The Knitting Journeyman

Gathering Up One Thread At A Time As I Weave This Web Of Mine.....

Wednesday, May 6, 2009

Spirit Journey

I am going to make a Spirit Doll. I need to make something for me. I need to gather up my strength and my courage and bind it in place so that it will best serve me.
I cannot buy this guide. I cannot allow someone else to replicate it for me. It must come from my own heart and from my own hands.
How can I accomplish this task? I am of the Older Set, where things come into being when their time is right, not when any other thing says, yes, the time is good to do this thing. The time is ripe right now for me to do this thing myself. Even as the Moon does grow full, and others will have me say that, yes, this is the right time of the Moon to take this Journey and make this Thing. It is simply not so for me. My own time is now to do this thing, no matter where the Moon in Her sky.
I gather my tools. How can this be? I take a long hot shower, cleansing and purging body and soul, clearing my mind with thoughts of patience and joy. I wear clean clothes, my colours, off-white and denim blue. I amass my hair and twirl it into a knot, holding it in place with two sticks someone else painted for my enjoyment. Dancing girls, the geisha, in my hair today. I find myself putting on my formal wear, my jewelry, at throat and wrist and hand. Everything else is already prepared.
I gather my breath, centering myself, steady and sure of what I am going, where I must go. I set off, shutting the door behind me, leaving the string out that I might re-enter when the time arrives.
Down the walk, past the flowers. My head-cold no longer a bother to me. I can smell the rose, the lily, the hawthorn tree standing next to me. I stop at my drive, again taking air in deep, seeking to know which way on the map in my heart I should turn, which way should I go.
One foot in front of the other, my Journey has started. I no longer see the crushed gravel. No longer hear the airplanes whirring overhead. No longer feel the energy tingling through the power lines. I can See. I have far to go.
Walking. Into the clouds. Through the dust. Beside the Great River, swollen and muddy, straining under Her heavy load of loam and crust. My feet enjoy the change beneath them, from packed solid dirt aching with the heat of the day to the cool smooth unsolid soil giving way at each step.
I hear the Voices. The Voices, my Ancestors. Calling to me. Cawing. Instructing. Pulling me on. Urging me. I am one with Them. Allowed, permitted, requested into Their Territory.
I take one step in, in too deep, and I am gone, to the Place Above, Beyond the Land. I am on Wing, singing through the skies, amazed by the depths of my sight, the raven song in my ears, bursting from my throat. I am Called. I am Beckoned. I respond, with glee. I arrive, at the Great Fire, where we all settle in and offer up our exchanges.
There is smoke in my eyes. Tears falling down. Hearts breaking. A rock pounded by a hammer until it breaks in two. I am shown the jewels I have hidden within. The Emerald reaches out to Speak, to Touch me, to Hold my hand. I am too weak. Others gather near to me, cushioning me, holding me, supporting me. I cannot back down. This is my Gift. I am to accept it. It is mine to keep.
I bow my head. After all this has long been the one thing I seek. I accept. Gracious and quiet. A humble child unable to speak. There are kisses, so light on my cheek. I am the Brave One. There is no deceit.
I find myself back on my Path. Walking my way home, back to the street, back to my life. I must not show up alone. For now, the Spirit Walks with me. The one I am to use. The one I created for my own special self, of my own special self.
I gather with me the twigs, the moss, the stones, things fallen there at my feet. I pick them up, one by one, and tuck them into my pockets.
Back inside my home. I pull the string and the door opens wide. I am in. Assembly begins.
The rocking. The rolling. Manipulating the skin, the face. Painting. Imbibing. Allowing. So well-endowed with the Mysteries. My Sight parting and my eyes opening.
There on the table before me, sitting in regal glory, sits the song of my heart, my Raven Queen.