Close your eyes.
Let your breath soften the borders of your body.
Let it move in like a rising mist.
Slow.
Sure of its place.
You and with each breath.
You fall backwards.
Not through time as the clock tells it.
But through soul time.
The time that smells of damp stone and old stories.
A time of remembering.
Feel the weight of your soul body.
Feel grounding into something ancient.
Something in you.
That begins to stir.
When the world you know begins to loosen.
Edges blur.
And the space between heartbeats.
Begins to widen.
And into that widening space,
A path unfolds.
Path you have always known.
A path you're very familiar with.
From lifetimes ago.
Any step forward.
One step at a time.
Take in a full,
Deep body breath.
Smell the scent of wet moss,
Crushed feather wood smoke from fires unseen.
The air is rich with all the scents that your body knows already.
Above you are raven circles.
And below the ground is soft It's knowing.
Familiar.
This is not your imagination.
This is your soul remembering.
Your soul remembering begins to part the mist.
That is some dramatic entrance.
But with a deep reverence for the journey ahead.
And you now step into a village,
Alive with song and story and the heartbeat of the land.
And the village comes to life.
You hear the creak of carts,
The rustle of traders' clothes,
The scent of peat smoke curling into the morning air.
Children laughing and chasing each other between woven baskets of berries and herbs.
You hear the harp singing from the fireside.
And the flute calls you deeper still.
And you are no stranger here.
Every face turns towards you with a gaze that says,
Oh,
You've finally come back!
If they don't ask your name,
They already know it.
It's been too long.
Come here and let me see you.
You pass the herbalist's stall,
Where she blesses wild mint with spring water,
Chopping the herbs for her potions for the day.
Blessing upon this herb,
O Queen of the Herbs.
May it carry healing,
Love and peace.
The weaver humming as she dyes thread with elderberries,
The color of bruised dusk.
And you move through the heart of Avalon.
And as you do,
You feel the familiar.
You've left your footsteps here many times.
It is as home to your soul as it is in this moment.
Our blessings upon your return.
The threads held,
Even when you wandered.
Welcome home,
My dear.
Welcome home.
Breathe in this land,
This moment.
This lifetime.
Well now,
I knew you'd find your way home again.
It's as if you have never You carry the scent of the Otherworld,
Just like before.
You kept the stories alive,
Waiting for your name to be spoken again.
Ah,
There you are.
Took you long enough,
Didn't it?
Are you ready now?
You've got a whole world of remembering ahead of you.
Come on then,
It's time you returned to Avalon.
And then.
.
.
The crowd fades.
Like the exhale after a long song.
And you follow the worn path through willows and rushes until the lake opens before you.
It's not wide.
Nor is it still.
But it is endless.
It doesn't reflect the sky as we know it.
It holds its own.
In a reflection only your soul knows.
You kneel at its edge.
The water shivers,
But it's not from the wind.
But from the recognition.
The lake remembers you.
And something deep inside you remembers too.
Do you remember?
And the mist curl tighter the world holds its breath and from the center of the lake She rises.
Boy,
The other leg.
She doesn't step forward.
She simply becomes.
Visible.
She is neither soft or fierce.
Is veil and bone.
Light and soil.
She's the water that learned to walk.
And she looks at you.
And her gaze unravels something deep inside you,
Something you forgot that you promised.
You cannot speak.
There's no need.
That you feel.
And there's something familiar inside of you.
As if she is the key to unlock.
A memory long hidden within you of who you once were.
Still are.
Inside you,
You hold the wisdom and the knowing.
From this time,
From all time.
And it becomes a soul remembering.
Remembering of who you were,
Who you still are.
The power you carry within you.
The love.
All of it.
What do you remember?
Let yourself.
Fall into the graces of memory.
And feel it.
And in her hand,
She holds four objects.
They do not glow.
They're not shiny.
They don't demand anything from you.
They simply wait.
Wait for you to remember.
And you do remember them.
First is the sword for those who must slice through illusion and speak truth to stand again.
It hums with precision and clarity and fierce compassion.
The second is the chalice.
For those who must soften,
Feel.
Trust the waters within once more.
It pulses with this tenderness of depth of sacred receiving.
And the third object is the scroll for those who must remember what was written in the stars before their first breath.
It whispers of destiny.
And valves not yet broken.
And then finally there's the mirror.
Those who must see themselves clearly,
Not as they were told,
But as they truly are.
It reflects clarity.
Soul-seeing,
Solventry.
And she asks you to choose one.
And you don't choose with your mind.
You choose with the ache inside.
You choose with remembering.
And you trust.
Let your hand reach towards one that your soul remembers.
The most.
The lady places the object in your hands.
No words.
Just a nod.
Like a knowing that you've never questioned.
And you hold this gift.
Feeling it unlock inside you a memory begging to be remembered.
The key.
To bringing these moments of disconnected time into the power.
Of the present.
Then you turn away.
In the mist.
Swallow her whole.
You're alone now.
But not lost.
The object hums in your palms,
Not a sound,
But a pull.
As if a doorway opened.
It's a doorway not in front of you.
It's within.
And he stepped forward into a chamber made entirely of your story.
Your soul's story.
What do you see?
What memory stirs?
What vow pulses?
What must be released?
For this gift to live.
Through you.
Let the vision rise.
No need to force it.
Simply allow it to be remembered.
The vision begins to soften now.
Fading not like something lost.
But fading back into the mist.
Back into your soul remembering.
Something.
Returned.
It's work complete.
And you look again at the gift in your hand,
And it is no longer what it was.
The sword now bears your name.
The chalice now overflows with your healing.
The scroll now unfolds in your hand.
And the mirror now shows not your face,
But your flame.
This is the moment of becoming.
Not loud,
Not public.
Not as others expect.
But absolute.
A bell sounds in the distance.
A bell made from your memory.
In the mist,
Shift again.
And you stand here in Avalon's embrace.
Listening to the whispers embedded in the mist itself.
You have felt the pulse of old ways stirring inside your bones once again.
But the path does not end here.
And from the edge of the lake,
Where you once gathered beneath moonlight and memory,
A narrow path opens before you.
Lush.
Green.
Soft beneath your feet.
The air is thick with the sweet scent of apple blossoms.
Light filtering through the trees and leaving dappled orbs across the green soft paths.
Let your feet follow the rhythm of your soul remembering.
Remembering the times before when you walked this path in community.
And ceremony.
In silence.
And in song.
Let the waters wake you.
Let them stir what your bones remember.
Anoint your bride.
Proclaim your knowing,
It is yours.
Your footsteps echoing and reverberating through the earth herself.
And you can almost hear it now.
The low hum of sacred chant.
The soft vibration of the world behind the world still alive just humming beneath the skin of this one.
Peace will come.
Shall this be also?
Shall cease to exist.
Shut this house.
Shop for sales.
And soon carried on the wind.
Like a familiar memory comes the sound.
Trickle of living water flowing deep within the red-veined womb of the land.
Its song growing louder with each step until.
.
.
You find yourself standing at the threshold to the chalice and white springs.
They're nestled into the hillside like a secret waiting to be remembered by you.
And as you approach.
The air shifts.
It's coolness kissed by moss and time.
You feel the reverence of this moment,
This place,
The memory that it holds for you.
And step into the stone embrace of the White Well.
Damp air brushing your skin like a soft breath.
Candlelight flickers across the water's surface,
Dancing in silence.
Let Avalon rise in you now,
Like a sacred cup filling every hollow,
Every forgotten ember,
Every part of you that is ready to remember.
There is a seed here waiting,
Small,
Silent.
Still but alive.
The hush now falls.
And through the stillness.
You hear her rise.
The elder.
All.
There you are,
Child of the mist.
I've waited long enough.
But you have come.
Just as I dreamed.
Kneel now.
Let the stone take your weight.
Let the water see your face.
A hand,
Gentle and warm.
Rest on your shoulder.
You're no longer a seeker.
But the remembering made flesh.
You who have touched shadow.
And chosen light anyway.
You who have walked in silence and dared to listen for your name.
You are no longer waiting to become.
You have arrived.
Let this be your rite of passage.
Your soul initiation in a return to ritual.
Join now the nine sisters,
The nine priestesses of Avalon.
The keepers of hidden knowledge,
Guardians of the Holy Grail.
You've been in a ritual here before.
Anoint yourself with the holy water.
Of this beautiful white whale.
Feel the depth to which your soul has always been a part of this landscape.
Part of these waters.
Are we sisters?
Peace on Earth.
I say yes,
Oh honey,
I say oh Now.
It's a rainy day in Congress.
See ya!
I'm sorry.
Say it.
I say,
I say Good night.
I found this.
Come on.
And there's a video of Kaka on the other side of the sea And this will come.
He sees the world behind him Stay home.
I guess I guess what Insane.
You Shabbat shalom.
I say yes when I say oh I name you.
Daughter of death.
Barrack of flame.
Keeper of the old songs.
Rise now,
Woman of the well.
And walk from this place with your head bowed to none.
Let this be your soul remembering.
Your holy grail awakening from deep within.
Like this.
Be returned.
Avalon.
By blood remembered,
By breath restored,
By flame awakened,
You are seen and sealed as one of us.
I'm Dakota Earthcloud Walker.
Thank you.
For remembering Avalon.
Just.
