Fragment from the book “Between Kiss and Pain” – A Historical Romance of Self-Discovery.
The reddish sunset slowly faded into the Pacific Ocean, as if sanctifying it. A golden path carved its way over the waves, which seemed to calm, enchanted by its touch. They merged in an eternal kiss between the sun and water, between sky and earth.
The woman’s body surrendered to that splendour, becoming soft and at ease. Fascinated, she sipped a cocktail. Her gaze seemed lost in the golden-red streaks stretching in long, delicate trails across the blue ocean. She absorbed them into the depths of her being, feeling their divinity.
It was as though she longed to delve into the mystery of that eternal spectacle gifted to the eight billion people on the Blue Planet.
The white circle, surrounded by gold, almost blinded her. Majestic, the last rays of the sun stretched once more across the grandeur of the sky before being swallowed by the dark waves of the night. Wisps of clouds, like tufts of wool, floated before the luminous circle, spreading a sense of tenderness, balance, and harmony.
The woman wished to steal fragments of that heavenly balance and keep them forever in her chest, which had weathered so many emotional storms.
Larger, still-white clouds began to drift slowly across the sky. Along with them came a few famished seagulls, piercing the silence with their sharp cries. They darted in dizzying circles through the warm air before gently descending to graze the foamy waves with their wings.
Droplets of water slipped from their feathers, tumbling through the air before falling back into the immensity of the ocean.
The woman sipped the final drops of her Aperol Spritz through the straw of her nearly empty glass. She glanced around. The famous terrace at the Opera House had become flooded with tourists. She stood and left the bustle behind, feeling an urgent need to experience the moments of sunset in peace and harmony.
The Australian city, with its five million inhabitants, was overwhelming in both beauty and noise. But she knew of those hidden places, blessed with silence.
The phone rang briefly, its sound sharp and jarring.
‘Ana, when will you be home?’
‘Soon,’ she replied softly.
The salty evening breeze awakened her slightly dulled senses. She stopped next to a Callistemon, a tree with long, brush-like flowers. Its branches quivered gently in the light wind. She touched the blossoms with the tips of her fingers. They had long, reddish threads painted yellow at the tips.
A warm, soft smile crossed her face. ‘How marvellous you are!’ she whispered gently, enchanted by their spectacular structure. ‘You are a divine creation on this earth!’ The flowers responded in their own way—with a slight tremble… a glimmer of intense red.
Ana sat down at the base of the tree. The colour of the blossoms settled into the brown of her eyes. She needed to draw nourishment from their tender and healing energy.
A few stray thoughts began to surface. They floated gently in the sky of her mind, urging her to reflect—on life, on people, and on actions.
She thought of stoic ethics… of that happiness achieved through profound spiritual tranquillity.
‘Hmmm, such a hard state to reach these days, when human spirits struggle in an ocean of information…’
Her aspirations turned toward harmony and peace. She knew happiness was enchanting, intense, but so fleeting… and capable of blinding her with illusions.
But harmony was different… gentler, more faithful. And it had many forms. When it shielded her from life’s trivialities, harmony stayed with her. She felt it as a swarm of butterflies… caressing her soul with tender wingbeats. At other times, it appeared within her as a light… from which graceful thoughts and feelings emerged. Or she sensed it as the gentle murmur of a spring… from which her creativity flowed.
Vffff… She startled. A flock of colourful parrots landed on the branches of a golden wattle. The old Waratah shook its limbs. The birds’ trills sank deeper into the rustling of the leaves.
She remembered Mircea Eliade, who said that the most precious journey is the one toward our own soul. A particular thought stirred within her—a shiver that called her to explore her inner self, to confront the past and present, to ascend with the wings of her soul toward realms both familiar and uncharted. To discover new meanings. Yet, certain events were meant to remain there, in silence. Forever. And that was for the best. There, they were protected.
Her heart stirred with joy. She longed for her own essence…
A new question slowly drifted across the sky of her mind…
“Who are you, woman within me? Who are you, woman sculpted into the essence of my cells? You existed before the first cry, before witnessing the first stream of light, before the first breath of air, before my first thought… And then, when I was born, you merged with the thread of my existence, giving me meaning and purpose.”
Her thoughts deepened even further. She slipped off her shoes. A few blades of grass clung to the long, slender heels of her shoes. She touched the surface of the water with the tips of her fingers. The bright red polish on her nails gleamed vividly against the cool, salty water.
Nearby, the camellia bushes swayed gently in the warm breeze. The voice within her grew clearer with each moment. She had listened to it thousands of times—its cries of pain, of exhilaration, of joy. She would listen to it once again.
Someday, those sounds would transform into tears, and then into words. And she would weave them into a new story.
Exerpt from the book “Between Kiss and Pain,“ by Anisoara Laura Mustetiu.
Available at Harvard Book Store, Amazon, and leading international bookstores worldwide.
