I stand at the brink
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
Here is your leavened bread, fresh from the clay ovens
to feed the hungry, the lost and the broken
Do not expect Earthly payment for your service
Do not look for a fine carriage
or a pile of golden coins and polished stones
There will be little that glitters
except the pureness of your heart
Here are your foraged herbs to heal the sick
those with fever and boils and unshakeable despair
Do not expect Earthly payment for your service
Do it for Love, do it for Love
Do not expect a soothing palette,
delightful flowers decorating a tinkling fountain
A tidy stone cottage handed down from your ancestors
or cultivated by your own hand
A Godly man by your side in pleasing garments
with a pleasing countenance
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
The deep valley below whispers to me
the amber cliffs are steep, the rock crumbles
I receive the strong medicine of the Eagle
as he tears my flesh with his talons and fierce beak
HUUCKAAAA, HUUCKAAAA….
But who will hold me, Ancient Ones?
Who will soothe my brow,
and rest a warm hand on my back
when I fall to my knees and wail
like a furred Beast with its paw caught in a metal trap?
Where is the Midwife
who will hold my churning womb in her lap
to ease the passage of the difficult birth?
Where is the Builder
who will scaffold my limbs, my bones
when they are weak and ineffective?
Where is my own precious Beauty
a brilliant trophy to hold and stroke with my slender fingers
and greedily feast my eyes upon
whenever I wish?
Where is my own Mother’s Breast,
warm flesh, warm milk, adoring eyes gazing down
the gentle rising and falling with the breath
the comfort of soft skin
the nourishment of the Soul?
I beseech you for just a sip of that steaming salty broth…
the one in Your sacred stone Vessel, glazed in hues of purple and blue,
concocted by elven hands in their peculiar hidden dwelling
beneath the roots of the gnarled oak
Bring it to my lips…I beg of you…
You said I am Worthy
You said I am Worthy
I am not up for the task,
I am just an orphaned child
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
I have not yet eaten
I have not yet been fed
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
I do not want this life
I do not want this death
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
Must I forever look at the moldering tile
the broken floorboards and peeling paint
the lawn of brown and shriveled weeds?
The redwoods taunt me
They question me with their breathtaking height
and the depth of their knowing
Yet they block the warmth of the sun
from settling on my skin
I am indifferent to all
but what I don’t have
The glass is half-empty
but filled with poison
How am I suitable for this
desperate Mission?
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
Be prepared
for your heart to melt
into an ocean
of uncivilized blood and potent tears
that have no cure
Be prepared
for the kiss of the Beloved
so tender and sweet
that the Earth heaves in its longing
and the cockroach nurses its young
Be prepared
to be stripped of all that is comfortable and familiar,
to be incinerated in an inferno of stars,
to be ravaged by Magical Creatures
and narrowly saved by the thin strap
of Yeshua’s sandal
The Old Ones call my name
The Old Ones call my name
