Here is my depiction of
The Queen of Swords, done in pencil, and below is my write up. I'm not technically savvy and this part of the process was very challenging for me...so I used photobucket for this, although my image was sent to Anabel via dropbox...was just so unsure about some stuff. LOL
Thanks!!
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The Lady of Swords
I stand in the middle of a field. The clouds are zooming in and out. The greys and blues of this landscape reflect the state of my heart. The wind picks up. I stare at the skies. My hair blows across my eyes and then settles back down. I smile. I beg God to bring the rain down again. He knows how I wait, how I wait...how I wait, impatiently..and yet, He serves me. He grants my wish for rain, for storm, for lightning, for winds, for thunder.
It's cool out here. The grass is green but it does not, cannot compare to the skies above, no, no...how breathtakingly, beautiful......and then I hear...hear the rolling of thunder...and the rain travels forth to greet me. I look down at my dress...my emerald green dress...and that's when I notice a stain. I have no recollection of it. It does not matter anyway. It's just a stain, a stain which will be washed away, shortly.
I walk forward, over tiny hills and notice a body of water. The waves begin to crash upon the rocks. I smile some more and then I have no choice but to cry...to cry these tears, from a well that resides deep within. What better place than right here, I think. There is no better place than where I am. Here, I am alone. Here, I am safe. Here, no one can touch me. Here, no one can hurt me. Here, I cannot be fooled. Here, I cannot be swayed or influenced by another. Here, I am accepted...for eternity. Here, I am whole. Here, I need no one. Here, I trust only sky and water. They deliver with honesty and integrity. They make no excuses for being what they are.
I take off my dress, and set it upon a boulder. I sit on another rock. The rain trickles down my back. My breasts are alive and tender. My hair is drenched...My neck, my shoulders, arms, hands, fingers, legs, knees, feet, ache to be taken. I pray...I pray for this wound to be healed. I pray that this is not all in vain. I pray that I am heard...because I am so tired of being misunderstood, so tired of this longing. Are my expectations too high? They must be if I am disappointed.
I scream now. Even among all of these sounds out here, my own voice is carried up to the black silent skies, the stars, the heavens. Man is weak. Man does not know what is best for me. Only I know what is best for me. I am here, here where hope and faith are brother and sister. Here, the rain does not ask why my hair is black and not blonde. Here, the sky does not judge me for taking my clothes off. Here, I am free and not lied to. Here, man has no say. Here, man plays no role. Here, his ego has no influence. Here, he cannot taint my landscape, not with his brush, nor with his mind or mouth which are filled with useless thoughts and empty words. Here, he cannot penetrate not even an inch of my depths...because he is shallow and shallowness has no place here.
Here, I am loved. Here, I do not challenge. Here, I do not question. Here, I can trust...with an open heart...here, where this heart will not be treated like some kind of rag doll...here, where nothing and everything is personal...here, where I can believe what I see. Let man try to enter this space. I'll cut off his head with my sword!
