Chapter 5: It's my power

The next thing that Leana saw was the morning sunshine, shining dappled green through the leaves of the Great Oak Tree. She felt as if she had been sleeping for a very long time, and the new day had a springtime feel. She looked around her. It was scarcely recognisable from the scene where the night’s events had unfolded. The dark magic was gone, and a new lightness lay about the land. Leana felt connected and rooted; she belonged to this place too. 

Leana looked at Wounded Child, who remained in a deep restorative sleep. She saw the angry red of the soon-to-be-healing scar, and the neat little stitches sewn by Black Annis with love and mercy. She got to her feet and ran to the Great Oak, pausing to touch its trunk and feel the Life within it. She sent a silent greeting and reached for the moss that the Gentle Witch had placed inside the tree. She paused again, this time to communicate her gratitude to the tree. She headed to the stream, taking her time and savouring the newness of the day. As she had done the previous night, she dipped the moss into the cool clear water, feeling its life-sustaining properties. She headed back to where Wounded Child lay, still sleeping, on the soft grass. Leana used the moss to soothe the wound, while Wounded Child continued in her deep and healing sleep. 

Leana placed the moss back in the hollow of the oak tree, and found there enough food and drink to last her for this day. 

Night fell, and Leana curled up beside Wounded Child and slept. The innocence of dawn came fresh and new the next day, and again Leana tended to Wounded Child. She passed the moss over each of the red bumps that lined the stitches on Wounded Child’s sweet belly. As she did so, little puffs of stories floated upwards. Leana watched the wispy and woeful scenes that floated by, catching snippets of long gone, but not forgotten conversations. 

Leana watched these scenes and more. She watched Jim Dolan's daughters grow to adulthood. And she watched the tearful scenes, the drunken scenes, the violence, the warped lives and the blameless children, and the promise of distress and disgrace for generations to come. Leana watched them all, reliving them, before sending them out into the Universe with a blessing and a sigh. 

And so it continued, and Leana lost all track of time. Her small tasks occupied her but, as Wounded Child’s scar began to form, and the stories coming from her lessened, Leana began to think about everything she had seen and experienced in this place. 

She sensed that the Divine Mother was close, and that it was Life’s Feminine Source that had been providing her with food and sustenance. She sensed also the presence of Black Annis, the Dark Mother, knowing that the two were inseparably intertwined, as one, sharing this place where they could never meet. One Light and one Dark, neither good nor bad. Both indispensable. 

Leana’s young mind clearly saw the similarities in the relationship between the two Great Mothers and her own relationship with Wounded Child. Similar, but not the same. Light and dark. Joy and sadness. Healing and pain. She and Wounded Child were one beautiful entity, but together, not destined for eternal separation like the two Mothers. 

She thought of what Black Annis had said about the sealing of the three aspects, and she thought about the three logs that remained in the fire pit, an interlocking triangle keeping guard over the sacred ash at the centre of the pit. And, as Leana thought about these things, words began to emerge from the air around her. 

The power is within me 

The power is mine. 

The power is in me 

It’s there to be mined. 

The power is within me 

Not the power of the mind 

The Power of the Feminine 

A Force of a Kind. 

Not the kind that recommends filial piety, 

More akin to a female deity. 

It’s not like a film script, 

Where it all falls into place 

It daunts, and it challenges 

It gets in your face. 

It’s the Power that is needed, 

The Power that is felt, 

It’s a Power to be heeded, 

To heal and to feel. 

It’s a Force and a Power, 

And it is real. 

It’s angry! 

It’s forceful! 

It knows what it wants! 

I won’t use it to hurt you, 

But to heal you 

And grow you 

To show you, to know you 

It’s my power, 

I know it! 

My yin for your yang 

I won’t use mine to hurt you 

But to righten a wrong 

Not to whiten, but brighten and shine the light on 

The crimes of the past that still go on 

Leana watched the words, swirling and tumbling about her. She began to mumble to herself. “The power of the feminine, a force of a kind. The power of the feminine, for Wounded Child to mine …” The tiny girl in the white dress drifted with the words, eventually falling into a fitful sleep. 

She dreamed of Dark Lord Pompadour, stood ten foot tall, brandishing his mighty sword and asserting his dominion. He snarled and snapped, growling at the small figure behind his legs. In her dream, Leana could just make out the small, thin boy, one eye twitching nervously on his gaunt face. Lord Pompadour kicked the boy, which sent him scuttling into a dark corner. Leana’s distress at this caused her to come closer to consciousness, sufficiently awake to shine her light as a comfort for the boy. Words of light danced about his head. 

A small and fleeting smile flashed across the boy’s face, a glimpse, perhaps, of his future peace and happiness. He turned over, pulling his raggedy clothes close and sleeping soundly, hidden in the unseen corner. 

When Leana awoke, Wounded Child was missing. Leana shot to her feet. Relief flooded her small frame as she located Wounded Child at the fire pit. She heard the low pitched humming. Ah! The song! The song that Wounded Child was singing was probably the most beautiful sound Leana had ever heard. 

I am you 

And you are me 

We found ourselves in unity.

We are one 

We are whole 

We take back now, what Evil stole. 

I am you 

And you are me 

Here we stand, now we are free.

The words that Wounded Child sang gave way again to the low, harmonious humming. She had found her voice, and the very leaves in the trees stopped to listen. Wounded Child’s song lasted for a long time, rising and falling, never losing its pitch, or its new-found sense of joy and belonging. 

Leana listened too, not moving until she was sure that Wounded Child had finished her song. With words and with no words, the melody carried Leana to the mountains, to the sea, to the sky. It took her to the rivers and the rocks, and to a beautiful land of green and earthy red, and it soothed her as she soaked up the healing rays of sunshine, basking in the Sunlight of the Spirit. 

When Leana reached the fire pit, she saw that Wounded Child was bathed from head to toe in the sacred ash. Leana had not expected Wounded Child to be smiling, for she had never seen the girl smile before. And, if she had expected a smile, it would have been an appropriately serene and holy smile she would have imagined. But no! The smile on Wounded Child’s face was the smile of Life itself, and it stretched from ear to ear. It was the delighted grin of a young child who was feeling completely secure in her joy, and who was revelling in the mystery and mischief that is a gift to us all in our young years. 

Reviews

[barleygirl]

I wasn't as taken by this chp. This felt a little "New Age Kitsch" to me. Lots of the familiar slogans of this belief system, like: "the power of the feminine"! This may be what you actually felt & experienced, so I know your story is written in the language of the times. But for just a moment, being writers, lets imagine this a different way. You need to change & re-define "the power of the feminine" into your OWN kind of brand. Re-brand it. Show me what this means. How can we address the feminine without it feeling like it's omitting the masculine? That's what I have a problem with. Sometimes these catch phrases get heaped up in the corner with all the other feminist BS that readers automatically dismiss as being gender-divisive. Hell, nowadays, they consider it gender-divisive to define gender as being ONLY male & female. Nowadays, there are more genders than you can count, I would suppose! No, really. I'm kidding a little bit, but this could be re-vamped in a way that makes it so you can OWN this brand . . . this process of healing or whatever you want to call it. Thanks for humoring me while I ramble (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie