Armenian woman

An Armenian woman is a treasure above all treasures.

I have no words for this miracle. The magic of the whole country sleeps in her. All the mountains, rivers, plains, forests, fields, orchards - all what is fruitfull - is also somehow in the every armenian woman; every woman is the very spirit of this land. 

She is like a doe. Wild in the sense that she cannot be broken or catched in a cage; if you try, you will fail. You have to take her whole as she is. You must accept her wildness. She remains wild; even if she prepares you food.

At the same time, she is loyal to her tradition, her country, her mother and her father. She is rooted in the land and her ancestors, she leans on them. This gives her peace of mind. She is wild and calm. Her stream is coming from very old times, but her eyes are fresh and big. They remember the dawn of Babylon with its banqueting halls and all the tricks and games of the court. It was just a kindergarten for her. She gets all the wisdom from her mother's milk.

Her childish cuteness turns quickly into a deep seriousness related to the emotional wisdom of ancient times and it turns quickly back to the pure joy of the moment as only the children can.

She knows how to move, how to walk; she is noble. When she walks, you can roll a royal carpet under her feet. Flowers could spring under her very step.

She is proud as the lioness. If you attack those she loves, she will destroy you. Her power serves to the sacred life. If you stay in her way, you will soon learn your lesson.

She wears a serious and proud mask. Beyond she sensitively feels all waves around. But she doesnt shows anything; if she doesn't want to. However, in any time she can quickly drop her noble mask and to start a pillow battle or to jump into the water to play and scream. Only dance, ballet and music can express this nobility, seriousness, sudden spontaneity, richness of feeling and childlike freshness.

She is also a beast. The very godness Lilith can learn how to sharpen her claws and teeths from armenian woman.

She is also wise and educated, intellectually agile, with refined manners. But she is also simple and proud. She never sell herself below her diginity. You cannot buy her. You cannot corrupt her. She is royal. And she is royal even if she is poor. She is honor and loyal. She has a proud heart and even in the poverty she is beautiful, even the most beautiful. Even if her hands are dirty because of too much work, even if her face is shaped by too much wind and sun, she is honest and proud of her parents and her country, and she will share with you the very last food she had, because you might be a stranger traveling to the old holy land and a guest send by God.

And God's land cannot stop to give her gifts, her treasures, her gold growing on the trees, her sun-blessed sweetness that still drops from this hardly suffered land. And her sweetness and beauty is the real one, because it went through so many sufferings. She found her way even through the rocks and the desert. She walked over the most difficult path and now rests in sweetness and beauty.

So the Life makes its way again and again through every tree, flower and woman in this blessed land. It grows in wine, streams in fountains, sweetens on the tongue, trembles in gardens full of fruit and shines in black eyes. 

Life fruits and dies. Overflows and falls away. Becomes heavy and goldens. Drops and warms. Separates and connects.

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The armenian woman is the body of the Earth clothed in nobility.

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I saw Her in the temple on her knees in a deep prayer. Some priest came to her and they exchanged few words silently. She was tall, with black hair down to her back. She fliped her hair from one shoulder to the other when she was leaving the the church. Once and for second time. For who it was intended?

For the God or the Devil? Would Zorba the Greek will ask. 

(Probably for her husband).

Life is a sacred moment.

And can be contained in one flipping of the hair.

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