The Crossing

This is Fiction. I promise you that. And if it weren’t, what good is the world unless seen through the eyes of a poet? And then again, what good is her verse without the eyes of a stranger to behold it? And so it came to pass on to you. You decide if my words are true...

She was an elemental sorceress who lived in communion with nature’s unending cycles, and the faery realms; a dancer of the gypsy flame in the Borderlands of this world. At night she held audience with nobles and queens, parades of gypsy warrior dancers leading armies to battle with war drums' call! Parting rainstorms and triple rainbows, Pirates' cannon echoing across the valley punctuated by shouts of "aaaarrrrrr." She danced with rays of sunshine as her light-show; forests, deserts, hills and valleys as her stage. All the world in costume and pageantry through the days.

She received her magic from the elements; initiated into all five, but fire was her master, and she his mistress.

Trained by shamans and revolutionaries, she was also a channel, and was placed by unseen angels to wield the flames of change, and destroy the old energy vortex surrounding the planet. This power was bestowed on her by nature, and in return, it gave her the gift of dance to feel the shakti flames of bliss as she wove spells of destruction with the gypsy fire, while simultaneously weaving the framework and anchor points for a new light grid to be built in its place.

In her training, she faced the tests of ego. To do that, one must face all pain and fear and judgment; all obstacles that would be recognized and fed off by demons, lest one be tempted to the dark magics as well. Her virtuosity was destruction, because her passions were fueled by generations of anger and vengeance through bloodlines and histories of evil and separation and persecution. It was her birthright to wield this dark destructive magic for the good of the world without succumbing to its destructive powers.

She held the darkness of the world in her heart, transforming it, shaping it, trapping it, the whole time able to protect the liquid love source at her very core. She carried this foul seed of darkness in a Frodo-like manner, guarding it with her very innocence, keeping it in a holding pattern until she could find a way to overcome it.

But she would not always be so strong, and sometimes the very magic she carried would overwhelm her, and she would be forced to fight it. As long as she carried the seed, the demons saw her. They prodded at the darkness in her soul. The anger she had was a weak spot to them. They tried to control her through it so they could wield her destructive powers.

After her work was done, the elders of the Faery borderlands saw that it had become time to destroy the seed and find a way to heal the darkness she carried. As the seed's hold on her tightened, they cast her from the dragon valley. Alone, she was initiated into journeyman status; solitary sojourner. The seed whispered seductively, offering her dark powers to mirror the elemental powers she already possessed. Defiantly she stood to her birthright, and returned her gifts to the four directions, thanking them reverently, and asking for her mortality back, so she could hide, and pray for guidance.


Part 2

But this would not be the last she would see of her elemental friends, for the fire, her eternal lover, had other plans for her. He would not see her fail her task alone. He led her to another world; one out of space and time. Here they paid homage to him, and gathered in yearly reverence to his destructive/re birthing powers. Ashamed of her exile, and buckling to the dark seed's hatred, she insisted she enter without the help of her luminescent fire love. She would instead humbly find a way to dispose of the seed, and earn the right to again do nature’s work, if not to initiate to something else.

This land out of time and space had a doorway that opened but once a year. It was an intergalactic crossroads on another planet, but on the face of the Earth. Here each year, she would take a pilgrimage to pray upon the holy fires; each time releasing a piece of herself that served the dark seed. Each year she came back to this spot and prayed to be free. Each year she returned and shed a new layer of skin until her radiance began to shine through.

On the fourth year, after great turbulence breaking free of the chrysalis she had built around herself, her heart had been finally filled with peace and gratitude, and she had nothing left to pray for.

As a result, her desire to cross into that place had diminished. She sat with herself, trying to figure out what she needed to shed at the crossing. She looked into her heart where the dark seed had been for so many years. Most of it had transformed into nothing at all. She resolved not to go, and sat peacefully inactive, meditating as the excited scramble to prepare for the crossing bubbled up around her.

Without warning, the tiny shards of dark seed that had not yet changed to nothing, reached out again from inside, prodding her to go this way and that. Yet the stillness inside proceeded, despite the seed’s attempts at reaching what little pain she had left. She waited for a sign from source, and not from the seed.

Her fire lover’s voice appeared from the liquid center of her soul repeatedly. “Come and be close to me! I have something for you.”

“But I have nothing more to give of myself,” she answered. “I am sufficiently empty and content, and the dark seed does not rule me anymore, and I am in no need of anything in return. I am content to sleep in a sun beam where I have come to live for a time by the sea. You can touch me here through the radiant rays of the sun while I sleep in a comfortable place without the wind and the earth to hassle me, and where the water is only in the vessels I carry. I cannot be bothered with such a labor.”

She had become lazy in her exile, the power of the elements remained dormant as she stayed indoors, away from their call. But the call of a fire lord is fierce, though she had many dealings with his touch, she had come to a place where his call was not her command. Out of love for him, she agreed to listen to the liquid center of her soul, and waited, foregoing any preparations, until just before the doors would open, and the crossing would commence. And she received messages from source. Not once. Not twice. Not thrice, but four times. Four. A good solid, stable number. The same number that her crossing would be.

And then like lightning she understood all at once. The dark seed would not be gone until it had transformed completely. Her work had not yet been completed… The final destruction had to commence to make room for her Renaissance, and that path could also be found from there.

And to the dessert wastelands she is summoned yet again. And it matters not that she has nothing to give anymore. The vessel has emptied, and the seed itself is but an empty husk. Its carcass to be cast upon the flames of the fire lords, and a prayer for the evolution of all is invoked. The channel shall open again, this time cleansed and ready to be born anew with new inspiration, and a new sense of connection to source. The empty vessel shall be filled. The elements return out of space, out of time, out of need, out of intent. From a place of total transformation, and with eyes that can see, the sleeper awakens.

Celebration. Initiation. Invokation. Evocation. Evolution.