Excerpts – Chapter 8
Mother loved roses and father made a rose garden for her.
Mother would gather rose pedals of all colors, putting them into a crystal jar, with a little sugar and lots of love, and father would drink it.
It was like the fairy dews from the Mid-Summer Night, it would make you brilliant and beautiful.
– How did I know?
By now you should know that I knew everything.
I was like THAT ALL SEE EYE from the sacred paintings.
I could see the thoughts and feelings behind mom's raised eyebrows.
Instead of making fragrance for herself, she was making ambrosia for father.
I could hear the rose pedals silently fell into the earth, waiting for us to cherish them even more and ready for another song to be sung.
I knew that I was the beloved from the Deva kingdom, taking a human form as a dance to all humanity.
Folding the skirt into my under-wear
that I was wearing the ballet tutu,
I was again in the Garden of Eden radianting golden beams.
All fairies inside the roses were applauding my grace.
Mom was the tallest fairy in the garden.
I saw the tears in her eyes...
Remember that magical sky-blue dressing?
Whirling into that dizzy blue,
the whole garden turned into vast sky,
I was dancing with
and the Stars
into their brilliant, ever spinning smiles.
My hair and clothing turned into rainbow and clouds,
and my feet turned into the ancient songs more enchanting than the music played in the church.
Those mysterious songs were just coming out of my mouth
as if I could speak the languages of
the elves ...
and animals of all kind.
Oh, I forget to tell you that regardless how blessed I thought I was, I was a sick child in the eyes of adults.
Every children's play was too physical for me,
and in those magical moments I was dancing with the All Mighty God in all forms of the Play…
I was the beloved of the heaven and the earth,
and I was precious in the hearts of all.
There was no difference between me, and the roses, and the whirling sky…
Mom decided to send me to the dance school but she had to ask father.
I was secretly happy.
I knew that I was going to truly fly
...the day when father asked me if I wanted to go to the dance school,
I was wearing that blue dress.
–– " Y-e-s! "
You might not realize the power of that " yes ".
As a good child from a good Chinese family you should say " no " to all your desires.
When people ask you -Do you want to eat some cake? You say---" Thank you, but I just ate. "--- Even if you were hungry.
When people offer you drink you should say-" No, I am not thirsty. "
When father asked me if I wanted to dance, I "should" say--no--,
but I said " YES! "
---I said " Yes " to my most secret desire,
and that " yes " made everything possible for me to fly.
I was living the perfect timeline that lead me to the magical quantum realities.
Every wordless dream unfolds just like the roses in mom's garden of love.
...The dance class was not as magical as what I had in the garden but it was much more fun than listening to people's gossip.
I was physically too weak and mentally too young to receive attentions...
Most teachers would just leave me in the tail end of the class,
Music was the best part of the class.
Once in a while there were rainbows jumping and ringing on the floor.
It was fun to dance with the rainbows
especially when your toes were meeting those
with green eyes stared at you...
Again you were dancing in many places, with your hair changing colors
from black to red to gold...
The last part of the class was the movements of the arms, neck and head.
That was the most magical moment.
I wanted to hug God and God was extremely big
… bigger than the whole room…
bigger than the whole sky.
In order to hug God, I unfolded those delicate wings of mine, hugged everybody in the room, gently closed my eyes, then I was in the sky again...
Everybody in the sky was dancing and hugging everybody...
and mom, father, my brothers, uncles and aunts, Nai-Nai, Deai-Deai, and Gung-Gung, my classmates...and father's king Arthur's knights
...even the police-men were dancing and hugging one another...
I did not want to open my eyes wishing the class would never end.
Putting the toe-shoes on was no suffering for me.
Every part of my body was naturally made for the flights.
There were times that I was performing
"the Dying Swan"
on TV and for all kinds of gatherings
including the armies, schools and churches of all faith...
Without seeing how the most beautiful Dying Swan were performed by the greatest artists, I was extremely confident with my expressions
---with some premature disciplines and that childish smile...
Mom would send me to gather some goose feathers from the neighbors for the costume.
Those were the most beautiful dance that had no dance steps and no audience, only the passionate heartbeats for so much love in a small body.
The neighbors would be happily giving me bags of goose-feathers.
Their eyes danced with the sunshine ––
When I left, I heard those girls whispered behind my back: " She dances the most beautiful foreign toe-dance!"
I wanted to teach every little village girl to fly like me – just like the way my visions had taught me.
There were many nights when I woke up from the thrilling flights, mom would still be sewing the costumes...
She was sewing all those tiny stars into my skirt stitch by stitch.
" Oh! I have to take mom and everyone to fly!
Did Virgin Mary know how to fly like the Swan?
Will God let me dance if I marry Him?
Is that possible to marry everyone, not just to marry someone?
Why God get angry and punish people?
God should fly more when he gets angry ..."
The shadow of mom's sewing thread and her enlarged body danced with
the sparkling stars on the wall,
the stars outside the windows,
and the stars came from her eyes when she told me to rest more...
Only if ...
everybody could dance all together,
like how the Stars dance with the Moon,
like how the rainbows danced with my feet
... Only if ...
like the sparks spinning from your eyes to mine,
like those pearly secrets echoing from my silly giggles to your untamed smile…
then we shall be happy all together
Music Credit: Intermezzo from Camen, by George Bizet