, for I perceive little of that which you say.”

“The branches, there are but two.”

“Only two?”

“Only two, one stretching to the east and one to the west,” Leraia stopped, and continued, “But there are no leaves I see. But the scent of them is there, as is the scent of the wind. It is there, though I see none. I do not see the color, but I sense something, so very hauntingly familiar to color, only better.”

“You talk in riddles again.”

“I can smell this color; it is a good scent, something like a blend of spices, like music and emotion, and hues of blue and green mixed up together. It smells . . . like new life, like sadness, yet like joy, like some hidden hymn that I cannot sing, like something, a spirit perhaps, is pouring His might upon this tree.”

“But if a Great Spirit is pouring itself on this tree, why can I not see it?”

“Because you do not want to, Rian. I think He wants to reveal it to you, but you don’t.”

“Who is this spirit, Leraia, can you find his name? Could this be . . . the Pourer of the Waters?”

Leraia looked at her sister. “I cannot find His name . . . I only get this word impression . . . something –I am, something –I am, something.” Then this young Moon-maiden, who had waited for so long, heard something.

I am He, who sets the Sun a-burning,
I am He, Lord of the Wise discerning,
I am he, who made this green-leafed forest fair,
I am He; upon this solemn tree, rest thy cares.

I am He, who rekindles and revives,
I am He, Lord of Things Alive,
I am He, who slew death when I fought her.
I am He, Pourer of the Water,

I am He, come and touch my leaves,
I am He, let Me thy pains relieve,
I am He; show thy friend my wood,
I am He! If only they all understood.

“So who is this spirit, Leraia?”

Rian turned. “He is the I AM.”