Memories of a Shaman

When the Earth was still young, 

we were already old, 

knowing beings in alien bodies. 

Have we been Gods - or demons? 

just timeless creatures from forgotten aeons... 

The wheels of our lives have turned a thousand times, 

like the cobwebs blown away by the wind, 

we were born, have lived in pain and in joy, 

we died, were reborn, awakened anew, 

Samurai, priestess, ancient woman, 

young and pretty or bent and gray. 

Do you remember, brother, 

how we both have sworn to become reborn together only, 

in a cave at the fireplace, 

clad in fur - think about your wishes, 

because they will be fulfilled. 

Dance with your sword, mother, 

stop to fight, because the blade is the mirror of the soul, 

turn round and see behind you shadows on Japanese rice paper. 

Do you remember, sister, 

how we have been running in the night in which our temples were burning? 

In our hair we felt the fiery sparks - that was the night when Atlantis drowned. 

Malta, beloved, do you feel how far we are away from the mothers house, 

where milk and honey flowed? 

Where I played with sacred serpents as a child, 

before the riders came to spill our blood. 

In the labyrinth on the island you were the bull, my father, 

last son of the Minoan World. 

I prophesied the volcanos eruption for you, 

together we have chosen to jump from its cliff. 

Don't forget, my love, what the Merlin told us: 

how we lived the legend of the Round Table - 

I, the Lady of the Lake, gave Excalibur into your hands, 

and you spoke the vow: the king be one with the land. 

But long since our footprints are erased from the sand... 

My daughter, born in the darkest of times, we were separated too early. 

The inquisition knew no love, no compassion, only the fire that burns mercilessly. 

The time has passed only for those who measure, 

and for sure we have never really forgotten: 

Past, Present and Future are three robes of the Goddess of the same patterns. 

Again, we're sitting in a circle, holding hands - 

there are no beginnings, and there are no ends. 

corrywynn 

PS: Somehow, I just like this poem from the Spirit Project (if it can be called a poem)