Based on someone’s perception of a true story…

Neil Gaiman is an awesome writer. It was looking at my own bookshelf and seeing one of his publications that I started to write today.

For many African peoples, Anansi is the Spider and Storyteller. He is the keeper of knowledge and history, weaving stories and bonds amongst his listeners.
Image Today, after this summer’s gone and a new cycle began with the coming of winter, I give Anansi and you part of my story. It is a cracked tale, with fallen bits and pieces, but hopefully I will borrow His weaving technique to patch it up nice enough.

I’ve been born at least a couple of times, not that I know very well when and where.

This time, I was born far from where I am now. In a land that over time has been trampled by Europeans, where so little native blood remains that most of us can track both our parents families to the Old Continent. The River Plate, the River of Silver in my imposed mother tongue. The River of Painted Birds in the native tongue.

Our flowers and fields are different from the ones here. The energy flowing through our trees is different. It is tired, it is sad and almost too faint to perceive. That is reflecting in our people. Always tired, always sad, always just passing time until their Time comes. These tortured souls do not look well on thriving ones.

I was born with the sunrise on a Summer’s day. I was named after the light within that clearly lit up my face. Amethysts were presented to me and my violet glow never left her.

Summer passed, as this one did now, and with Winter came sorrow and loss. The little-glowing-girl-that-was transformed into another. This older girl, I,  was harrowed inside and out, much suffering and misery, it was too much for me. I dug out my own eyes and preferred not to see the good, so I could avoid seeing the bad. Covered in blood and mud, I tripped and made mistakes, and regretted my existence with every aching heartbeat.

Eventually, this one was changed as well. Calluses all over me, I built up a natural armour. My sadness and fear turned to anger, and wielding a stick as tall as I was, I claimed back her sight, though distorted, and stroke first, and asked questions later. I raised an army of shadows in my own world, growing bigger and bigger and controlling most of my Inner World.

I couldn’t have possibly let her take over completely, so something close to an Autopilot triggered. I became a functional adult, rational, cold and distant. It was easy but meaningless. Definitely not the path I wanted to thread.

It was then that I looked in, in my Inner World, I was bodiless. I was no one. I was four different entities fighting and arguing constantly. I went to see them all in their places within my World. The Girl lived in a flower garden, oblivious to everything, protected for 20 years. The Sad one had crawled into a wet, dark underground cave by a lake and lingered there, weeping in foetal position. The Mad one was in a cave under the mountain, facing the vast desert of her dominions and rejoicing in the suffering of others. The Mind was away, in her own office, dealing with outside stuff and not looking In.

It wasn’t easy, but I talked to them all, listened to them, accepted them and brought them together to accept each other. At first it was difficult. It was even difficult to come back from My world to this one, but I managed. The Girl matured a bit without loosing her own self. She is in charge now, though they are all included. The Sad one began to heal and regained her will. The Mad one calmed down and learnt to respect others. The Mind loosened up and managed to have a good time and balance In World and Out World.

I won’t say I’m whole, but we’re a team now. And it’s been fabulous.

Funnily enough, Llewellyn’s Witches’ Datebook 2012 gave me this lovely and probably now coincidentally appropriate image to share.


Blessings and Light, everyone!


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