Part 1: Legend of Orea Revealed

We had heard of her, rumors spreading village
To village, along seashores. Yes, I had dreamt
Of Orea, stranger, yet one of us, kindred spirit:
Farmer, fisher, tending sheep, forest creature,
All these and more. Thus, legend related, clay
Tablets inscriptions, what I, Cosimia, believed,
As did others, if not openly spoken, shared
In quiet seclusion, whispered prayers.

To travelers gathered at desert well, Orea sang
Aloud, “Wisdom enters not malevolent soul,
Nor dwells in body bent on evils, sins.” Some
Variance of translation, but not meaning, as
Much warning, truth greater than herself.
Illuminated by campfires, Orea preferred
Dune-swept isolation or rock-strewn hillsides,
Attuned to windborne musical refrains.

“Immortal charioteers beckon me, thought is
Their spirit-being,” Orea proclaimed, more
Puzzling than explained. O! Cruel calamities,
Marble tomb revealed, images clear, bronze
Door, where living gods, in elder years, laid
To rest: prophets, healers, seers, through
Orea, would speak again, earth teaching,
Divine voices turn-taking.

“Secretly I have suffered, death of infant
Self,” tearful Orea confided. “Bluish birth,
I benefited not from mother’s milk nor
Breath.” Yet, darkness dwelt upon her soul,
Twist of fate, Orea realized silent tomb as
Life-giving womb, lifeless linen-swaddled
Form mingled with grave gifts, death portraits,
Cloistered columns, these she knew as home.

Thanks for reading.

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