The girl was born with a golden aura.
As a newborn, it was impossible not to notice the shinning glare of her presence, the uniqueness of her essence, the beauty of the golden child.
Her parents instantly noticed, and brought her home tenderly wrapped in a handmade quilt that was made especially for her. After several days of bonding with the newborn - who was not only golden but also a perfect child: no tears, no fuss, no trouble sleeping - the parents introduced their golden jewel to the extended family and friends. Everyone agreed: the infant was an angel.
One day the pedestal was brought out. It was tucked away in an attic at the family's matriarch for decades, since the arrival of the last golden child. The pedestal was dusty at first, but was showered with love and purified water until there was no speck of dust left. The family hosted the Ceremony of the Pedestal in a bright autumn afternoon. The child was only eight days old then - old enough to be crowned, but too young to remember. Just like the family wanted it to. Her mother cried with joy during the ceremony, which was lead by the adoring father, and the family and friends cheered on with shiny smiles, admiring the golden threads of the child's distinct aura. 'Aura like that, you don't see every day', the grandfather announced with pride, and embraced the grandmother, overjoyed of what they seem to have manifested. The child was declared the golden child that day, and was put on a pedestal for years to come.
The pedestal was to remain seamless, transparent, under the surface as if it wasn't there. No one was to see it, or to mention it, or to call attention to it. It was simply where the child was put on. Everyone agreed -that is the best way in which not to interfere with the golden aura. One must admire it, adore it, and favorite it.
Years passed, and the child grew to be a bright happy little girl. Optimist by nature, hungry for life, loved and cared for by her parents. Her golden aura seeped into her golden hair and it was now seen by anyone who would pass, it was unavoidable, it was ever-present. It was almost blinding with its light. Occasional passers by would squint when they looked at the girl. Others would pretend not to notice. Some would get jealous and tried to steal the aura away. But the child was unaware. From her eyes, she couldn't see what the others saw.
She didn't see herself.
There were some years when it seemed that the pedestal was indeed taken away from the child. Perhaps to be renovated? To be re-painted? To be re-washed? No one knew, but it was felt. The child's golden aura had dimmed a bit. The family gathered together and announced a strategic effort to bring up its light. They were to do whatever it takes to idolize the child, to build up her confidence, to keep her on the pedestal. The power that a group effort can posses is unmatched, and the child was once again on a glorified pedestal, wearing a crown, holding an imaginary wand, and beaming with a golden light. The pedestal carried the child through high school. Through college. Through her twenties. Through successes. Through love stories. Every man she loved along her journey, LOVED her pedestal. Adored her golden aura. And admired her light.
One day the girl met another lover. One that didn't see the pedestal, but rather - saw the girl. It was different, the girl sensed. It was uncomfortable, to be suddenly seen as who she was, and not what she was. It was new. It was frightening. It was love. Love makes one see in different ways. And feel in different ways. Little by little, the girl - now, a woman - felt a weight on her shoulders and in her walk. The pedestal was getting too heavy of a load to carry.
Until one day - she saw it.
She saw the pedestal in all its shiny golden bright color. She had to rub her eyes a few times, to see that it was indeed there, and not in her mind. She stared at it a long while, mumbling to herself in confusion 'it can't be, it can't...' until she gained the courage to touch it. The moment her finger touched the cold hard surface, the pedestal shattered into a million tiny pieces, exposing the dusty wooden hollow stool underneath. It had three damaged legs, it was rocky, it was wobbly, it was tilted. how can one stand on this without falling? She wondered.
She took that wooden stool and placed it at her home. By her bed stand. She would look at it first thing in the morning, and before going to bed at night. She was to face it head on and see exactly what it was. For all its flaws and twists and wrinkles and curves. It was going to be seen without the bling, without the gold, without the pedestal. It was to be seen as who it really was: a three legged wooden stool, with a lack of balance and a less than golden appearance. And it was light to hold. It was light to carry. Without the pedestal on her back, the woman stood taller. And her aura? Her aura was an avalanche of a rainbow of colors: some were light and shiny, and some were dark and somber. She was a human, after all. With all its flaws and twists and wrinkles and curves.
She was - a human, finally seen, and more importantly - finally SEEING.
In April 2020, while experiencing her first ever global pandemic, Tamar Pelzig pledged to write something every day, even if it's only a word, so she welcomed to the world a daily blog to keep her creative writing wheels rolling.
Header Art: Daniel Landerman