They asked me “was I ready?”
I, who have been beyond the nine keyless doors
beyond nine gates, nine veils,
beyond the mirthless, shining eye,
crept through the constricting labyrinths of earth,
gazed fearless through the skrying-cup of rebirth…
And now they hang me up
by one foot
from the dread and battling tree.
Pain, as
the hook of the heavens stretches me to the distant stars and
Hertha, below, reaches tenderly towards my skull.
No sister, I am not yours yet.
Alone I hang,
A shuddering bait for the Gods
so cold,
and now the
Queen is arriving.
Made of fracturing ice and the
still-coursing blood of her
prey.
Bring her on!
She is riding
and gaining behind me swinging her furs
hooves ricochet rock and thunder the howl of her dogs, her court
and company full-tilt screech and rage, stench of rotting pelts, thunder louder,
retching;
my empty stomach contracts
yellow-eyed wall of deafening dogs and hooves towards my hanging form in an impossibly straight line,
white their skin
and steel their teeth,
to rip me apart and
my soul and
they pass
straight through me,
racing on to the white horizon,
a hunting horn shrills
and they vanish.
Floating, empty
in my cocoon.
Swung and twisted by the winds of form.
Washed free by the rains of my heart,
Stung by the sunlight of shame.
Numb, the roar of rooks above.
As bait, I hang
a hollowed fruit impaled
by a black winter branch
As bait for the Gods,
my dead boy’s face.
As bait, I hang
the scent of bluebells and tears.
As bait for the Gods,
a golden crown.
As bait, I hang
my own heart beating, held in someone’s bloodied hands.
Myself to myself.
BANG!
Light floods
Hold!
Concentrate!
Forms and forms take shape into
a language
a magic
a music
So many riches…
They cut me down
and birthed me back into the world
and then
they asked me ‘was I ready?’
I said for what?
The true initiation,
for that,
they said
was merely the trial.
Now
be worthy of your gifts.
