The injured child is defenceless and in need of support. She is lying on the ground and has no more strength. She can't stand anymore.
But help is at hand.
Out of the barren landscape of motherly absence grows a mother and child bond, so tender, so beautiful like the soft running sand from the desert, like the waving palm trees, giving shade from the burning sun. It is a bond coming out of that barrenness, from the good of that barrenness. Its offshoots are strength, resilience, power, and quiet-big presence.
The other help lies in the centre, flowing directly from the injured child. Through the fire she must go. And on the other side she encounters love. And joined hands, in solidarity.
The Great Mother
as always, is there, an eternal, clear, steady, deeply loving presence. The clarity of her gaze, encircles age old stepping stones and arches of pathways. Behind her, as always, and again and again, the communion of people sharing and partaking in the circle of humanity.
Lastly, help comes from the ancient rites of passages, from ancient wisdom and ways of survival. On either side the girl has the help of the shepherds, the keepers of the lower kingdom. The boys and the men who can be in the face of loneliness, in the face of bare existence.
And so the story goes.
