With patient mind, with knowing hand,
A child “Born To Be” becomes.
Learning the lesson of the Energies,
I open myself and welcome the Lover, the Priest, the Child.
The Lover, yesteryear’s depressive sacrifice lost,
Borne under icy harbor bay,
Assumes the role of memory.
Next, the Priest, a strong, proud Grandier,
Like Prometheus, bound to fleshy rock,
Once again, a whipping boy for pain.
Last comes the Child, seeking its twin,
A “Born From” to cherish for eternities.
I accustom myself to teachings and to skills,
By Tradition test, found true.
Soon after, as history will recount, a death draws near.
A life stored in shining metal melts,
Mixing with others long before gone.
East and West meet North to mourn.
The one carrying three, this me, inheritor of South,
Calls forth a Protector, Historian and Judges Circle,
Thus, begins the beginning, as I was taught.
With knowledge and faith we walk,
Blades of grass fall, the path starts here.
Striding forward into the gray, avoiding traps along the way,
I bend and pocket two smooth stones, one blue, one green.
Their weight familiar, their nature, prophesy and challenge.
After a fair journey, my woman companion, guard and mate,
Points to a meadow and guides my eyes to focus on a figure.
Sick, so weak, I see a changeling child.
As I watch, she whispers, “This is for you, if you choose”.
Bewitching words, which in future time, will seal our fate.
Moving to the child, I hesitate,
Was child, now man, he plays with death and madness.
For in this lush green grassy land,
The dust and streams are a poison that mind signals “sweet”.
The judges stand and wait, observers to a meeting.
Hands touch, then a sudden sweating,
A scream outside and within me.
The sound and feeling of an epiphany
Truth realized, the Child’s twin is found.
Still too young to remember an age before.
The moments of red, the running,
Now rising, now falling, then falling once again.
Frightening enclosure, he pushes out to freedom, yet,
His last breath soon comes, a smothered one,
Last hearing, a mother’s mouthing vengeful discord.
A story, once foretold, cannot be denied.
All circles meet to remember and to side,
While “Born To Be” and “Born From” join
And history’s men of memory, to this bond, bear witness.
Once done, two stones of green and blue are tossed,
A secret lake ripples circles.
Small waves murmur toward the shore.
Reading the lake, the Protector, talks the tale --
The Teacher’s twin is cursed,
His spirit floated among the after elements.
There, from my past, a Raven flew.
Angry, envious brother bird.
Pushed and wounded, with ancient phrase,
A weakness onto the elemental twin.
No guardian to warn of enchantment words,
No other half to take the pain.
My fault, I cried, and all with ease agreed.
The circle took my Name, then broke.
The Storyteller reassigned.
My mate, too loyal, this protectress,
Once warm, lies cold,
No more ally, she for me.
The twin who fed from twin,
Now filled with birds blood
Hides himself from me.
I rage, I despair, I retreat.
As I had taken from my Raven,
So my Raven has taken from me.
Parson, preacher, shaman, priest,
Magician, mentor, mage,
The Teacher, embodying all,
Through solemn solitude, soon again, me.