Excerpt from my novella "Royalty, Thy Name is Woman"
It is easier for a camel to enter through the eye of a needle than for an exceptionally beautiful woman to enter into the kingdom of heaven. She is born into a trap of sorts, ever subject to the envy of women and the desire of men. She is hardly able to conceive of her own existence without this permanent shower of admiration. She is watered by it every day and never knows drought. She settles for half-truths and the art of pleasing. She becomes like a docile coat hanger on which men hang their dreams. Tragically, even if she develops the most admirable of human qualities, others are too blinded by her exterior beauty to take note. Whatever luscious garden she may cultivate within herself remains out of sight to others. She merits compassion more than envy, awaiting old age, like a dear friend, to come and set her free.
One woman--maybe more--might emerge in each generation to pass through the eye of the needle, carrying within her some extraordinary gift that outshines her external beauty. As she cultivates her gift, not her appearances, the combination of the two can only magnetize and mesmerize those around her. Her glory is revealed to the world in the late age of her life, after all the great works of her body have been accomplished and she has cracked open her shell of vanity.
While ordinary women are obsessively patching themselves up to remain desirable and stay young against all odds, she is completing her work of ageless art. Every wrinkle bears a message and the wear on her skin tells a story. There is a hint of immortality in her incandescence; she has given birth to herself as a goddess. All women will be elevated by her example, and through her men will draw closer to the divine. Many are those who preach the thunderous return of the Son of God, but the world secretly awaits Her subtle workings.
That is what I would later understand. In the present moment, Christine de Santenay is descending the stairs from the terrace towards our table. Etienne and I are now standing as she approaches with measured, liquid grace. She seems to inhabit her body with joy and gratitude, as if to say quelle merveille que je suis ! There is nothing of the conceit of a woman who knows that others find her attractive, nor even a hint of narcissism.
Were it not for the way you move, even your most minute gestures, how could I reveal the luminous secret of your soul? Your chords are strung tight and everything in you moves upright. Your body is the instrument through which the music of creation flows.
-Excerpt from my novella "Royalty, Thy Name is Woman"