She had cast the runes. Again. As if for the first time. Her head was spinning, her guts were in knots, her shoulders hunched, her eyes squirting through the shadows. What were those signs? What were they trying to tell her?
She sighed. Gathered the runes, Put them back in the Pouch of Magic, which she had called it as a child. Why could she not go back to her childlike state? To re-enter that curiousity and openness, free from wanting anything, safe.
”Wisdom lies in embracing the unknown. It is what you already know but don’t know that you know. When you leap in to the unknown every day anew will you start scratching the dirt off the gold, the mud off the jewel,” rough and clear his voice reached out of the woods.
She stopped. Decided to sit down and listen this time. To wait.
”It is time to go sit with Grandfather, at his side by the great fire. You’ve spun. You’ve woven. Now t is time to take the reins and do it all with intent. With a fully open heart. Leaning on Grandfather with one ear, listening with the other ear. Facing the fire, right down there at the water, under the starlit sky. Returning there over and over again as seasons pass. Coming back to Source.”
”It is not your time to play it small”, he continued. ” It is not your time to hide behind routines. It is your time to let go of all the things which are not meaningful, to open up to your own meaningfullness. By the way, this is not a suggestion. It’s an order.”
She had no clue whether it was the wind that spoke, or the trees, or the mountain, or none of those.
Dagaz. The rune of transformation. Of moving from night to day. That’s where she was right now.
Tiwaz. The rune of strong forward focused energy, symbolizing the sword, the divine masculine. The rune pointing towards bravery, willingness to sacrifice, to boldness and balance. At the place of her current future and what is to come.
The runes confirmed what she had just been told.
He watched her through the pines. Little girl, sitting there on the rock at the riverbank. Little grey pouch of runes in one hand, palm of the other hand open, large sky coloured eyes gazing from the palm of her hand to the woods, to the skies, back to the palm. As she let the runes in her hand slide back in to the pouch, shaking it before she tied it closed, placing it in her backpack, he prepared to move towards her. Not too fast, not too slow. They had not seen each other for nine years and he did not want to startle her.
She reached her hands to the sky totally unaware of his presence. She yawned, jumped on to the riverbank, moving the air downwards with her palms, touching the rocks.
”Father Sky to Mother Earth”, she sang.
”Mother Earth to Father Sky” , as she moved the air to the sides and upwards again with her palms.
Three times.
Meru could do nothing but yawn himself, and as he gently tread out of the shadow of the pinetrees in all his wolfness he started howling along with her singing.
She stopped. Her palms were already placed facing each other in front of her heart. Head bowed. She gently rolled her head up. Eyes filled to the brim with tears. Tears welling in to the river she was standing in.
”Meru, Meru, my dearest Meru! You are here! You are back! You are alive!”
”Yes my dear. Nine years is a long time in the life of a wolf but I ain’t no regular wolf. Just like you ain’t no regular person”.
- Cecilia Götherström, 2 December 2019
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