I have this memory, only it’s more akin to a dream.
It starts with a feeling, deep down inside of me. Somewhere, behind my heart. Its as though there is a door way that only opens at certain times. Something comes through, entices me and urges me to come with it. I’m uneasy, every single time. But I don’t fight it. It knows that I want what it is on the other side.
Another time. Another place. That it is what awaits us.
Then, it starts. The drums.
Deep, thrumming heart beats running deep into the Root of All Things and back again.
I’m caught in the tide, swept up and thrown around like a piece flotsam in the Tempest.
Like a dog’s toy being played with.
All too quickly, I am swallowed up.
When I open my eyes again, they are not my eyes. I see what they see but they are not my own. Mine are somewhere else.
Watching me. Watching, Me in a body not my own. Another’s body.
A body mine could never be.
Power, carved into Flesh.
Majesty borne upon Nine Tines.
Hunger dripping from Lips and Loins.
Holly and Oak; crowned heads adorn my back as a mantle and the beat of all beasts’ hearts in time to my step.
The Drum that carried Me, now is carried by Me.
A comforting weight in each hand.
Taught skin and ancient branch.
Mortar and Pestle for my soul.
I crash them together.
Their first word sets a fire within all things.
Their sets mine tines a’swaying.
The third, my hooves a’striding.
Fourth has the world whirling about me.
I see myself beating and dancing, whirling and weaving. The me that watches Me fears the frenzy. It only makes me want it more.
Makes me want it ’til those eyes that watch me I no longer call My Own.
All that My eyes see now is the turning of the worlds. The power rising from all that surrounds me. From the breath of the beasts, the sap of the trees, the blood of my body and the Heart of All.
The Drum is not in my hands.
It is beneath my feet, thrumming to life with every step I take.
The taught skin of the world stretched tight,
I dance upon the Drum. It’s beat is the beat that drives me ever faster.
My body twists, tines flick.
Blood surges, power urges.
All I need is to dance; dance away in the maelstrom.
The moment passes and I am left feeling torn. I claw at the door, desperate to open it but I know there is no going back.
I am allowed to remember, but may not go back.
Not without an invitation.
– A.Evans, Japan – 19/1/2015