The great mane is just before me, the piercing eyes and the awesome teeth, with his mouth wide open as if to consume, and I am powerless to face him, the lion.
It has been cold for so long, always winter, and my heart has fallen numb to the old hopes, to the stories of sun-warmth and celebration, which spread forth in the presence and wake of this king-lion from across the seas. I have never seen him, only heard the tales from the stubbornly faithful keepers of the prophesies and memories of this lion, who is said to be both fearsome and good. But I have never seen him, and it has been cold for so long.
The queen is here in power, in a show of force, in physical form. She controls the weather, the forests, and she provides tempting delights. She is tangible. So I have turned to her service, to surrender the deceived believers and help maintain the cold. But I meet a light full of wonder: A child, honest and searching, and we have tea. This light, she believes in holidays, in joy within the cold season that I have never seen, and the numbness of my heart melts to an aching hope, but I must turn her in. But I don’t. I let her go. And the queen, at the first word of my fickleness, tears my humble abode to shreds and traps my heart, my full self, in stone.
And now the lion I never knew, the lion I scarcely believed in, the lion whose heart I betrayed, has sought me out and stands before me with his mouth wide open as if to consume. And, instead, he breathes and my self awakes from its stone sleep, transforming to flesh and bone and spirit. I am released to move, to dance, to run, to celebrate, to eat, to laugh, and to fight alongside him for holiday and for spring. He whom I dared not believe in, he came for me, before I could even think to ask for pardon.
King-lion, I cannot understand your mercy on me, but I feel it in me and it speaks true. I will follow you.
I write to process. I write to explore. I write with the hope of sharing truth greater than my own.