The Dream Journey

Once upon a time on another world wandered a woman with a special story to tell. The earth had split apart and had folded over on itself so that where the sky was, there were now the great seas and continents and the place where the earth’s heart had rested now held a smaller heaven. There was no longer day and night nor Summer and Winter but a constant coolness and an eternal lilac coloured dusk.

Near a deserted plain on the edge of a great lake lived a small dark skinned woman with green eyes. Her home was a cave cut into a high ledge that looked over the lake. At the time of the great split many lives had been lost. There were great distances between the tribes. The bird tribes were few as were the animals large and small. Human folk were even less in numbers. 

Anael’s survival depended upon her magik. Her ability to listen to the land and speak with the other tribes kept her alive. Her closest friend was a small black female elephant whose name was K'uumba. Daily Anael would climb on k’uumba's back and together they would roam the lands and forests in search of food and assisting folk who were hurting or longing for the world as it was. On these journeys she would also search for bones. K’uumba helped her pull them from the sands and carry them in her trunk back to the cave. In the bones Anael had seen the ability to piece back together the lost memories of the tribes. Some bones had become stone and some were so old they had become clear and sang soft melodies to her when held in her hand. The bones were sacred to her.

Back at her cave she kept them wrapped in soft skins and each night she added one to the great sculpture they had become. With every fourteenth bone she placed she held her hands high and sang. Her songs were sometimes soft and sometimes harsh. They were sweet songs and songs of anger. Songs of longing and songs of grief. The warmth from her fire changed the colour of the bones and many changed shape in their longing to join with their neighbours.

Anael watched and felt it would not be too long before her sculpture returned new life to the tribes by itself becoming alive.

Tree Birth

I was walking in a wood where ancient beings stood.

They were tall and twisted

and in the shade they cast

lay a well worn path.

In amongst the roots an old woman stood

Bent and gnarled and reeking of wisdom.

Her head to the side with little expressio

She beckoned me to an unknown vision.

I followed her, there was no choice

For in her eyes I heard my grandmother’s voice.

Through a curved doorway to an underground tunnel

I followed her, fearless and trusting her cunning.

The walls and the ceiling were old cold stone

And the passage twisted down like the old woman’s bones.

Deeper down the air got heavy. The dark became darker

And there was no feeling

The only sensation was that of being.

I came to a cavern with just a glimmer

Of light from the floor where phosphorescent water gently shimmered.

I stepped across the pool and placed my hands on the wall

And deep in my blood I heard a silent call.

My fingers felt the thick old roots of the trees above

And I melted like water and like sap I was sucked

Up into her veins and was held in her trunk.

I was held so tightly, no desire to move

I felt absolutely nothing. There was nothing to do.

Then I heard her sighing and her gentle breathing

I was pushed slightly higher with a subtle squeezing.

In her side was a large gnarled knot

I could feel the wind and the sun was hot.

A voice said “whenever you’re ready” and the time had come

To step back in the world.

Feet first, one at a time, through the hole in her side

I was birthed again on a new tide.

I turned to face the ancient tree

She was gone. The air was clear.

The old woman of the trees knows the secrets

She cries no tears she simply teaches.

Touch her, let her take you

Only then will she wake you.