Moon Bard, December

Dec 20th, 2014 | By | Category: Articles, Martin Pallot
Bone Caves looking out

view from the bone cave, c. Elen Sentier

 

December … A winter tale from the Northern lands …. telling how the shaman must journey to the other realms, to retrieve the sun from the celestial stag.

 

 

 

 

 

WINTER JOURNEY.

In the frozen heart of winter,
A shaman stares into a fire,
Calling to her allies
There is a journey she must go.

Her drum, sings its song
To the spirit realm,
Echoing the heartbeat
Of the mother bear,
Calls to her in the dreamtime
Of the winter world.
Calls her sister
To come and help her
Light the world awake.

There is a presence in the smoke,
The shaman senses.
Lets her own spirit drift towards
The shifting shape of white,
There is a moment held,
Then the two worlds blur,
And she and she are one.

Then the bear is gone.
And though she drums,
The shaman journeys too.
She runs across the ice
Wrapped in whiteness
Through the wail of winter
To the cave of the north wind,
And the darkness at the root
Of all beginning.

The time passes beneath her paws,
Until a dot of blackness
Appears on her minds eye,
Which grows into a looming cavern,
Bleeding out the whiteness
And the sky, disappearing to
A void of primal vastness,
Wherein the demons of her race
Might lie.

Bear woman stops.
Pacing on the white edge
Of creation.
She and she are seeking
The gift of entry,
From the spirit beings
Dwelling in this place.

Eyes which see for miles
Across the blinding glare
Of snow, become aware
Of a faint glinting glow
Which seems to beckon;
And in a thought, they leap
Across the edge.

Into a vastly empty space;
A giant wind tears at their spirits,
Howling,
Tries to tear she and she apart.
They are a pinhead of light
In the empty blackness
But it is the glint
In the eye of a star,
For she and she are,
One.
The bear runs the gauntlet
Of creations chaos
Fire and ice
The white hot
Freezing flame
Of first forming.
She runs as if still,
Across the face of time,
Her footsteps leaping
Light years
In the void.

After mere moments
Of millennia,
The gleam that drew them in
Resolves itself around
The entrance of a cave,
And once again,
She and she are standing
On the edge of all that is.

The she and she bear
Shakes the shape
Back in her fur,
And begins
To walk across a frozen waste,
Towards the west
To where the sun waits,
Balanced on the world edge.

As she walks,
There comes a distant call,
The belling of a stag,
Challenging her presence.
And from the sun,
There comes a figure,
A twelve tine antlered
Red furred form,
Who, in the blazing brilliance
Seems to shimmer shape
From beast to man
And back again.
Ploughing the snow
Into blizzards with his antlers.
Shaking the earth with his hooves
As he charges.

She and she stop.
And from a distance,
Vast as imagining,
The sound of drumming
Grows upon the air.

The great wanderer
Pounds the ground with her paws
To bring the drumming out
Into this world,
The ice shakes and shudders
With the sound;
Then she and she rise,
And send forth
The avalanche of her voice
Across the snow.

The world cracks open
Like an egg,

And once more fire and ice
Flow out in maelstroms
Of creation.

And through the swirling
Fiery, formlessness of
Shape making,
There falls
A glim of light,
Star like,
A small, white, shape,
Called home,
By the beating of a drum.

An aeon, passes
In a moment.

The shaman wakes
To this world once again,
The echoes of her drum
Surround her,
Giving solace and protection
Of mother bear.

On aching limbs,
She stumbles out upon the snow,
And in the east,
She sees the first
Faint gleamings
Of the new born sun,
Balanced on the world edge.
Which tells the end
Of winters hold

And shaped within
The arc of golden glow,
A bear stands,
Watching her.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Bright Blessings
Martin.

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