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| Passage by � moon_grace My benefactors are unsung. Fragile bodies with strong souls have trod before my plow and kept my rows straight. They have brought good harvest as long as I have been able to pull on thick boots and with unafraid heart walk paths they forged before me. My fear was this, It is my life and I have harbored horror seeing that others might live it, Leaving me depleted by the wayside like a friend who is used up with nothing left to give. My rescue, my grace came from stout hearts shrouded in cocoons that bound their youth beyond an earthly plane. Like the splendor of steel forged in the blacksmith's fire, they foundered me. These lullaby clouds of innocence break my fall and wrap me in the safety of who I am within. Their silent tide ebbs me back to my source. My humanity. I have been an old man's rose and if my thorns stung, he would nimbly pluck them from his heart and lure me to the beauty and integrity of the bloom. I loved him. In his garden, he raised me, along with other soulful seedlings. But if I have loved him, I have loved my mothers more. These quiet stately beings who gave me the gift of nurturing unashamedly, purposely; first for my own soul, Then they taught the meticulous art of spinning and weaving a line to others so that the legacy of healing would ever continue onward. These have been my all but silent mammoths of humanity whose songs slid effortlessly over the wind ever long after their passing. Perseverance came from an aged soul who walked me up the mountains. With her Indian charms, she needed to give me her magic. I lagged behind as brittle bones danced across the creeks and through the weeds. "This place is called Dark Hollow," she sang. "Do not look back. Intreat yourself to move quickly. Hear the stories of my pain here. Bind your soul over to rememberance of them. Now look into these eyes." "I see only my reflection." "Then you have learned. To continue a journey through fear and pain will always carry you inward to the heart's beating source that glows in the eyes of all. I have mastered my fear. My triumphant reflections will be yours as you take your own way." She was the first mother who nurtured not the infant body, but the neonate spirit. My second mother was harsh. Her strength pumped the blacksmith's bellows with durable and mighty hands that fueled the fire I crossed. Thankful for the heat that singed me, it was the blazing crackle of her fire that melted fears that my life might not be my own. She championed first my tragedies as she hammered me in her flame. Then she gladly bestowed her hardened strength as she plunged me into the icy rivers. When the apprenticeship was ended, I had mastered the craft of purposely handing over small portions of my life And yet keep a rainbowed ribbon bound tightly around the steel of my soul. If I am to be who I am it is because these ancient beings molded me by the reflection of their image That now mingles solid with the shadows that I cast upon the ground. moon_grace. |
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