I look at her and she is oblivious to what I see, to what I know. This thought is amusing in a way, it is also full of melancholy for it is her lack of confidence that keeps this knowledge from her.
Her being is full of wisdom. Sometimes it is greater than mine for the essence that fills her is one that has experienced many lifetimes and possesses a secret language that no one else recognizes. I see. I have seen and known it from the moment she was born. This knowing has always been there between us as souls privately speaking to one another
She is breathtakingly beautiful in her innocence. The pull of this mystifying beauty even greater because of her childlike ignorance of it. She is the delicate white petaled rose, sensual to the touch, fragrant with spice, folded in mystery. She does not know the power of which draws admirers to her.
She is most alluring when creating. She becomes a conduit to this energy, lost in the process, allowing herself to be drawn into it, letting go and being overtaken. When all the elements are just right and she trusts completely, the bonds of this humanly body fall away. What remains are the whisperings of her soul swirling about limitless through space and time, moving unbounded and unafraid. When these whisperings are picked up by those that are near her, this is when one lifts their head toward her and wonder at the Spiritual Beauty before them.