Saturday, August 13, 2005

Settled at Last - Anita Marie Moscoso


The room I found myself in was bare and cool and quiet and there was no furniture in it except for a mural etched deep into the stone that I would have missed all together had I not dropped the lantern on my way in.

When the lantern hit the floor the kerosene spread into a pool at my feet that instantly caught fire. Then the flames reached up and flared so bright it was like looking into the sun.

That’s when I saw in deep and delicately carved lines, a story about a man, a bell ringer who died alone and was mourned by death itself.

The dead man sat in a chair in a simply furnished room with two books by his side and an open window over his over his shoulder. He was a workingman who lived and died simply and I wondered why would Death grieve for this one life when it had taken so many already and would take many more because that was the nature of this creature?

Death itself was ringing the bells for this man who wasn't a King or young and handsome or rich and famous. I could see genuine grief in the way the skeleton’s head was bowed, in it's hunched shoulders, in it's tired frame.

Before I could wonder more, before I could reach up and touch the lines the flames died down and someone from behind invited me into the room across the hall. I had taken a wrong turn and had gone into the wrong room.

A much more comfortable room with a bed and warm blankets and all those other things we especially enjoy after long uncomfortable journeys was just across the hall waiting for me.

I didn't turn around, " this room is perfect, thank you all the same. I could use a lantern and maybe a bed. Yes, that's all I think I need. "

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