I See through the Eyes of Spirit

Derek Johnson
12-16-2000

I see through the eye of Spirit.

I sit at the edge of the firelight with the women, with gentle touch and murmured whisper we share the rising energy. Closer in to the fire the last of the ritual drummers drone on as they have since the coming of the darkness. As the eastern sky lightens with the promise of the new dawn, the dawn of a great and wondrous day, I rise and go to the painter’s tent to prepare myself for my commitment. When I emerge I hear the first stirrings of the Tribe, rising to take on the tasks of this Day of Days. Fasts are broken, partings made, in the lair of the Dragons the aroma of the lifesblood coffee comes forth.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

With the orb of the Sun in full witness above the trees, the Tribe gathers to the beat of the ritual drums. Gathering in circle they come, young and old, new unknown faces and remembered relations and friends. Prayers are made, as are commitments of service and sacrifice. Who will pull the Stones? Who will sing them in? Who will prepare the feast with loving hands? Who will witness? One by one the challenges are made and are borne up. Now it begins. Led by the symbol of our land, in the hands of those who have served it, the tribe enters the ground made hallowed by the will and faith of those who keep it so; the place of the Stones who wait. First to the East to receive the blessings of the young members of a young church. Then South for a prayer to fire the soul. To The West for cleansing and enrichment. Finally the North where Elders impart whispered mysteries to waiting ears. Spreading out now to encompass the entire area that in a generation will be ringed in Stones. We ask the blessings of the gentle Lady and the bloodied Lord, all the Spirits of creation be given to us that we may go about this day,s sacred work in unerring faith and safety.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

The stone crews depart, the last first: they have the farthest to go, amidst the ululation of the Tribe’s women.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

A one-legged woman walks the path of the furthest Stone, preparing its way with love, mirth, and colored corn.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

The fire for the sweat lodge is kindled and the prayer arbor is opened.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

The dancers dance and the singers sing, the Spirit drum beats, all in beatific rapture.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

Word comes; a Stone has broken, still they come, muscle straining at rope and roller as the rain begins. The majik would not be complete with out the sky’s tears to wash the Stones.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

The Tribe’s own tears. Tears for those who have gone before and are sorely missed. Tears for those yet to come. Tears of joy for what we have done in the spirit of the old ways.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

The Tribe’s pure majik made manifest: by dint of Will altering Reality to accomplish in the old way, come down to us through the mist of time. Something some do not understand, but is to the benefit of all. Three more Stones join those who wait.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

Libation poured upon the good green earth in thanksgiving and a feasting made by the Tribe, the babies born since the last rising are passed through the Mother Stone into waiting arms, and as darkness falls again the Tribe returns to the Sacred fire to dance, drum and sing... All in the praise and joy of the Lord and Lady.

I see through the eye of Spirit.

As I stand in the darkness once again, I see the spirits of my ancestors, a thin grey line stretching back to the beginning and my heart sings.