The story is often told of Rhiannon,
a beauteous fairy deva,
steward of the narcissus and daffodils,
the cedar and pine trees.
She had the adventure,
to fall in love with a mortal prince,
as he watered his horse,
awed by the nights stars above
and her beauty below.
She agreed, bravely/foolishly
to marry him.
To marry his world of duality,
of form, where the dark weighs
so much more loudly
than the light.
A world where the scales
list heavily toward the dark
by the collective freewill choice.
He vowed to love and protect her
But the accusing voices,
identifying her as different,
as “not of them”, were too many.
He believed the unthinkable,
that she had killed/eaten
their child, stolen as all slept.
The judge “spared” her life,
but punished her gravely
with a collar of shame
and the requirement to carry
all who came across the castle courtyard.
As Rhiannon, we enter the world,
as babies remembering our true light,
our incredible lightness of being.
And as babies we flow our love
to those in form,
and those formless spirits
from the “other side”.
As Rhiannon, we enter the world
believing the vows that we will be
loved for better or for worse….
feeling our deservedness
in our new baby forms.
Then, as Rhiannon we begin
to experience our “differentness”.
We “see” “know” “hear” things
we couldn’t possibly see or know or hear,
that do not match the collective "reality".
Like Rhiannon, in pouring out our love
we are stunned to experience others
hurting us deliberately, out of their wounding.
we become sentenced to a life,
collared by the yoke of the collective reality.
We feel sentenced to carry others
across the threshold/courtyard.
Until the day, like Rhiannon
when our inner child returns,
that stolen, murdered, eaten child.
And we welcome home that lost part
of ourselves into a life of choice.
Until the day we realize
that it’s OUR choice
whether we carry
It’s our choice how we donate
our light and love
to the darkness,
to the balance.
Lizette Estelle Stiehr