Chapter 20 (From The Wild Christ Nobody Owns by Blake Steele - Available on Amazon…) The Whore’s House Age 13 “So, you want to know what I honestly feel when I am with a man?” He nodded. “Well, I feel like something very big and important is missing, always missing, and I don’t know how to find it.” His eyes did not waver from her. “So I create a colorful garment of pleasurable feelings to drown my soul in, and I throw this over the bodies of the loneliest and most desperate men for a price. And something in me feels right and true, and something else feels desperately wrong and lost all at the same time. And I live with this, for this is my life, my place in the order of things that I cannot change.” She was aware of the bitterness in her voice. “Why can’t you change it?” the boy asked, his face full of the same care she poured out for money, but she knew this care came from some free place and could never be bought or sold. “Because we are given our identity and place in life by others,” she said slowly, and felt an urge to touch his face but restrained it, “and for me to change they would have to change — and they will not change. So we accept who and what we are or we live in constant sorrow and become one of the crazy ones. And I will not become one of them!” she said defiantly, “So I do my work, and at times feel the pleasure of some El these people do not know smiling on me. This I do not understand, but it gives me comfort in a way that the men who buy my love can never give.” “And the pleasures of Alaha that move through your body, are they sacred to you?” “It is not the custom of these people to call the pleasures of the body the pleasures of Alaha, or think they are sacred. Where did you get these ideas?” “From Alaha,” he answered with a smile that lit up his countenance. Something in her turned — like an unseen face was turning inside her face, an unseen heart in her breast. She sat down next to him and felt her whole being silently turning, turning to embrace the Light that shone through him as through an empty window. The boy seemed to know this part of her and reached out his hand towards her face, not touching her skin, but her soul. She felt a great heat radiating from his hand that quieted her mind into a profound peace. She listened carefully with everything within her, waiting for some forgotten voice to speak. “All that is natural is from the fountain of Life, and Alaha is that fountain,” he said gently. “The people should know this, but they have forgotten. They have gone to sleep in the teachings of the Rabbis that should wake them up. I don’t fully understand why, but I will. Alaha is pure and free. Alaha is Love and all that is truly real. I believe in what is real. I believe in the living Light: do you?” His question seemed like a call to a decision that suddenly meant the difference between life and death. She closed her eyes and dared not speak. He touched her forehead with one finger and she felt a current of Life pass through her like a golden rope thrown to someone lost at sea. Then it slowly softened and she heard him quietly arise and leave.
Posted on: Wed, 28 Aug 2013 12:52:05 +0000
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