The Secret Society Of Oaks - No.9

Queen Nymph Arija

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This is a tough one. I don't think I can do this nymph justice, I will try.

Not long ago I was reading about India Flint, a gifted artist, writer and poet. She was talking about Attention Deficit Disorder. I agreed with her especially when she mentioned that the symptoms of the disorder described her characteristics when she was a young child. I felt the same way. What India and I shared is having been born to mothers who do not and did not believe that everything had to be labeled and who understood precocious children, otherwise, she and I would have been drugged. We were allowed to flourish in a loving and spirited home life. Her mother is Arija and I happen to consider myself very blessed and lucky to call this wonderful woman my friend.

I love Arija. There are a lot of positions where I may waffle but on this one I don't. This is personal and this is important to me. I saw her at another blog and her comment captured my attention. It's funny to I recall how I thought of her as being aristocratic and distant. Maybe it was her rose avatar or maybe it was her wise bearing that made me think this woman is above my league. Still I followed her and started leaving comments on her blog that is a showcase of the most beautiful landscape and natural resources images. She loves trees so something made me stay. I would not say she is peripatetic but she travels and wanders a lot capturing beautiful images and I found out she is also Peripatetic when one day she gave me a dose of my own medicine.

I was whimpering like a wounded dog and out of nowhere she looked at me straight into my blog eyes and told me what was tantamount to "Stand up and shape up." I do not respond well to strangers being so bold with me but Arija did it in such a gentle and loving manner and then knowing I was nowhere beyond even sitting up, offered her strong and gentle hand. I remember praying hard that week and by week's end the Lord answered my prayers with help coming from the East and from the South. I made two friends that week, even though on my part, it was a friendship of utility, I needed these two friends and my angels brought them to me.

Soon Arija would read something from me like "I hate..." and she replies "You do not hate ..., it is your own repulsion for yourself that you feel." Gulp! I ask her about a sycophantic blogger who started irritating me and she replied "Ces, you would spend the rest of your life pandering to his inferiority complex!" Oh God, I have my own Aristotelian advisor. I share a painting and she along with those who can see through the window of my soul sometimes cringed at what they see. It's as if she was inside my brain and heart when I was painting. Mostly she is exhausted telling me to stop abusing myself. I hear you and I am actually listening!

It's an irony she seldom writes more than a few sentences with her images except for the occasional bout of poetry which I lap with gusto and for her heartfelt and beautiful essays. I admire her intellect. Above all I treasure this wise and loving friend whose life story could provide a rich source of the most captivating screenplays.

I am almost reluctant to feature her as I am afraid you may take her from me, but the more I share her the more love multiplies, and grows. Please say hello to my beloved Arija.