As Spirit entered the chamber, Mishalariah leaped from her couch, waving the Ayin1 over her head in her excitement. “Look! She dedicated herself to you! Now you can write her name in the Book of Life!”
Spirit took the Ayin from her hand, glanced lovingly at its smooth surface, and smiled. "Her name is already there."
Mishalariah’s mouth dropped open. “How is that possible?” She fell back on the couch, her arms crossed defiantly against her chest. She looked up at Spirit, her brow furrowed and chin protruding. “You saw how she lived. The choices she made.” Mishalariah pouted. “She was ridiculous!”
Spirit laughed as he took his place in the blue velvet chair. “Humans are all ridiculous!” He spun around once, then leaned forward, his face close to hers. “But that doesn’t make them unworthy.”
"But..."
He touched a finger to her protesting lips. “She was very young when she first loved me, not even ten years old.” He continued, his eyes moist with mother’s tears shed over a wayward child. “It is not an easy or simple thing for humans to enter the kingdom.”
"I don't understand."
Spirit’s eyes, still glistening, fastened on hers. "They must be led."
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Don't Cry, Mishalariah: A Memoir
Some memoirists are old and close to death. Some are famous—or infamous. They want us to remember their story, and not the stories others tell about them. Others, perhaps not as well known, want us to remember something essential. Something that transcends their own lives in stories that go against the current culture.
Ayin (eye) is a spiritual device used to see and interact with the human world.