Bleeding bones, the soul of a warrior
A golden snake slithers its way up my spine, it twists and turns and brings my awareness into all the long forgotten parts of myself. The body keeps the score in all the ways. The trauma we’ve experienced and also the glory. The body knows what it needs, the body knows who I am, who I’ve been, what it is that I am here to create.
I find myself confined within a box, a locked constraint of throat and head bent between the knees, chains around my ankles, a shame covering my whole self, though not strong enough to kill my spirit. It’s twined itself within almost every part of me, locking me in place, like a statue of stone. I breathe, breathe, breathe, trying to set myself free. How can a love so strong and so true be here to nurture me? Swamp king of the netherworld, that place that very few dare to enter, pass by with a scowl and a crude laugh. They scorn the land of long forgotten creatures. Of beings laid to rest underneath thick mosses, and algae blooms the size of prairie fields. They do not stop to look and to listen. To hear the crickets song or the birds call out to their friends across the expanse. To feel the crunch of a beavers foot, making his way through this land, finding sticks to drag back to his home near the river. They do not know the secrets that live here. The dead we’ve all buried here, long preserved, always available to share a word, a story, a connection. An understanding of a life beyond this world of cars and planes and tall phallic buildings. Those that pass by without a second glance have not found the beauty of a frogs concerto, a cedars comforting strength, even the mosquitos have a prayer or two to share, maybe along the lines of remembering what it means to nag at the thing you need until you get it, to find your sustenance and to drink deep, or maybe it’s about asserting your boundaries.
A swamp king that knows how to navigate the ever changing world because he knows how to handle the world that portals all the others. The keeper of the realms, the one with all the keys, at peace within the biomes of rich life and even richer death. He understands the passing of time even before he looks down at the spot upon his wrist where a watch briefly touched. He understands the sanctuary of solitude, with the complete comprehension that life is eternally surrounding, always changing, rearranging, moving, developing, deconstructing. He knows that life and love exists, thrives, even within the dampest and densest of darkness. All the places that the light has not reached is already full to the brim with creatures, moving, playing, eating, consuming one another and doing it all again. And so the cycle continues. No hierarchy here within the swamp, no being above or below, for they all play a vital role in the system of the whole. All supporting the sustenance of life, through their simple act of being. Of dying, of living, of letting all the cycles play out as they do. Still maintaining a place of defense, when necessary, for there remains a food chain, and those with the strength must protect their own, for it requires many years and loads of diligence to stay alive within a wold seeking to kill you down. If you’ve worked hard, labored for months to bring even just one more of you into this world, there’s something to be said about your place within this animal and creature kingdom, and this life must be seen for the sacredness that it is. Not above or below the mosquito, or the wood frog, or the jack pine, but instead in equal standing, in full stewardship, knowing its place and doing what it can to serve the collective whole within the life it has been given.
A child born into the swamp is a child of all the world. Of all the creatures, of all the beasts and animals and sky beings, a child of the swamp is a child that can live and thrive anywhere that they find themselves for the knows the value of all life, they know the value of all death, they know the power of holding all in equal standing, individual while still all a part of the divine whole. A child of the swamp knows and lives the values and honors of the natural world for they have been everywhere within, and no place is too dark, frightening, or unfit for them to exist. Yes, many places may be more comfortable than others, more known, with more time lived within, yet no place is out of reach. No place is off limits, no valley too far, no mountain too high, no ocean too deep. No far off galaxy too foreign to go and discover, to explore, to see, witness, appreciate, and love. For a child of the swamp, a child of the stars, a child of the universe, all is held in equal understanding, and all life is known, felt, understood as sacred. Revered, respected, and devoted to. The child discovers what it feels most drawn to, the twigs or the gravel, the falling leaf or the flight of a bird across a dawn sky, it follows the path of its interest, the intrigue of its soul, the calls of its intuition led heart, and here, within, the very special niche that no other has yet discovered, they find a home, they build one for themselves. They call to them others that they wish to play and explore and create with, they call to them their family, those whose souls have also travelled far and wide to get to the places that feel like home. The places that feel the most supportive and nurturing and caring to the dreams and the visions they hold within their souls. Within this sanctuary they have built, they let go. They let the power of life itself guide. They let their feet touch the earth or take their wings to the skies, they let their bodies do all that they have been built to do. Whatever brings them the greatest connection to their souls calling, to eat and taste every bite, to love all those they need to love, to know what is right for them and what is not right for them, for the support and sustenance of the whole. They let their dreams run far and wide, they let their fears be known, understood, yet not be the sailors of their ship. They let the love within them do that, be that, their hearts as their compass, their intuition as their guide and their souls filling all spaces they enter with their light of present understanding and love.
The children, the king, and all beings of the swamp living in total harmony with all of life. Letting their dreams run them wild and free. Resting in a patch of sunlight like a cat on a kitchen floor. We are free, let yourself love, let yourself just be.
