“Ah, yes. This is the one,” I thought as I bent over the wide lip of my cauldron, bubbling cool and thick purple liquid.
For months, I’d been charging my body with intention,
reaching in the goop to pull out instruments of power,
voices of the age, crying
“Find your power,” at my back.
In my closed cavern, I’d taken a good look at the fiery sword of righteous anger, remembering the time we’d spend together.
I’d carried the feather that smelled of elder wisdom for a few days, but eventually let it slip back under the surface. It wasn’t a thing to cast energy. It didn’t work that way.
I’d pulled out a full loom, so familiar, threads of community stretched across the beams-but there was something missing there. Something I had been entangled in, so I let that go, too, watching it return to a primordial state before dissolving.
Always, fully formed,
infused with the power of societal expectation,
the Sword of Charismatic Ego was raised in the back,
hilt towering over the magical surface.
I am not moved by it.
Time stands between us, a desert of isolation, contemplation and gathering – a kind of goodness-gathering that happens when there is space to store it.
“I am no longer tempted or even angry at the presence of you, old saber.”
I am safe now. I have ridden storms that raged inside me. I have turned my focus from battles and building to sow seeds of my own happiness.
How will I be called to serve next?
What will it be?
What kind of power does the body of my song desire to wield with her every fiber?
Before finding the elusive answer, empty, I passed my hand into the cool and felt something move across it, falling towards the bottom of the cauldron. Instinctively, I thrust deeper and caught it, this strong, humming thing, this rod, this staff, this wand covered in pearl sheen.
Yes, of course it would be pearl.
permeating in power,
This benign force quiet.
My heart tightened in need-fire.
How could I feel passion for a power impossible to master?
Because there is no other power,
no other path to stumble upon when days are unfocused.
I can learn to hold my spirit just so,
not let it fall through a grip too tight or loose
on the good days.
To wield the Power of Kindness.
There are many teachers to draw from, mountains to be built.
This time we will build them together.
Tasara Jen Stone https://littlelight.info