JOURNAL: A kiss for Samhain

Not any kiss. A kiss requested by an old woman met by chance on a dusty lonely road. There stands the warrior, the young hero in the making. The old woman, a hag, a woman whose wisdom and beauty are unacknowledged by man's concepts of beauty. See: her eyes are cloudy with age, her skin weathered by so many nights looking at the moon, being the moon, her hands wrinkled and veined in deep blue. She stands on the earth and looks at the young man, the bearer of the days to come, he who seeks and needs experience and wisdom to survive. But he may not find without what is not within. And so, when the woman requests a kiss, he denies it. "el beso que quieres no va a ocurrir nunca, no va a haber beso" a sentence seals his fate, which until that moment could have gone on several different paths. Not an occassion when a kiss is just a kiss, a rose by any other name and many such platitudes. Fate doesnt deal in platitudes, it is the one black on white, relentless bottom line. Now only one path ahead, the one where the opportunity, nay, the certainty of gaining wisdom and experience are left behind for some time, to be earned instead drop by drop along the weary years. The old woman smiles with bitterness. Her eyes smart with tears she will not shed. This one she thought would be wiser, she had believed him able to see past appearances. Instead, a replay of the old story between wisdom and youth. A lonely path for her, but then the acquiring of wisdom usually is a lonely path. She turns away without goodbyes.