Dropped down from the sky… clutching my child,
I land in the midst of a village.
Great horses between the shaking, sweat-stained thighs of warriors.
Men, enraged by the turning of time, by stories held in immortal hands, Attacking villagers, pure, helpless, blameless –
Squeezed between the same corpulent fingers.
Held still as the swords, dripping scarlet, arched sweetly, relentlessly,
Against the brilliant azure that birthed me.
I was not one of them but yet I was spellbound by the battle.
I was dropped down from the sky.
Held fast to the bloody ground, by the unseen hand,
The leader of the warriors grabbed us, releasing me from the catanonia That was threatening and yet warmly enveloping my soul.
Pulling us onto his great horse as he rode by.
I clutched the silky mane with my left-hand, my daughter with my right,
Shocked into feeling once again.
His sword whistled around my head as the Warrior-king laid waste to the village.
“NO!” I cried.
Swinging down around the great horse’s neck.
I landed in the centre of the battle,
Feet planted like the sacred oak.
I – pulling my robe close around me.
I – my precious child tight to my chest.
I – heart beating protection around her.
One hand raised in the air.
The blessed words rain blood-red from my lips,
The powerful woman’s prayer
The prayer of generations
Words of wisdom and fury,
Words of passion and comfort,
Words that held the secret of all life,
Released in the bloody birth-water of new existence.
Enveloped in a swirling whirlpool of lavender-scented air,
It lifted us – raised us above the battle.
We floated in the sky
Watching the struggle as it raged below us.
I swept my hand down and across in front of me.
I pointed to the battle,
Commanding the lavender wind;
“Blow, blow upon the rage below.
The whirlwind split in two,
Spreading across the village,
The lavender scent wrapped its spring-like scent of birth
Oh lavender womb!
Cover these villagers and the warriors alike!
Blossomed hope in the hearts of the villagers,
And shame in the warriors’ breasts!
Stay this battle!
The battle was not stayed, not this time
But the sacred words gave promise
A beautiful, silver promise
That with each ensuing battle
Violence would lose its bitter hold earlier
Forgiveness would lie across the vanquished
And the victors would find mercy,
My daughter, suddenly no longer a child, but a glowing young woman, Moved away from me…
Still holding my hand but separated by time and space.
She did not notice the pungent scent
In her life she had only known the sweet breath
Slept in a lavender bed – its calm and strength were already hers.
She did not hear the words I had uttered
She did not need to.
They had whispered in her ears
Each golden day
Each indigo night
Their wisdom and their fury,
Passion and comfort and secrets
Rested already on her breast.
Oh what a great gift of power
She was yet to understand.
So she looked upon the warriors and villagers with disdain…
From her airy throne
The violence of their humanity was hidden ,
Only the shadows of their raging could be seen.
Timely will be your power.
Sad am I that we cannot walk side by side.
Mother, daughter, woman, child
It is my promise
The constant truth of the prayer and the lavender
Will lift you to the Spirit’s embrace
Turning our faces upward
We left the warriors and villagers below to their journey
As we continued ours
And returned to the sky.