01-10-2016, 03:38 PM
Nature is wholly unstoppable. It drives ever forward, as her mother would say. It does not stop, not even for those that defy the senescence in it. It lays to rest loved ones and friends around everyone’s feet – some more than others. She cannot say she envies the immortal their everlastingness. It would be more time to discover, and to learn. More time to love, but then, maybe once is enough… or twice, perhaps. And if it meant, for her, that she could feel like high of childbearing ad nauseam, it also meant she would find more of them felled by the passage of time than she cared to.
Her mother had lost a great deal. When she died, she was probably as satisfied with the carnage as she was the beauty. But that is life, or at least, it will be for the mousy mare.
She knows the pursuit of history. It had driven her to the jungle herself. It had come down to her from a previously unreachable place and smiled upon her. Her other mother, a harbinger. So when this woman reminisces on the oral histories of her mother, she recalls her own childhood. Ella had not talked about it much, only when asked. And it had taken some time for Vineine to ask. The jungle was behind Elladora – nothing is forever – and she had left in her wake not a mark. But she told tales of primates and jaguares; of great queens and floods. Of the exodus of her sisters. Of her other mother, and of course, Vineine knew she was entangled with that place, bound by the shackles of vines.
“They are the most beautiful truths, really. Beautiful and wild, and dangerous.” If the men of the Tundra warned new charges of the ruggedness of that iceland, she thinks it only fair that incoming sister know that the jungle is no cradle of kindness. It is, remarkably, Vineine would have to say, tamed. But not in whole. Not even in large part, it would seem. Its resistance and its resilience is admirable. Wonderful. “There is no certain mold to fit into. I am not a warrior, Lagertha, as you can see... well, much more so than myself. There is a place for all talents. Only the desire to persevere the early shock of such magnificence, and wildness, if one can get beyond that, there is a very special sisterhood.” She had been told all this, many times before as she snuggled up to her mother's steady side and requested the jungle again. She is still in the perseverance phase, a newcomer by most standards, advantaged by her ceaseless fascination with the world around her. She is no more driven from the hardness of the rain forest than the familiarity of the hinterlands in which she was raised.
She has too much to occupy her time to fret, and has settled into the hot and heavy land with relative ease. The specter of her mother's observational haunt. Maybe it is because the sentinel trees and howler monkeys recognize her – mistake her for a friend – that she feels so accustomed to it. A welcome.
“You are lucky. You have the ability to become just about unseen. That may serve you very well, Bidelia. A brilliant gift for an Amazonian.” She smiles, nature works in funny ways. “If you’d like, I can show you there. I’m sure Lagertha would not mind you acquainting yourself with the jungle. You need not jump right into the ranks, necessarily. You can take time as an unaffiliated sister to figure out if your mother’s calling is also your own.” It is not always. But sometimes, it is the most persevering thing of all.
Her mother had lost a great deal. When she died, she was probably as satisfied with the carnage as she was the beauty. But that is life, or at least, it will be for the mousy mare.
She knows the pursuit of history. It had driven her to the jungle herself. It had come down to her from a previously unreachable place and smiled upon her. Her other mother, a harbinger. So when this woman reminisces on the oral histories of her mother, she recalls her own childhood. Ella had not talked about it much, only when asked. And it had taken some time for Vineine to ask. The jungle was behind Elladora – nothing is forever – and she had left in her wake not a mark. But she told tales of primates and jaguares; of great queens and floods. Of the exodus of her sisters. Of her other mother, and of course, Vineine knew she was entangled with that place, bound by the shackles of vines.
“They are the most beautiful truths, really. Beautiful and wild, and dangerous.” If the men of the Tundra warned new charges of the ruggedness of that iceland, she thinks it only fair that incoming sister know that the jungle is no cradle of kindness. It is, remarkably, Vineine would have to say, tamed. But not in whole. Not even in large part, it would seem. Its resistance and its resilience is admirable. Wonderful. “There is no certain mold to fit into. I am not a warrior, Lagertha, as you can see... well, much more so than myself. There is a place for all talents. Only the desire to persevere the early shock of such magnificence, and wildness, if one can get beyond that, there is a very special sisterhood.” She had been told all this, many times before as she snuggled up to her mother's steady side and requested the jungle again. She is still in the perseverance phase, a newcomer by most standards, advantaged by her ceaseless fascination with the world around her. She is no more driven from the hardness of the rain forest than the familiarity of the hinterlands in which she was raised.
She has too much to occupy her time to fret, and has settled into the hot and heavy land with relative ease. The specter of her mother's observational haunt. Maybe it is because the sentinel trees and howler monkeys recognize her – mistake her for a friend – that she feels so accustomed to it. A welcome.
“You are lucky. You have the ability to become just about unseen. That may serve you very well, Bidelia. A brilliant gift for an Amazonian.” She smiles, nature works in funny ways. “If you’d like, I can show you there. I’m sure Lagertha would not mind you acquainting yourself with the jungle. You need not jump right into the ranks, necessarily. You can take time as an unaffiliated sister to figure out if your mother’s calling is also your own.” It is not always. But sometimes, it is the most persevering thing of all.
If you want to reply here, that's cool. Or go straight to the Amazons. Up to you! Sorry this took so long!