Tuesday, December 13, 2005

Back from Beyond the Gates

I filled my lungs with the scent-rich air of the bay. The smell of the sea, and the conversations between seals on the waves and sea lions steaming on the docks. The sails of crafts, large and small, drew my eyes to the eternhal sea.

I am still in an unplanned Journey Within my Soul, forced by lack of means of communication with the outside world.

I am now poised on the edge of a step I must take alone. No friend can walk with me on the Road I Travel, Familly cannot hold my hand for this. I must stand alone, yet surrounded by the understanding I have gleaned in this lifetime.

Too many disagree with the existence of magic. Myself, I have seen such glorious things, and heard tiny miracles occur. I am sure that magic is everywhere, if you just look.

I have seen people live thier lives in joyous service to their chosen Deity, and others rise beyond their weaknesses to grow as people. I have seen others sacrifice everything for 'love', and come away immeasurably wealthy. I have stood in my Solitary's Circle and watched the Bonds Between the Stars glimmer into focus as the Full Mother-Moon caressed me in silver. I have seen bald eagles, more than a dozen, gather in one clearing, harkening for one to tarry in Rivendell a little longer.

I have heard new-born babies, human and animal take their first breath, then cry out, "I am here!! I live!!!" I have been soothed to my centre by the sound of a cat's purr, or simply the sound of the wind, getting caught in the evergreens and hardwoods. On the side of the road, waiting for the day, I have begged the night never end as I listened to wolves sing their wild songs.

I have worked, studied, and sacrificed so much to reach this point in my Sprit's growth. Now is the moment, glowing with the future's promises; pregnant with the wisdom of the past, and empowered by my sorrows. I stand before The Gods, to take up my Aegis and Honour.

I wrote the following poem to mark the time of acceptance:



There, at wide-flung gates;
The Portal to her sweet soul
Her recent emptiness
Is heaviest, unbearable
The growing clamours'
Voice is both strident
And demanding.

The pain always remains,
A torturously constant wraith;
Clawing at her needed calm.
The aching strident voice
Of her coming mortality.
The farewell to her flesh
And a sweet, brief life.

There is an eyeblink for her
Epiphany of burning lucidity;
Knowing oh so much,
Yet too much still unknown.
A fondly remembered rhythm
That has no sound is sensed.

Her familiar hastens home
No more a Guardian,
Become her Shewitt-partner.
A rightly trusted advisor,
And dearest of friends.
Her beloved dragon returns,
Crooning sweet reunion.

Impatient to be filled
And know fulfillment.
Ready at last, to be able
To give proud claim to
Her Birthright and rôle.
She will be Shamanne.

Now, she waits again,
For the coming of Balance.
Her Hoped-for Shaman;
The Bringer of Male Powers.
Glorious in His wisdom,
And generous passions.
He seems almost Mythic to Her.

She knows of Partnering,
The bond between two spirits,
Union evoking such power
And creating their lucid light.
This be what she seeks,
Promises meant to be
Offered and fulfilled.

And so she always dances
Spirit Calling out to Him,
In the only honest style
No other way is possible
For Women of Her Station.
He is stubbornly never Named
Always kept carefully Faceless.

She knows she may not call
Him by a given name.
That is not how she may
Make this Magyck be done.
He is called only by the words
‘My One True Soulmate’
This is her driving need.

Still she seeks Him out,
With all her heart-courage,
Her bright spirit’s power,
And a hard-won wisdom.
Her passion calling out
And hoping for an answer
But ever hearing queries.
Soon naught remains but disunion.

No more does she consciously seek.
Her Dreams of Tomorrow are lying,
Beaten, wearily sad, and dying.
She does not wish to fight.
Is this to be her grim reality?
Ever knowing apartness and
This aloneness of her Spirit.

She knows now, there are
None who would seek
Her favours in her bower.
Claim her as His spirit’s own.
So she turns herself inward
Where the silence reigns.

Now she remains here,
Millennia seem to pass by,
Time remaining unaware.
A lonely fly, trapped
In stifling amber.
She is not truly alive,
Nor yet is she dead.

A bright golden bubble,
Lit by promises of hope.
The sleeping air stirs
And now is scented
Sweetly rich and fecund;
Evoking the Sweet Mother;
Callèd The Close Goddess.

Floating but earthbound,
She is somewhere far above
Crushed between awareness
Of the constant enemy-pain,
And grinding sense of Lostness.
The silent old melancholy returns
And brings a sense of emptiness.

Everything she thought she was,
Burned away by the crucible.
She is like the piñata, a husk,
Ready to be filled with goodies.
Looking like a treasured lamp,
That is polished clean, then lit,
And so is she now alight.

Forced into impatient waiting.

I know know who I am meant to stand for. I have always known it, without grasping it at all.

I am The Spirit of Man, Thoth-Crowley's Queen of Wands: the one who has known sorrow, pain, and loneliness, she has learned from her suffering. The unnecessary has been burned away

In love, and tenderness I choose to reach to those spirits I am meant to touch; do what I can to open their eyes and spirits.
God and Goddess bless,and Namaste,
H. R. H. Gwen Guin

Shamanne and Healer to The Amazon Queene


At 9:31 PM, Blogger Anita Marie Moscoso said...

This is perfect for Duwamish.

Thank you for bringing it home.


At 8:23 PM, Blogger Lois said...

A very powerfull piece of writing Gwen...it rests now in Duwamish.
Lois (Muse of the Sea)


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