Mother of Life - a painting and a story

Long time ago I created this painting.
(the full painting you see below - acrylic paint on canvas)

I believe it was around 1996. I had a dream of "Mother of Life" ... this is one of her stories ...

Like every year before, in March, the farmers in a small town called Little Lilly worked hard to prepare the soil. They planted the wheat with utmost care, as they knew, how valuable every little kernel is. Very careful and with much love they planted one after the other.

Their passion for farming was the only source of food. Little Lilly was (or still is ... no one knows for sure) a tiny village in a deep valley. The valley had the rounded star like form of a lilly. Around it, there were nothing but hills, only hills. Hills so high, that nobody in Little Lilly ever climbed to the peaks or even went further over the top. That risk seemed far to much for the village people.

Everything the farmers did, they did with love and passion. They would never use any fertiliser or modern technical stuff, that could bring danger to, or harm their little spot where they live. Of course, no sales man ever visited this place. No one brought that kind of poison to Little Lilly. Nobody living in the outside world ever took the risk to get over the high hills tops around the valley with the interest to sell anything. The village people missed nothing at all.

Summer came to early. It was still May, when the heat in the valley became unbearable. It got hotter and hotter. Since many days there was no rain. The wells dried out. The river changed to a small line of water, then the nice blue water disappeared completely. Where once the water of the river left the valley of Little Lilly, there was a small grotto. The grotto looked like a tiny black hole, that was carved into the bottom of the high, huge and mighty mountains.

The wheat in Little Lilly turned much to early from green to much brighter yellowish golden colours.

Still no clouds and no rain. The village people got together. They discussed what can be done but felt so lost. None of them ever remembered a similar situation. What to do?

Doubtless Abbi was the oldest person living in the village. Some thought, he might be even older than the old turtles, that live at the small river. "I remember my father telling me of Mother of Life, a wise woman. My father said, she lives since ages in the grotto at the end of the river. Nobody ever saw her." Abbi said.

Many of the inhabitants of Little Lilly listened to him, but were not sure about his story. They were far to polite to say something. Old people are very much respected in Little Lilly.

Jan and Carl, two young boys - actually twins - said: " We have to do something, we are about to lose all the wheat and what about the old turtles? We go! We go to the grotto and see if there is anybody. We will ask for help. We will find Mother!" The twins always spoke with one voice, strong and positive, so nobody of the group even thought of stopping them.

And there was hope again ... hope ... hope finally!

After a few hours walk through the valley, Jan and Carl reached the grotto. They felt cold air coming out of the grotto. The river that had flooded the grotto before, left some days ago. Not afraid of anything and full of hope they entered. Hope gave them strength. Hope pulled them like a magic string into the dark grotto.

At the far end of the darkness, there was a shimmery red light. It wasn't really a red. A magical coloured light. Between purple and red, somehow. Warm and welcoming. As they got closer and closer, the light changed to all kinds of swirls. The purple swirls formed a silhouette of a person. The swirly person seemed to be asleep. It looks like she was lying on a comfortable bed like carved rock.

"That must be Mother of Life!" The twins said with one voice. The twins voice combined was so intense, that the swirly person began to move. So good the twins went. All the other village people may have been far to polite to speak out that loud.

Finally the twins told Mother of Life about the heat and that all the water has gone. They told about the wheat and the turtles at the dried out river.

All the other village people were waiting on the field, when the twins returned with Mother of Life. It was hard for them to believe what they witnessed. Of course they were to polite to say something.

Mother of Life magically formed blue clouds above the valley and rain drops started to fall down on the dried field. The river filled again with water. The wells were restored.

Finally, yes ... finally, hope had turned into truth. Hope turned into reality although the village people never really put to much trust into old Abbi's story of the Mother of Life.

Oh ... I am thankful, they were to polite to say something, because hope has a fragile personality.

story and painting @anutu

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