Blessings of Grace

The bad guys from movies when I was young,

are no longer the enemies I thought would last

allowing me to recognize when evil stung,

and which coat good always wore in the past.

A story every one of us has;

and what makes them good or bad

seems to have more to do

with the lenses that most of us look through

and the masks that those lenses see,

covering the truth of the ember glowing free,

deep inside each of these forms,

just waiting for air and the breath of storms

to waken the flames

that were put to sleep by shame.

You see, we've each been tricked to believe

that there were certain things we needed to achieve,

that our story would look a particular way

and we'd have to mold ourselves as though from clay.

So, we took the initiative

and in our own unique journey

we performed heroic deeds,

carrying the tension of an age

struggling to fit into the box assigned to us,

and doing work that would be seen as nightmarish

by any sane race of beings looking on.

We just slipped into it.

No-one's fault.

No-one's plan.

Just a path to follow,

that led to bills being paid,

insurance documents made

and form after form being filled,

while elders were sent to care homes with little care

and youngers sent to schools that schooled in despair.

So, whether we tend to chickens and give them food,

ensure the hair of strangers is well shampooed,

blow up rock to build tunnels of stone,

or tend to children and clean a home,

we've been courageous and bold,

like the heroines and heroes of old.

We've been on the long journey into the wild,

played the roles of warrior and abandoned child.

And perhaps what we long for now,

is to be received back into the tribe,

by our brothers and sisters,

grandmothers and grandfathers...

greeted with cheers

and honored for the years

spent on the journey back

from our own personal wilderness,

parched and fatigued by the long, lonely trials,

where we stood facing roads of a thousand miles,

without support or gentle hand

of a friend who could truly understand.

Our sisters would welcome us with open arms,

our brothers carry us into sanctuary's balm,

grandfathers sing to us in tones rich and deep,

while grandmothers tend to our wounds

and inner hurts they meet;

then bound with cousin's armor and sword,

and tools to meet life's chasms and fords...

We step over the threshold of youth's innocent hearth,

to our true home's form,

where community's culture embraces our vibe

and the way of making life's tools, elders describe,

and how to use them to protect what you love

and truly listen to the spirits from above.

You walk from the forge with tool in hand,

carved and bound with silver bands,

engraved with symbols of meaning to you;

animal friends to whom veneration's due,

totems and images of sages old and wise,

who, from the beginning of time freely gave their advice,

guiding kindly with lights for the way

in places where all we could do was to pray.

And now they adorn a weapon of a Goddess,

built by Gods and by angels blessed,

our brand in all its glory shining bright,

to show the way in the dark blue of night.

Our friends lead us to the rich warmth of fire,

where circles of family have formed a choir,

so that we may be blessed and honored in rite

through dances and moves that deepen our sight.

Soon the whole tribe in unison is stepping

each harmonious movement a personal blessing,

and songs that gather the voices within,

sing the sacred sound reminding us where we begin.

May we all brandish the sword of our spine

and may our swords sing from our ancestral line,

so that our brand shines out for the collective to see

the medicine we hold and give freely,

because that is what we love;

because that is what we were built for.

We may never experience this homecoming in the way I described.

But, for what it's worth,

I greet your return from underworld's thorn-filled road,

and with one look from my eyes to yours,

acknowledge the pain, the tiredness, the grief and the rage,

and bow my head to your soul's own courage and determination.

And with resting my hand on your shoulder,

I honor the gifts you bring to the village,

and the voice you sing with.

Teach me your song, so that we may sing

around that village fire one day,

and dance to the drum's rhythm, steady and deep.