The woman enlivens everything, envelops things in a song and seeks without cease the hidden threads of the net of life. Her secret lies here: in her permanent connection with the springs of life. Creature yet unaffected by the errors of intellectualism, she has a more powerful feeling of appreciation of each situation and thing, she has the certain intuition of the unchanging things.
How else would be explained the plenitude and ardor of her prayers? How would it be explained the cry lit by the rays of joy which often cross her face.
Anything she would do, the woman doesn’t play. She sees in the depth, she suffers and rejoices. The woman knows the true immortal flowers of life. Her lips distinguish the scents from the drought. That is why her walk is so steady when it comes to go on the path of her fruitfulness.
The woman, the true woman must not be sought in a plant or in military barracks, but in the church, in the house and in meadows. Lover, wife, mother, daughter or sister, the woman appears in our life as an urge to love and creation. Beyond the wanderings of the modern city we find her beautiful and comforting, sensing all the pure elevating signs of the human condition.
Excerpt from the `Recovery of the lost beauty`, Ernest Bernea, Preludes, Predania Publishing, 2011
