Triduum - 3

Note: I am posting these early so that you can share them with friends as you wish. I did this on another site lart year, and people complained they had no time to think and share. The story offered today has been published in five lanquages to my knowledge. It is also in my book "In Retreat."

Despite the lateness of my final rest I was up before sunrise -- off to the fountain to catch the first reflected rays of God-shine and bath my face in the tinkling waters. What! Rafael is there before me, having drained and cleaned the fountain, now mostly refilled. "After the basin ceremony," he whispered in his delightful accent; "you never know who might climb into this pool!" The he rushed of to place fresh flowers in many pots and I had time for another whistling stroll before first prayers.

After two more presentations and pleasant meals with a mixture of new acquaintances, I had time for a brief nap and meditation -- I thought. Jumbled thoughts about the washing and the fountain caused me to write once again.

The Basin

My name is Andropos. I am tutor to the children of a certain innkeeper that I shall not betray, nor is the name I share one by which you can find me. I am also my Master's friend and confidant and would not betray any trust, even if not asked. In this case I was warned, but I wonder to what avail -- considering what happened. Anyway, I would tell you a marvelous little story.

The group came to the great room in bunches of twos and threes, not silently or exactly in stealth, but obviously wary of attracting attention. Only I noticed from the shadows. They sat about on cushions around a number of low tables and chatted amiably in semi-whispered tones. Then the leader came, though he was not announced or escorted in any special way. He embraced the twelve friends gathered there and bade them sit. Many were obviously weary and had already removed their sandals.

And amazing spectacle unfolded there!

Though I could not follow the words, they commanded close attention and respect from those present. The man stripped himself save a large towel. He took up a basin and pitcher of water from the corner and began to wash the very feet of his friends. Even I, in times worse than this, have never lowered myself thus. Nor would I be comfortable in having a teacher or Rabbi wash my feet, though I have many things in my life I wish could be washed away. The bathing and massaging took some time as it was accompanied by gentle words and stories. There was great joy there, but also a sadness I could not grasp.

As I had been instructed, I took in platters of bread, wine, fruit and dried fish -- hardly a feast for this noble group. A simple, everyday repast. I took away the basin and cloth. I would have discarded that little remaining water, but something stayed my hand. It sat instead by my bed throughout the night.
In the morning, while the crowds were away at big doings at the palace, I went out to the edge of the fields near the great olive trees and gathered up some soil. I do not know what had grown there before but all of this humus contained mixed seeds of grain and wild flowers. Spring always provided a few surprises here! I packed the soil into the basin and placed it in a protected spot with some morning sun, cushioned by the bundled towel.

Eventually there grew up a central fern of I type I have not known. Its fronds were sturdy enough to protect the buds beneath from blistering noonday rays and the occasional torrent of rain. Its spread was gentle enough to gather in the morning mist and dew even on the most parched of days to provide soft moisture to its companion flowers. There grew up slowly a variety of bloomed crowns, each of unique form and color. Eleven there were, and they brightened my day, withered away, and were born again each year. They may be there still.

There was a twelfth bloom also, different from the rest. Pale yellow it was -- a single waving, smiling blossom with a center never quite revealed. It stood close by the center stalk, slightly away from the other communal bunch.

It never, ever died away!