“The Annunciation,” Carl Bloch, WikiArt.

Part 2: Diadema’s Tearful Recollection

Released from spell of Ælectrona, I ran to
Family cottage as if pursued by pack of
Hungry hounds, through laurels, brambles,
Ravines, rocky hills, crying for parents’
Loving arms, Pindus mountain meadow
Serenity, music of sheep bells. In delirium
I lost my name, regained another, mind
Goddess-touched, I am Diadema. Cora,
Corella were no more. Thistle-sliced arms,
Legs, gown torn, I fell at parents’ feet, my
Account told tween wiping tears, bouts
Of coughing fits, my body bruised and
Battered. By their eyes, they believed me
Not. “Cora, have you been man-harmed?”
Mother asked, suspecting forest assault.

Again I explained: bowl-shaped stone pool,
Healing spring waters pouring from crevice
In living stone, limned lintel above, ancient
Inscriptions bearing. There, in warm sunlight,
Ælectrona bathed laurel-shrouded solitude.
Never heard of or seen such place, father shook
His head. Finally, I added, “I have been blessed
By goddess, gift of destiny reckoning with
Single touch of hands.” Lo! Upon doing so
With mother, nothing occurred, explanation
More delusion, mind’s protection from distress
Unthinkable, violence men inflict upon women.
Realizing this, I shook beyond control.

“Seagulls,” Albert Joseph Moore, 1871, WikiArt.

Alas! All earth-borne light, warmth round
Me vanished, to hearth floor I collapsed,
Mind drifting to receding seashores, arms
Of mother goddess, Ælectrona, admitted to
Celestial springs, laves soul-soothing, body
Healing. Before parents’ watchful eyes, cuts
And scrapes mended, bruises disappeared,
Words advised: “To understand destiny,
Thinking is being. Without being, no thinking
Exists.”* Blanket-bundled on oxen cart, to
Crazed crone we rode, whilst I floated above
Cloud-swept mountaintops, drifting in and
Out of consciousness, Ælectrona’s soft breast
My pillow, all ills endured, panicked dread
Washed away by cascading solar rays.

* Adapted from “Being is all There Is,” Parmenides.
Just learning about this philosopher, his enigmatic Eleatic concepts augment
Diadema’s poetic journey and growth. For more, see this informative link:

It is necessary both to say and to think that being is; for it is possible that being is, and it is impossible that not-being is; this is what I bid thee ponder. I restrain thee from this first course of investigation; and from that course also along which mortals knowing nothing wander aimlessly, since helplessness directs the roaming thought in their bosoms, and they are borne on deaf and like-wise blind, amazed, headstrong races, they who consider being and not-being as the same and not the same; and that all things follow a back-turning course.

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