The glade was one of his favorite places to visit. It was serene and offered the peace that being surrounded by nature allowed. He would often walk barefoot in the grass, just feeling at one with the plants, with the dirt. Desmond’s faulty memory put him at a disadvantage of fully understanding the truth of himself and of others, but one thing it gave him an advantage in was communing with the world around him.
In the same way the people could count on the sun rising every morning, the world stayed the same, and he loved it for that reason. He counted on the familiar to stay as such, and he always made time to spend with nature, feeling the grass and the moving water around his ankles. Such a simple experience calmed his soul more than the social obligations he gave to himself.
Such obligations were necessary, though. He was a healer, helped people when they were sick or injured. He needed to be available for people, so he was, but times like these were saved for his soul.
He prayed to the Old Gods primarily, though the concept of generality could argue he was simply praying to whoever might be listening. That was why the discovery of this new shrine drew his attention. He had prayed countless times at the shrine in the temple with no answer. In honesty, he never expected an answer from any of the gods, much less the old gods, who certainly would have better things to do than to answer a young healer’s prayers. There was nothing extraordinary about him, nothing that the gods couldn’t find in anyone else, but he held onto his faith.
He knelt in front of the shrine, sitting out four candles in front of him with a gentle hint of a smile on his lips. A white candle was set on the far left for the god of death, a life blue next to it for the god of life, a green candle next for the god of nature, and then a lavender candle on the far right for the god of all. One by one, he lit the candles and bowed deeply on his knees.
There was no doubt in his mind that his prayers would go unanswered, but that was the point of faith, right?
”If the gods speak, I must listen,” he began in a whisper. ”My gods offer me language, and I give my voice, just like the ocean roars for the shining moon in a hollow sky. My gods are saviors to me in the way that I am allowed to taste the riches of a pleasurable existence, an unfearful dying, a more sublime awareness. My tongue is sweeter for having spoken for you, my hands stronger and kinder for having worked for you, my spirit purer for having touched you through healing your children. If my gods call, I must open myself up to them and the wisdom of their speaking, for their words being a deeper truth than I will ever know.”
The answer of one of the gods, while he hoped beyond words he would be graced with an appearance, was pie in the sky hope. He knew that. He would never think himself important enough or anything close to that to be blessed with even the haunting voice of one of the deities he worshipped, but it was his duty, his honor to pay homage to the beings who blessed him with the skills he had for healing, for strength to continue on every single day when his heart wanted to give up on him, for even something as simple as the ability to walk, to speak, to breathe on his own. He was thankful, and even if he didn’t get an answer, he wanted to display that gratitude.
desmond
Talk to the Moon, Heal the Soul
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