In Search Of Mary

In Search Of Mary
By M. Constance Guardino III
Updated By Maracon On December 1, 2005

     Because I needed to remember "Who am I?" I drew deep into myself one night, and searched the corners of my consciousness for my child. How thankful I was when I found her playing in the country at her grandparents' estate in Southern Oregon.
     With arms outstretched to embrace an untold future that was her own, my child appeared to me, through a mist that covered the rolling fields behind her grandparents' farmhouse.
     I had been napping when she suddenly entered my consciousness.
     Rubbing my eyes, I took a second look. Yes, it was my child. I'd recognize her anywhere, even when she's very, very sad.
     A wee bonnie lass of four, "Queen Mary," Grandpa Dobbie's delight, leaped into my awareness, eager to enfold me with her untarnished love.
     Rejoicing, I sprang to my feet to greet her when she came bounding toward me through the tall, wind-swept grass, buttercups and daisies, on that warm summer day in July.

Photographs Courtesy Of Julie Hendricks

     She was kilted in the highland plaid of her ancestors. Her smooth brown face contrasted sharply with the puffy-sleeved white blouse she wore. The noonday sun frolicked on the raven-black curls that flounced about gaily under the cocky red felt beret her grandmother gave her.
     Laughing brown eyes said "I love you," and I took to my bosom the child that was me so long ago.
     Queen Mary sealed our bond of affection and unconditional acceptance with a tender little peck on my cheek, and I returned in kind the commemorative gesture.
     We sat down, and she crawled onto my lap and snuggled close to my heart.
     How natural it felt to hold my child. After all, she was the part of me that still believes in love and trust and the simple pleasures living life can bring. That part of me almost died when I grew older and almost forgot how to live at all. Now I'm remembering...
     Lost in childish thoughts of her own, my child gazed into the branches of the stately oak that cast its silhouettes on us, and pointing skyward said, "Please tell me, do you see him?" with a frankness that seems to get lost when you’re so very old and wise.
     "Not yet," I replied, sorting through thick clusters of jagged leaves, hoping that in time I would, indeed.
     "He's right there, silly!" she said impatiently, directing my attention to a stout twig directly above my head.
     "Of course! I see the tiny fellow now," I assured her, relieved, quite naturally, that I did in fact.
     My child and I scrambled to our feet, and enraptured, watched the playful antics of the nature sprite that only we could see.
     That was the first encounter my child had ever had with astral entities, and I wanted her to take exquisite pleasure in this moment, devoid of fear and apprehension. It was a moment, after all, that only we could share.
     Mary penetrated my heart with her knowing eyes and said, "I'm glad. I’m so very glad you can see my little friend, 'cause Mama can’t."
     Molding her body into mine, I reassured my child that I saw the world we shared with those without the shining, through the same eyes - even if our mama never could.
     The awe-full brilliance of the midday sun sparkled like precious jewels in the crown of the ageless oak, and lengthening shadows reminded me and my child that the hour was late.
     Grandpa Dobbie's Queen of Scots encircled my neck once again with her firm arms, and planted an ever so delicious kiss on my hollow cheek.
     "I know I'll see you again," she whispered, slipping off my lap and disappearing over the horizon where a pasted globe of moon was rising, marking the close of yet another chapter in my disconnected life.