Caelia and Mirelda: Veil Four
The Arch of Liminal Grace
Caelia and Mirelda: The Book of Thresholds is a contemplative companion to The Sky-Veil—a series of symbolic veils rather than chapters, where Caelia bears the silent banner and Mirelda holds the glowing chalice. These are not steps in a journey, but moments of return.
The path did not widen, but the world around it deepened.
Sky no longer stretched above as mere expanse—it arched, softly glowing, like a veil drawn taut with meaning. The terrain ahead shimmered with a quiet intensity, as if it remembered something the pilgrim had not yet discovered.
I saw it before I understood it:
A single arch, rising from the ridge ahead, carved of no earthly stone. Its surface shimmered not with reflection, but with invitation. Light passed through it, not around it. The arch stood alone, yet it belonged to everything.
The Arch of Liminal Grace.
I did not know how I knew the name. But it struck me as something I had once been told in a dream and forgotten upon waking.
I slowed.
This was no test of strength. No enemy blocked the way. The arch offered no resistance. It simply stood—silent, patient, immutable.
It asked not if I would pass through, but who.
I felt it immediately—the quiet unraveling.
The banner I bore within began to stir. The memory of Caelia’s stillness and Mirelda’s pool glowed gently at the edges of my soul, as if to say: This is why we showed you.
I approached.
And in that approach, the goddesses stirred again.
Aphrodite rose in the breeze—not as figure, but as fragrance. The air carried the ache of beauty too full to hold, as if creation itself longed to be seen for what it was. She whispered not love, but the courage to be pierced by it.
Athena stood within the arch—not visibly, but as symmetry. The proportions of the structure sang her wisdom. The clarity of purpose, the alignment of form and path. She did not speak. She structured the moment.
Hera crowned the arch unseen. The apex bore no emblem, but it radiated sovereignty—not over others, but over the self. Her majesty was the silence that demands dignity from all who enter.
I stood at the threshold.
I did not feel worthy.
But worthiness was not asked. Only truth.
And truth required not achievement, but surrender.
I stepped forward.
No light flashed. No wind roared. The arch did not tremble.
But something in me did.
I felt it as I passed beneath: a veil fell away. Not from the world—from myself. A covering I did not know I wore, now lifted.
And the light beyond the arch was not brighter.
It was clearer.
I turned once, expecting perhaps to see Caelia or Mirelda watching.
They were not there.
But their presence echoed in the path, in the banner within, in the light on my face.
I had crossed.
I no longer carried what was given.
I had become it.
Enjoy “The Dawn of the Three (Canticle)” from my album Mythic Canticles.
Lyrics ©Walter Emerson Adams. Music and vocals by Suno ©Walter Emerson Adams. Visit my music site for more.
Pure Aphrodite, charm’s first light embrace As Dawn’s soft glow reveals the middle space What night once hid, the morning light makes clear Bright herald shine, your gift bestow now near O wise Athena, guardian bright and true Your courage, poise, the mortals look to you Through peace and justice, joy ascends the heights Be near to strengthen us with steady flight Majestic Hera, throne of royal might With dignity you herald clear and bright High crown, ascend where regal might still lies From hiding, raise the jewels before our eyes Their rivaled hearts dissolved in golden light No strife-torn judgment, no dark clash at night Now dawn reveals the harbingers in three Athena, Hera, reign with Aphrodite!