One day, a handsome young man with a perfect look in his eye walked into the village. He was sober and quiet, a weaver by trade. He knew the sandy pathways with his eyes closed, backward and forwards, upwards and downwards. He had spent many hours on the crags, breathing in the air of the gods and collecting the beautiful flowers and herbs to take to his close friends.
As he walked around the village, he saw a beautiful lady crouching in her threshing yard, surveying her year’s harvest. He opened the gate and squatted with her before the vast sea of barley, admiring her produce. While taking a handful, he spoke of the spirit contained in each one; each was different and important in the tapestry of all existence.
He had come down from the high peaks, especially to find her, having heard that a great singer had moved from the valleys into the village. He knew that their mission, their raison d’etre, was identical. So, he spoke to her intimately and arranged to meet her later that evening to view the full moon.
They met at the quarry’s edge at the appointed time and walked together through the cherry trees, their buds thick and soon bursting into blossom. As they strolled along, she asked him about their mission, confessing that she had spent her entire life looking for her purpose but never felt she had found it.
Surprised, he said, ‘But you are so accomplished, a Trobiaritz of great renown, and you have children, a sizeable ostal, and land. And yet you are not fulfilled by these?’
She answered that she was not unhappy and found great contentment in all facets of her life. And yet she felt something else waiting, something more than her songs. He was silent momentarily, and then he told her he thought he knew what it was.
She turned to him in the moonlight, eager to learn about it, and he stopped and turned to her, saying, ‘Your destiny has a connection with death.’ She was shocked, stepping away from him, recoiling from the fearful notion of death. She asked him to explain as her only connection to death was through her six husbands, who, to her sadness, had all died. She nursed and stayed with them during the agony leading to their deaths. And afterward, mourned them, wearing black for a whole year for each, consoling their families and the children they shared.
‘Indeed, death is not my favourite subject,’ she admitted, growing dark with thought.
They walked a little further into the silver birch forest, stretching to the ridge to see the full moon in clear view. She was full of questions and doubts, but he was questionless and confident.
As they walked through the trees, he touched each rough trunk lightly as if he knew it; he said, ‘You are closer than you know to the glories of death.’
This comment perplexed her. She stopped walking and turned to look into the stranger’s handsome face, the moonlight flooding down between the trees and their bodies. She told him he was frightening her, so she would be grateful if he explained.
‘My dear Lady, you do not need to be afraid. I will now tell you something that will change your life. I must tell you that you have been misinformed about death by your Roman priests and Friars. For at death, they teach that one God judges us. No, the Devil has got into this thinking.’
She was again shocked that he should criticize the Holy Church, which she had learned was worthy only of utmost respect and reverence. The moon was at its fullest. They walked towards it onto the ridge and out from under the canopy of trees. They stood together looking across all the mountains and hills, the villages with their church towers and the limestone caves glowing white in this bright light.
As he looked out, he said, ‘Death is yours.’
She could not understand this, saying that if death were hers, she would never die because she loved life too much.
‘You only fear and dread death because you do not properly understand or Love in life’ was his response.
She lit up, vexed by his strange comments, and he lit up with Love. He no longer stared into her lovely eyes but above her head. She was unsure what he looked at, perhaps for bats or shooting stars.
And he said, as clear as day, ‘I can see your death now.’
She became convinced that he was a wizard or soothsayer who could predict or see that which others could not. He took her hand, reassured her, and went on.
‘My beautiful Lady, I can see your veil.’
She insisted that she was not wearing a veil and only wore them for funerals or Mass.
‘Madame, I can see the veil of your death.’
Now she was even more confused, so he invited her to sit on a smooth rock.
‘Please explain it to me. I do not know what you are saying or seeing.’
‘My Lady, there is nothing to make you afraid except these lies of the lowlands friars. On the contrary, you never need to be frightened of it again. Your death, everyone’s death, is a delicate veil above the head. Some would say it is a halo the Holy Church is so fond of depicting in portrayals of saints and holy beings. This veil will lift when the time is exactly right. This delicate gossamer veil and your skin are the only things that separate you from the invisible world.’
He touched her arm with his long fingers as he spoke.
‘My beautiful, you are spirit, pure spirit staying briefly in your human form. You are here to pass the Devil’s tests and resist his temptations before you return to your free spirit state.’
As he spoke, she began to understand and feel the power of his Love. And yet she had to ask him how he knew all these things, thinking him to be an angel or apparition come to give her this message so crucial to her happiness. He went on, recognizing a flicker of her understanding.
‘You, oh beautiful minstrel, are a more potent spirit than most for songs you discover from inside your soul make you. When the lessons you learn through your fleshy form are determined, your veil will lift, and you will return to pure spirit—the most joyous condition for any soul. Uncontained. Moving anywhere it is needed, not bound by human rules of time and space. When the veil lifts, we can return to the gods’ realm, to the divinity of eternity and infinity.’
She was strangely suspended, not thinking or frightened any longer. Then, as she wondered about her veil, she saw something move above his noble head. She left his eyes and looked more closely, thinking it was a moth or a beech leaf, and she could hardly believe what she saw there. She was speechless, and he smiling widely.
‘Is this your veil I can see? I can hardly believe it!’
For a moment, she thought it was a trick played by moonlight, but at the exact moment, she felt that doubting thought; his veil disappeared. She rubbed her eyes and, blinking rapidly, tried to bring it back into view.
‘Yes, the Devil will try to conceal it from you as he tries to cover and distract you at every turn. But if you sincerely believe what I say is true, it will appear to you again.’
And she did, and it did. She was overjoyed and understood everything, knowing that from now on, she could live without any clouds of fear or doubt. In their place, Love would flood like the moonlight on this, the most important night of all her life.
So, they walked back through the birch forest and the apple grove together. He took her hand, and she knew she had found her true destiny.”
