LA NASCITA.

'Carmen' was the name that Giada announced, and was greeted with corresponding enthusiasm; & so the name was spoken, and Carmen "Carmenta" Alessandra de Fiore was evoked and gathered, collected from the parent's dreams, hopes and desires, their despair and fear, all of it, building and expanding until the spell of a name lay cast out to the universe.

'A name holds power. Hold onto that, lest it slip away like ashes.'

And yet, what spells could a song carry?

She listens to the wind of past, of history once riddled with blood and battles fought; her feet kiss the warscarred earth, each step forming a road to healing. Eyes cast to the heavens, to the old gods and pleads for their wisdom that they no longer hold privy to share, their voice long since silenced.

Yet she could swear she held a gander to their roar, oh herald of the old gods--

Cast out any pretender, abandon their pretty hymns to praise their Christ the Lord God-- He who slayed the faithfully vigilant, pagan children of the gods, blessed by the divinità, may their gentle light bathe upon your flesh and embark truth towards the long journey.

Your time has only just begun.

Her name was a song, and its name bade for the theme to be intoned to the silenced ears of the hidden masses.

Yet such for such a sweet sound, there would be many to covet and corrupt her spell, inject an enchantment of malice, a curse to deter the faithful, and it was a hurdle to rise above. In adversity, she will stand victorious.

Let the choirs raise their voices, lodare il signore, their tones a cacophony swelling to the stars-- let our song reach you, O Lord, that she may shower upon of withered bones and papery veins of sheer encased flesh, her divine aura heal your transgressions and wash the dust of long dead bones away.

The life your mother and father wanted for you was stifling to the toiling greatness bubbling beneath your skin, yet you stilled the yearning for their approval and shackling obedience. Oh, you knew their intentions, naive and misguided as they were, created a great ache that festered as you grew older. Their prayers to the Lord rang in your ears, yet their music fell on a dull note.

Their music was never meant for your ears.

Did this mean you were unfaithful?

The Gods paiently answered---no.

It was your grandmother--the wise woman, the crone, a woman of another time, borne when the earth was graced by Proserpina's footsteps, that showed you, opening the garden where the Gods once resided. Her teachings were incoded in the kneading of bread, steap of tea leaves, the taste of sugar dusted upon cookies, and her garden, oh, what a treasure to behold.

You were taught to honor them and recieve their blessing, despite your parent's objection (they who clung to their false Lord of blood and ruin), yet honor them you did, & oh, what gifts they reaped upon your form; the night and day crafted a incanto that would protect their feverent one, their precious daughter, she with the name of Song.

And yet it was inevitiable, that you would be taken away from la vostra casa, your italia-- your grandmother & greatest teacher. Yet you vowed to return to her pascoli incantate, your haven of worship & learning-- for you vowed it so!

Was it a wonder to your parents that your passions lay restrained under their careful scrutiny? That you begged to flee to the library, to hang by the mailbox for the letter's your nonna would send; no, they did their best didn't they, to carefully steer your attentions towards safer realms that they could better control-- and in doing so, control you. O but the Gods did hear your song, no? The hounds of Trivia did perk to your song, the maiden tune of your liberation & her crossroads would be open to you, yes, always. Whenever doubt touched you and would hold a heavy burden upon your breast, know their benevolence and sing:

O solitary star, O illuminating soul, let your light be known, & the heavens will know you.

The path was dark, and so is the journey.

Yet soon, they would know you.

And soon, the Gods would know your song.

Tag:

❝█ (& SING; light the fires of ROME in her.)

You are knobby at the knees, the dirt smearing your skin with the scent of home. Babble-brook laughter, the sweet smell of the grass, the bees kiss the flowers, drinking their fragrence with purpose. You wish for that same purpose too. Sand hides treasures dug from the sea's realm (you sigh- their waters are an embrace, the foam a kiss, chaste & loving), sweet shells to garnish your alter.

Nonna greets you with a smile, a kiss, a cluck of her scolding tongue that tempers your wanderlust. (Nothing can stop the vagabond in you .) Time for practice, and maybe if you're good, a slice of cake & milk while tunes of the Opera keep you both company.

This life is bliss; you know nothing else that calms your soul. Your life is fresh tomatoes upon the vine, the red so bright it hurts your eyes, yet it BURSTS with sweet flavor (you're addicted to this aren't you?). It is catnaps in the sun room as Chopin Nocturne Op. 9 No.2 plays softly from your nonna's livingroom. Basil, Thyme, Rosemary, Oregano- scents from your nonna's Garden fill your head with wonder ("Be careful la figlia, stay away from the belladonna.")

Your nights were as bright as your days spent at home, your marrow as deep as the roots in the earth; mio dio you were of a splendor unlike any other!

And it was too cruel to see it stolen from you, your heart & home, the place of the beautiful pastures of encompassing youth, all in place of a wasteland; you are set in barren desert, dry and brittle and lifeless. The air is hot, it leaves you sick, sick, sick---.
All around you see red- ugly and raw, it is a gaping wound, a slashed throat of the earth bled dry of life. You walk a trail of tears, of blood & sorrow, and you don't know where your own began.

There is no Arizona, no painted desert, no Sedona...

It is the first time that you would know RAGE.

You are bitter with it, resentment TOILING in your veins-- and the desert sings, it clamors to that note, your CRESCENDO, your wail of injustice.
You just want to go H O M E.

Would that you could.
Would that your life remain in your hands.

Your mama & papà, (oh but you love them, you do, you do) are so very CRUEL, so unforgiving, so abrasive & uncaring of your longing. They expect obedience, patience, acceptance, but no, never, you were not given a say, you had no choice, take me back, this place is not my home.

And you S C R E A M E D with no sound, you clenched lips down & burned with kindled embers of your SEETHING temper: it sang to the desert, to the blood-red rocks and hostile fauna, it woke the spirits from their rest & it listened.

It echoed with a sound of a whisper; it slithered quietly, breathing hymns & poems of mystic promises: come.

Those promises would keep you.

Carmen has no love for the desert. In fact, she makes a point of reminding anyone who meets her that of how loathsome Sedona is. If she had the means she would collect enough money for a one-way trip back to Italy, to her Nonna, of this she knows for certain.
So she waits.
She bids her time in the desert, her skin no longer soft but neither corrosive, as the windy sands have done their time to smooth her jagged edges. Yet there is a discovery, an

epiphany

drawn

COME!

Location: Sedona, Arizona
Age: 17 (Senior High School Student)

Summary:

you cannot cling to fantasy and magic anymore!!!

Carmen is close to graduating and soon to become a responsible adult; she's closer towards getting on that plane back home, back to where she belongs. Its just a matter of waiting-- and hoping that whatever lurks in the Red Rocks of the Sedona desert don't take her first.

Pre-Goddess Touched* (*TBA)