Here, then, is the Journey South, mostly as it occurred for me -
part poem, part prose, part whatever came:
I heard an Elven voice call
from the forest nearby.
"Lighthawk:
your Name, your Feather...
come sit with us scouts
in such inclement weather;
it does not dampen our greeting
nor distract our meeting;
come, Lighthawk, sit down."
The fire was small, bright, intense...
the mist heavy enough to be rain -
rolling off late autumn leaves
cloaked in the night
filling the senses with wetness
as if it had been lingering far too long
and was not choosing to depart;
the trees, a mix of pine and oak,
would shrug off the mist once in a while
scattering droplets about us and the fire...
otherwise, the trees huddled quietly
--part of the scouts' assembly--
waiting for the conversation to begin.
The fire was the only light
reflecting vaguely off matte leaves,
wet bark, rain-cloaks, and
the iridescent eyes of the Elven scouts.
They numbered somewhere from 5 to 7 --
at least that they allowed themselves
visible to my seeing.
The rain wasn't cold,
but its dampness and the night
lay about our shoulders, in soggy vigil.
The scouts then huddled about me
in guarded preparation for initiation...
so that the area transformed from dark and rainy
to misty rainy
to green, sunny summer
to seeing the summer vision with all its auric vibrancy.
The Elves shouted my Name and encouragement
the entire time...as if to support my birthing.
Shift
and sudden
the darkness lifts
dissipates
precipitates
into mist...
Shift
and sudden
the mist disappears
daylight
sunlight
summer is here!
Shift
and sudden
all the colors rearrange
intensify
electrify
and my world is changed.
"Come on, then,
there's work to do;
no time to linger
on being new.
You're one of us
-- a scout, you see --
your choice of shifting
has set you free."
Core of fire in my soul
Flames leap higher - no control -
Gently now, I loose the Weave,
Become my own, and so believe.
Hold the fire
in the palm of your hand
and see your hand in Hers;
Hold the power
and so understand
the Oneness that infers.
From South, the Child is rescued
and with the Child, the Gift...
such magic that was misconstrued
and locked in a psychic rift;
From South, the Elves created
a sacred Space of Light...
so balance was reinstated
and my spirit-self took flight.
Beside the fire, one Elf spoke soft,
"We've made you a Scout with us.
The Rite has been performed tonight,
for you were willing to trust.
Twas only to bring balance to
your true and magic self,
so you will prosper in our Crew --
an honorary Elf."