The Ageless One

Who was she?
She who sat beneath oaken tree,
Draped in silvery white sheaths of light;
Her throne of wood,
Hand-carved it seemed,
Glistened from her radiance.
The air, scented with unidentified fragrances,
Whispered and swirled,
As a soft breeze danced around her.
Who was she?
She in all her loveliness and ageless beauty.
She who wore naught but light;
Not even a crown adorned her silken hair,
No flowers around her feet,
And her hands
Bare of symbolic authorities.
When I first saw her,
I thought it was I
As a reflection of hallucination.
But as I neared her threshold,
The thought diminished.
Spoke with her I did,
But of what eludes me.
Smilingly, her hand reached toward me,
And I felt the urge to kneel in adoration.
She took my hand in hers;
Shyly I gazed into her eyes.
So young her face,
Yet so old.
But then it seemed neither.
Who was she?
She who was ageless
I felt so much warmth
Compassion and endless love
Flowing through her.
Then without speaking,
I heard her say,
“Would thou kneel before a flower,
a tree, or the sea,
or any other that I am?
Open thine eyes.”
As I did,
I saw her standing before my Priest,
Her hand upon his shoulder, saying,
“Arise. Cast aside thy words,
For I hear thy heart.”
She turned to me
With a smile
And was no more.
Who was she?

From “Elizabeth”, quoted in the book, Celtic Lore and Druidic Ritual by Rhiannon Ryall