She could not imagine there was a heaven. It was nothing she could hold in her vision and climb to through dreams. She could not trust the untouchable the reality she could never know.
There were only loose threads of past and present which she twisted on stretched-out fingers to weave into days she could touch and feel; and voices in the tortuous void, That did not resemble speech; and faceless, nameless sounds she must resist like early death. They came too soon, so that she did not hear only listened to the confusion she felt.
In the room of invisible faces she must walk alone and feel their eyes upon her, knowing they could see her desire like the full-blown rose dropping its garments. Knowing she would fall into the arms of a stranger and wake to discover she had given too much of herself.
It was enough for her It was enough.
But the voices, more clearly defined now, slowly became a single sound, a soft bell-like whisper, she felt beneath her skin. It was in her, leading her on.
She imagined wide plains edging toward desert. Her senses could fill that space, all heat and airy light. She could gather up a silence and hold it to her breast. It did not matter that she was thirsty, that her feet were blistered. She felt no pain. The fiery sand beneath her was water - the chaste and holy water for which she had thirsted.
It surrounded her. She let it flow through her, surrendered to this new baptism like a ripple, the heart beat of water, had wanted this without knowing it was this she craved.
She felt a universe inside her. The moon at her feet gathered the white robe and silvered the path ahead.
It was this she had wanted - to stand between heaven and earth and give birth to herself.