"The Wolf & The Moon" by BrunuhVille (https://youtu.be/HEf_xrgmuRI)
As her feet touched the sand, her walk as steady as she held
the steed’s reins as they both traveled on the expanse of the desert, she
understood that all is just falling and coming together as they should be. In the many moments that her tears fell, when
her Heart fell into silent and profound prayers, in the times she felt alone in
her journey, the wind would blow, caressing her skin and her soul. It was the sole reminder that the Universe is
still with her, inside her, constantly guiding her steps.
The heat seared through her cloak, but her resolve to reach
her destination had numbed her. She knew
it would be more days and nights before she reaches the Council, where all
shall be discussed and hopefully decided.
All sacrifices are accounted for.
All lives, great and small, who have given their own energy to usher in
the New Dawn, will be honored at the Great Circle. All deaths are replaced with new life, as
energy is never gone. Only transmuted,
created again and recreated again, and reborn into another form.
What joy it was to remember, in the days she felt exhaustion
and the disbelief of what had befallen her home, her Motherland, that all was
just as according to what was written.
She looked at her horse who also understood its own task,
smiled and offered a prayer of thanks for the magnificent creature that has
kept her company over the past weeks.
“I sing the song of the Goddess, She lives inside me. I sing the song of the Goddess, and heal and
heal and heal,” she whispered as she walked and rode through the desert. Her eyes ever on the distant horizon, but her
feet as careful as the hooves of the horse trudging beside her.
When the time struck midday, she stopped and looked around
her, looking for any sign of life. All
she saw was a small stone several feet away.
She picked it up and felt its imprints on her palms. She closed her eyes.
‘Rocks and stones tell
stories for they survive time. They may
turn to grains of sand and dust, and become rocks and stones again.’
“Tell my story to the stones, tell my story to the rocks,
and my stories will survive the Ages, my stories will be heard again and again, and so children will listen, children will learn, stories I carry, stories on the stones.” She
sang as she laid her things on the ground.
She ran her hand across the white steed, a time of rest is in order.
She unwrapped a blanket, unfastened her cloak and bared her
shoulders under the heat of the sun.
“I am daughter of the Sun, the Moon and the Stars, and of
the Heavenly Bodies. I am Here and I am
Now. I am Time and endless, and I am
anchored on this Earth, I reach the Heavens.
My feet are my roots, my arms are my branches, the Tree of Life, Goddesses
and Gods eternal. My song is my life, my
life is my prayer. I am! I am!”
She knelt and held the stone between her hands, then she closed
her eyes. Her horse knelt near her
blanket, and waited.
A time of rest is at hand.
She started with her Heart.
A soft touch of pink that suddenly burst inside her. And then as quickly as the wind can go, she
saw her body encapsulated in pale, comforting colors. Bright but not blinding, strong and yet
gentle.
She felt her Heart reach down, as her legs took solid form,
and her feet became roots, then downward, downward they went. Her Heart opened up and an energy burst
again, upward, upward. She saw branches
and leaves grow.
“I am daughter of the Sun, and the Moon and the Stars, and
of the Heavenly Bodies. I am anchored to
the Mother and the Father, the Goddesses and the Gods, and I am in balance, I
am in between. I am beautiful and ugly,
strong and frail, I am balance personified.
I move and grow, and I die and I am reborn in grace.”
She felt her body harden.
And then she felt the wind.
‘Sing your song, sing
it long. You are the Tree of Life. Sing
your song, sing it strong. You are the Gift of Life.’
The pain and the exhaustion, the confusion and anger, she
purposely shot down and out of her sphere.
She grew more. The Tree that she
has imagined and has become became the many colors of crystal, brightening the
spot she knelt on.
“I anchor myself to the Mother, the Goddesses” she sang as
her roots reached the core of the Earth, warming her. “I anchor myself to the Father, the Gods” she
sang as her branches reached the heavens and into space, cooling her. “I am the Tree of Life, existing then and now
and forever.”
A time of rest is in order.
The wind blew from behind her, and then the tears fell. They were not hers, she knew. They were the tears of the people whom she
left behind, and those who are waiting for her, and those who are hurting and
in pain, those with hope and with courage.
The tears were not her tears.
And she allowed them to fall.
She closed her palms still holding the stone, allowed the
emotions to run through her.
“I honor you,” she called out. “I honor all of you, and your tears, and your
pain, and your anger. I honor your
sacrifice, and your chosen paths. I
honor your hopes, your dreams and your wishes.
I honor your courage and your lives.
Let me be of service as I release all that I could so that I may honor
myself too.”
The tree that she was grew, and grew. Then as best as she could, she remembered all
the people she has come across with, her family, her fellow warriors, her
friends, her spirit guides, her animal friends.
Into their hearts she sent the same pink energy that
emerged from her and connected them all to the Tree that was her, that was the
Universe. She allowed them to grow into
her and allowed them to grow on their own.
“It is not mine to bear alone,” she cried. “And so I give it back and bring it up to the
light, that all may be healed and sent on its way.”
The wind kept blowing gently. No longer was she in the desert but in a beautiful
garden and the Tree that glittered in pale, healing colors of blues, greens,
pinks and yellows, and all the other gentle hues that absorb the tears that
fell from her eyes. The sand turned into
the same colors, into soft crystals, and everything that she can see and imagine
and reach. She raised her vibration,
touching everything and everyone, and extending to all the souls she has, is
and will be connected with.
But a time of rest is necessary.
And so she continued to breathe, and kneel, in silence, and
allowed tears to fall. Her body was
regaining strength, her Spirit nourished once again.
From her mind’s eye, she saw the Tree of Life that she has
turned into during that moment of prayer she was having, and she knew, all is
as it should be. All is well.
She relished the moment for as long as she could, until she
felt she has cleansed the energies enough so that she may continue on her
journey. Then with the help of the wind
on her back, she started to fold the branches of the tree, started to retract
the roots, smaller and smaller the tree became until it turned into a pink seed
inside her Heart. She kept it there, and
she felt lighter.
She opened her eyes, and then opened her palms. The stone had a different feel to it
now. She smiled, then took a deep breath
as she looked into the horizon again.
“Almost there,” she looked at the horse which had its eyes
on her as well.
She stood up and gave it some water after drinking
herself. The white stallion was in all
fours again as she folded her blanket.
She gave it some food while she took a bite of bread. There was plenty more in her sack. She fastened her things up on the horse’s back
then told it to wait.
On the spot where she knelt, she dug a few inches and placed
the stone. Then she covered it with
sand. She wrote in ancient letters
across the sand with her fingers, humming, then with her right hand slowly
running above the writings, she closed her eyes. The sand writings were being erased without
her touching them.
“May it be so,” she whispered to the wind.
She stood up and
climbed up the horse, then nudged it so that it would start to run.
They were already miles away when the exact spot where
she placed the stone the sand stirred.
Then water slowly sipped through.
The sand turned into limestone then turned into clay then into fertile
soil. Brown and moist, the ground kept
stirring. Then a small little plant shot
out and then a wave of grass quickly grew around the area. The plant rose and became a tree from the
acacia family, and as the grass and more plants grew around the tree, a bed of
rocks rose from the earth near the tree and from there sprung water. Then out came insects and lizards, beetles and crawlers, and from the sky there came several birds which landed near the water to drink. This small haven in the middle of the desert
expanded for several thousands of feet or so, with the tree standing gloriously
for any traveler to see.
Underneath it all, the stone which she held in her palm in prayer, had served its purpose. It moved a little, then settled on the spot,
smoother and ready to tell the Young One’s tale.
‘Rocks and stones tell
stories for they survive time. They may
turn to grains of sand and dust, and become rocks and stones again.’
