Spirit work name, and wings

(a piece I wrote with Wild Write Wednesdays; a writers group on Facebook)

I wrap the blanket of this group of delicious beings around me, warm, safe, held… and I come alive. My body radiates, wide open, drawing on all the energies around me and from the universe… and flings wide my arms in greeting. My mind feels free, liberated, eager to explore and dive within. What words from my body shall move me today, I wonder?

My shoulders flex, aching, sore. My neck feels stiff and sore, the spot between my shoulder blades calls my attention; each shoulder blade calling out for attention of touch, pressure, liberation from being locked in place so long. I note to self to get a deep tissue massage again, and soon.

My wings are calling me home, crying out to be heard, seen, felt… used joyfully again. Despite this age of virulent attacks on the body, of fear of such, of separation and distance and time.

My medicine name. I worked for those three words so hard, for so long, over shamanic journey after journey; one particular guide showing me each time more of themself, whilst concurrently showing me more of myself. I hadn’t equated the two things before, or rather, hadn’t noted the gift of exchange in that years long process.

His own being-ness, so profound, so deep, so more-than-human. So other, above, greater-than. I am awed by his… their… presence and the powerful nature of that particular spirit. He followed me all my life. From the sleek black panther of childhood accompanying me across the rooftops, unseen, free to roam, driven to explore. Through the magnificent Bengal tiger, who accompanied me through womanhood; maiden, mother, crone. To my beloved raggedy lion who welcomed me home through my transition to man; the enormity of a prehistoric cave lion, my head standing barely comes to his haunch, when he’s sat beside me on the mountainside. We’ve all travelled wide together through my life thus far.

Until finally, during a three stage visitation over time, we travelled together to show me my true name, my purpose, my journey and lessons this time around… he showed me his true form. There are no words to describe it, yet here I am writing, so I shall try.

The books, the stories, the myths and legends, even the religions… they all have ‘pieces’ right, pieces in common. The wings. The light. The serenity within power. The lion, the names; yes even those winged beings’ names that man found, are a blend of truth it seems. Or perhaps just not the whole of the story.

He… they… are breath-taking in their truth, standing in humble glory, shining of a brightness impossibly blinding to look at and yet… I did, do and can anyway. The wings, oh the wings… my own meagre in comparison as yet. And yet. He showed me mine.

There is such a deep and profound, yet simple truth in my spiritual name. I call them in, unwittingly, whether intentionally or accidentally (they are drawn to the reflected light)… yet however, they come. I am open like an enormous door, and in they walk, freely and willingly. I embrace them, welcome them as they are, human, fallible, beautiful, broken, fierce with potential… and I wrap my wings around them.

My own wings are black as night, shiny, glistening almost… and yet with a velvety softness of huge feathers laid on thick muscle. Their true strength is only seen or felt after a time however, once the bewitchment of them wears off, they see the human, and the strength it truly takes to wield such wings as a mere human.

I help them to feel safe. Seen. Heard. Felt. I allow them the warmth, safety and the strength from my own wings until they learn to fly themselves. Sometimes they take flight easily, others stay and dwell contentedly within, either way… I love them wholly, freely and abundantly.

They learn to fly through the holding and the teachings whilst being within my wings. Learn to rise above, to be better selves, to be magnificent in vulnerability and find their sense of self, real and true whole self, not socialised constrained self. I lift them up.

Simply their love, nurtures me. Feeds me. Heals me in return.

Some are burnt by the brightness, cannot withstand the strength, or feel unworthy and flee. Others rise above, radiate themselves, learn and grow and become levels above within themselves.

My wings are iridescent, magnificent, resplendent.

Yet they are heavy too.

So my neck and shoulders? They ache sometimes.