Category: We Rise

Thematic Resonance in Civilizational Superstructure

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The human story, at its base, holds a fairly simple framework. An ape-ancestor, both a puzzle-solver and obsessed with time, stumbles over persistence hunting and ends up inventing both a great way to catch dinner and the curious social technology of telling a story. A few million years or so later, this results in a flowering of the human tree, one of the branches being homo sapiens. Homo sapiens uses this amazing tool to get into the heads of the landscape: both animals (its original purpose) and energetic flow patterns (winds, plants, landscape features). Somewhere along the line, they meet up with cousins from another continent, wolves, and the two co-evolve for a time, resulting in wolves around the planet and humans using pack technologies to form tribes.

This dynamic set up a repeating meme, where a group of lonely, curious or shunned humans would enter a new landscape and then completely adapt themselves to it, becoming pretty much literally an extension of the land itself. In turn, barring a major disaster (super-volcano explosion, meteor strike, invasions of Triffids from Beyond the Stars), the tribe could self-perpetuate its presence in the landscape in perpetuity.

Putting it in a slightly different light, seeds moved in and used behaviors to affect themselves physically between generations to fully become the People of the Land. Time would then begin, stories would flow. All would be well.

Seeds went out, adapted to the environment, became the world.

Civilization, on the other hand, was an upheaval of that story.

The foundation of civilization revolved around a traumatic break with the world, a mega-death that broke the idea that the culture was a part of the land. For Sumerians, that was unexpected seasonal flooding from both freshwater and seawater sources. For the Aztec, it was being chased from their homelands until they were deep into swampy territory next to a lake. From there, civilized cultures would start a hyper-specialized form of gardening–farming–where they would rip up everything so that the land would be forced to provide them and them alone with food. This created a war-mentality where one class would have to protect the food, one would have to grow and distribute the food, and one would have to make sure the constant input of manpower needed to make this work would keep on coming.

If you were to ask people about their deepest held spiritual beliefs before the coming of civilization, they’d probably look at you like you were crazy. Their beliefs came out of their interaction with the land; it formed quite naturally from that dialogue over generations. If you asked them specifics–like “Where do we come from?”; “Why are we here?”–they would have stories they could absolutely share with you. However, the frame was different. Life was a whole thing, not to be divided between ‘spirit’ and ‘not-spirit’ in a way that is generally understood now.

There’s a reason for that.

Civilization also faced similar questions: “Why are we here?” “Why are we putting so much effort into this crap?”. By all accounts, farming was a pretty shitty life.  Like, on the scale where you felt sick and had deformed kids level of “shitty.” And building cities, even worse. Especially the smell. The diseases. Faith–the ongoing dialogue between people and the greater world–was pretty much screaming “stop doing this!”

Someone, somewhere along the line, who really wanted to keep their job, came up with an idea. Faith used to be the comfort that you could take in knowing that a process much larger than you worked. Maybe, if you spent your entire life examining that process, but even if you didn’t that currently invisible mechanisms would still work fine. The new definition of faith by Mr. Go-Getter placed the emphasis on the invisible part of the mechanisms, arguing that (a) the invisible was more important than the visible and (b) if the invisible grew visible, it was no longer worthy of being called “faith.”

This boiled down to “we (the folks in charge) know you hate this life. But trust us: invisibly, this way of life is AWESOME!” As more people grew dissatisfied with this explanation, they had to come up with more and more invisible gifts to heap upon the deserving. You could serve in the afterlife (heck… sometimes that’s how you GOT an afterlife), it was a battle between good and evil and evil was all the lazies, a good afterlife only came to those who served well. Spirituality grew further and further away from perceived reality and gods dwindled from a multitude to handfuls per culture to finally two.  Even two wasn’t low enough. People were still miserable and trying to figure a way out.

This is where things get complicated.

Judaism comes in, in this world of divine kings and games of ‘our god is better than your god’ and awkward attempts at unification (“We’ve got to unify to fight the Bad God!” — Zoroaster). The common narrative is that the Jews responded to this polytheistic world by creating the idea of monotheism.

What if there is another way to look at this?

So here lies the context around Genesis. The Jews had battled their way out of generational slavery. They were a long ways away from their homeland, with not a lot of hope that they would successfully return. The kids were used to being forced to worship the gods of one (or more) of the same kingdoms who had enslaved them. How do you deal with that?

The Jews reacted by creating a clear pathway back to their land. An immediate-return religion.


YHVH — also known as the Tetragramaton, the name given to the Hebrew tribal deity. Loosely, it translates to “everything”.

Angel — taken from the Greek word “angelos” meaning messenger. Originally supposed to be “daimon”, which was a spiritual helper but the term was not used because it had both negative AND positive aspects. Applied to two different terms in the Bible: the Word of God, which encompasses emanations of YHVH so powerful it took physical form, and to the Elohim, which can be translated as ‘sons of god’


How do you explain to your kids that, even though they’ve spent their young lifetime watching Mom & Dad bow to a Golden Calf, that this is now wrong? How do you explain to them that the land they have never seen, never experienced, is so much better than where they were at? You tell them this:

“Look, my child. The universe loves us. It got us out of captivity. It protects and shelters and feeds us right now. And the gods in this universe? Well, if they rise up against us, the universe itself will shout out ‘I like these people! Leave them alone.’. So here’s some ground rules. There’s the Elohim and then there are foreign gods. You’re only going to truly know the Elohim once we return home. Until then, don’t bow down to these representations of gods. How is a single god more important than the favor of the universe? Don’t worship them. You’ve got enough to do! And once we get home. Once the home is ours again, we are in the hands of the Elohim once again.”

Obviously things didn’t work out as intended. I am secure in saying that if I laid this down at the feet of many Jews, they’d be scratching their head. But look at how absolutely utterly magnificent an attempt this is at trying to preserve a tribal legacy from the depredations of a foreign land and aid them in coherence in getting home. A way to preserve the embers of your spirituality so it can be fanned into the open flames of the heart, in an unknown future.

In that aspect, it worked. Jews, as a tribal people, have a resilient and coherent society even today, synagogues helping to cement that cohesion even while the only temple to the Elohim can exist in Jerusalem. It was an amazing, mostly successful attempt and I’m honestly in awe of it. It’s also sadly at the heart of the reason why they are persecuted (civilization really has a serious hatred for tribes, especially successful ones).

With that, I’m going to need to move on to where it all went awry.

About the time Yeshua was up to his/her hijinks (if you haven’t read this article, read it: [http://www.nthposition.com/jesusampalinsky.php](Jesus & Alinsky)), the Romans were trying out a new unity spiritual technology of their own: rebranding. They’d conquer a place, usher in some roads, and start lecturing on how their gods were pretty much identical to the local ones. So, if you wanted to continue your ways of worship, you simply had to call your gods by the Roman equivalents. And celebrate the Roman holidays too. And respect the Roman worship because, you know, your gods and the Romans were the same. Rebranding worked great for a time but like all the other attempts at explaining why our ‘world’ was crappy, it started to fall apart as the Empire slowly did.

Here’s where Saul of Tarsus steps into the picture. Saul’s a sad man. He’s a Roman but his Dad really talks about how cool it is to be a Jew. It gets so contentious, Saul finally ends up going out and hunting down Jewish apocalypse cults, like this Yeshua cult that says the Roman Empire sucks and it’s going to fall horribly because it’s filled with lechers and perverts and just generally terrible people. He gets a head injury and somewhere in the recovery period figures out his job was actually a bout of teen angst and decides to ‘become Jewish’ instead.

In context, consider how easy would it be for you, tomorrow, to become Maori or Saami or Tongva or Lakota.

Saul takes the Roman concept of rebranding to ridiculous heights, claims spiritual superiority, and takes the message of a tribal religion and applies it to the Empire. It probably would have stopped somewhere in there, except that Constantine spotted that it was a great way to unify his rapidly disintegrating empire.

“The Universe is OUR god. That means it’s so much bigger than your gods. And it likes us because Saul says so and Saul has talked to the Universe lately. Entry fee is: belief is Iesu. Thank you for playing.”


The above is likely not a direct quote from Constantine.


You really can’t get more detached from direct observation than saying ‘the universe loves ME more than it loves YOU’ and while this sham worked for a while, it ended up in the same division that claimed all the attempts to unify spirit. And as it did it gave birth to the ultimate twins of detachment.

Welcome to the spiritual technologies known as Science and Theosophy.

Science is the madness that results from faith being so long divorced from common practice. It looks at the last few thousand years of devastation and, instead of questioning the cultural wounds imposed on the people, says:

“There are forces in this universe but they are IMPERSONAL ones. They don’t care for us and they probably don’t even think or aren’t alive or aren’t of any importance.”

Tribal people from over forty thousand years of observation roll their eyes at its ignorance.

Theosophy is the rationalization that occurs when you are trying to fit all of those personal forces into a framework where they flat don’t fit. Theosophy appeared at the heart of the Spiritualist Movement in the late 19th Century and is best recognized today through both New Age and Waldorf movements. Theosophy wants to say:

“We are all part of a primitive space-time, the lowest of the low, and every ill we get, we deserve. In fact, we’ve asked for it. This is elementary school for gods. We (and the ongoing march of civilization as it progresses) are an “unfolding consciousness” (actual quote, btw) and once we’ve learned enough lessons, we will uplift from this precocious plane and enter the real Reality.”

And tribal people bang their head on the wall as theosophists try to sell dreamcatchers — summoning charms SPECIFICALLY made for the Spider God of a certain tribe — as special nightmare stoppers theosophists ‘made in their past lives as native american shamans’.

So what is the takeaway from this entire post? E pluribus unum? Infinite diversity, infinite combinations? Perhaps it’s something as simple as highlighting both a seductive but dangerous (and ultimately futile) spiritual technology meant to unify the planet AND an attempt by one tribe to preserve their identity long enough to return to its roots. Only one of these technologies is worthy of study

The other only exists to be discarded, except as a warning to future generations and a lesson of history.

Some concepts lifted from this article: http://discuss.rewild.com/t/the-trouble-with-one-long-post/2183 originally published on rewild.com January 2nd, 2017

The Reality of Being “Human”

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Every culture on the planet has an origin story, a way they describe how things came from not-being to being. In this, they often have a mythic narrative that also discusses how the first man and woman came into existence. Equally as often these progenitors are presumed to be just like us. If you were to transport the First Ones through time, they might be surprised by the use of modern tools or new cultural taboos but they would still fundamentally be recognizable to us and even, over time, become acceptable (even revered!) in our modern culture.
For almost 1,800 years, the dominant narrative has been of only two people—an Adam and an Eve—instead of a first tribe or a pair of couples or a set of hermaphrodites separated by the gods. This formed a very distinct starting point. Before Adam & Eve, there was nothing like them and after them, nothing different was ever conceived (at least by the gods).

A mere two-hundred years ago, Charles Darwin was wandering the world and observing things (and just as often meddling with them). In contrast to the prevailing thought at the time (”God made everything. Deal with it”), he discovered that life exists as a series of discrete relationships that can change slowly over time. It wasn’t the first time folks had noticed it, but its presentation was well-timed and shook up the world at the time.

Much to Darwin’s horror, a number of people (including members of his family), choose to focus on the ‘discrete’ instead of the ‘relationship’ part of his theory. From this particularly loathsome attention came the fields of eugenics and genetic determinism. Now, people had a ‘scientific’ way to justify prejudices. Poor people? Poor genes. Criminal tendencies? Must have passed from father to son. The god-blessed positions of royalty and their sycophants? Now blessed by Reason.

The absolute experts on this became the German Reich scientists, who produced outstanding work on the different genetic branches of mankind. Time and time again, they came up with clear definitions of how the blue-eyed, blond-haired ubermen of their homeland were definitely the end-result of Darwin’s evolutionary claims. All of their work was mad nonsense, of course; the results of overwhelming confirmation bias thanks to a horrific political climate and pressure to succeed under ridiculous circumstances.

Their work, idiotic and as cleverly worded as it was, leaked into modern day. A drive for which ‘race’ started where, for where the origin of ‘humanity’ came from. Scientists, in all seriousness, argued that their findings marked the humble beginnings of the species as here or there and that this was some sort of discovery or achievement.

In essence, the scientists were looking for a myth. So wrapped up in Christian theology, they were searching for an Adam and an Eve.

Do you remember how Darwin was studying discrete relationships? Once you start focusing on the relationships part instead of the discrete, a far more realistic pattern emerges. An astonishing ‘bush’ of life instead of a tree. Species that may appear different can successfully mate if they have the chance, or not. Time and distance do change things, sometimes on the surface, sometimes underneath. The ‘missing link’ that was ‘never to be found’ a mere century has been found over and over again. Suddenly, there are dozens of different types of Genus Homo, some of which we know, definitively, that we have bred with. Those branches that vanished didn’t just vanish; they just sexed their way into what was up and around at the time. What was new based on the environmental conditions that favored them.

You might think this is avoiding the question — where did humans come from? The answer, of course, is another question. What is a human? Is it when we started walking on two legs? Fire? Tools? That was all millions of years ago. Gathering in small tribal units (still millions)? Art? A million or so. Hunting? Gathering? Funerals?

We tend to think that Genus Homo from about 3/4 – 1/2 million years ago looked pretty much like us. But like us does not mean us. Were they still having sex with Homo Neanderthalis at that time? Or the Denisovans? Or something we haven’t found yet? Culture as we like to recognize it can into play around 250-50 thousand years ago but that just means there was a lot of it shared out there. Civilizations came in about 12-10 thousand years ago. Was that ‘human’?

Let’s take a step back. We know humans succeeded because they were persistence hunters, which is basically running down animals to death. To be a successful persistence hunter you have to have a strong sense of curiosity and time. You have to be able to assemble stories. This plus this plus this means that the deer ran through here.

What does it mean to be human?

Not our genetics, not our form. If this was our sole measure of success then we would have died out in places where persistence hunting failed. Instead, our success comes from being a storied people. Instead of a genetic shift over time, a storied people relies on memetic changes and the epigenetic changes that result from those memetics.

Epigenetics, which is a relatively new field, hypothesizes that a chunk of DNA is expressed only in relation to an environmental stress or benefit. Epigenetics speaks to the physical changes that occur that allow humans to adapt to an environment, causing variation in their appearance, though they are fundamentally the same. The same… well… the same kind of being that can choose to mate with their neighbors, to build relationships and nurture them.

What does it mean to be a storied people? A people who use culture to alter themselves?

It means there is no such thing as a human race. It means there is no such thing as an “Adam” and an “Eve”. A case in point, sometime before we ‘matured’ into homo sapiens sapiens, we started hanging out with wolves. Any biologist can point out the sudden shift in ‘human’ attitude and ‘wolf’ attitude that resulted in a co-evolutionary path. The two species couldn’t mate genetically, but epigenetically and memetically, they were on-fire.

Homo lupus gave way to tribes. Tribes gave birth to an impossible variety of humans. Homo Lakota. Homo Cymmru, Homo Taino, Homo Gunwinggu. Ultimately, the cancer that is Homo Civis. It’s that which is our strength. It’s also why the ‘origin of the species’ will consistently be wrong. It’s chasing after a myth which has never been the reality of our species.

We are all Adams and Eves.

In Ice, She Sleeps

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So one day I’m in this discussion about how the prince in Cinderella is obviously under the effect of fairy magic and why didn’t his parents figure that out? That inspired me to look a little deeper into fairy tales and start teasing out some deeper thread. With that said, enjoy:

Ω

That day was so clear to her. It marked the beginning of an end, though she didn’t hold that idea at the time. No… instead she felt she was in the bloom of her power; the blush of spring. Hair sun-kissed, cheeks rose-red, eyes like calm pools. He called her Beauty but she was no fool. She knew that all things could be lost with time. No, she was just herself. As beautiful as a rose. As thorned as a briar. She smiled, perfect teeth concealing a perfect tongue and she laughed, wholly and delightfully. That name she would take for her own… rose-red, briar rose; Rose.

She had been with the heir to this land some time ago, not too long past, and she was still flush from their encounter. At the end of their too brief rendezvous, he had gifted her with a bouquet of unique, magnificent thorned blooms from his mother’s garden. His tribute to her name and nature. Holding them close, she found that spot by the river she remembered from her youth, down the path that led to the hill and the People that lived beneath it. Dark and strange and faithful People. Memories from a lifetime ago. But it was a good memory and, above all, safe, so she lay there, happily exhausted by the day and she let herself drift off to sleep on a patch of soft black earth within the sound of the bubbling water.

She dreamed, restless, unexpected.

Of long ago times and far thrown futures. Her hand flung out from her as she dreamed, thorn ripped, and the flowers scattered. Three drops of blood fell to the earth from a torn thumb.  And in her swollen sleep, she whispered “Skin like snow, lips like blood, hair like night.”

The ones that live under the ground and in the trees and in the water and in the good clean earth heard her. They blessed her and the words she had spoken.

Rose found herself that day with child.

‡ ‡ ‡

She had decided the child would be born alone, as was the old way, out deep in the forest, where the roots of life itself ran deep and her grunts and sounds could not be heard by her people. In customs of ancient times, her family would be waiting a short ways off to aid her after the birth and protect her should anything go wrong. But her father had died young and her mother… she didn’t talk about her mother anymore. Rose believed in herself, in her strength, in the knowledge of the forest because of her time with the people under the Hill, her cousins and aunts and uncle not by birth but by need.

So here she was, her and her swollen belly and the child inside her straining to be released, to come into the world.

The child’s head crowned as a great cat appeared at the edge of the glen. It scented the blood and, in the way that cat-kind can do, it allowed its pleasure to be known. Food was near. The cat’s opinion, of course. The child’s mother had another notion. Rose snarled, both in pain and in frustration. She saw the cat fully, knew its intent. She would not give up, this close to bringing her daughter in the world. And then she laughed. That laugh that only the mad truly understand. She howled, much to the cat’s irritation.

Her howl was answered.

A pack of wolves drawn by blood and curiosity came to see what the fuss was about. At first they challenged the cat. A meal was to be had. This meal would be theirs. Or not, if the risk was too much. Snarls were met with ears bared back, a warning hiss, and teeth bared. The great cat was not here to play with some feral things. She wanted her food and she wanted it now. Rose howled again and the first among the pack came out, old and experienced. He sniffed the air again. He growled but it was different this time. This person he recognized. She was not a meal. She was kin. She was birthing.

She would be protected.

The pack charged across the glen, meeting the cat halfway. Its heft was more than them; it was older and more powerful. But they were determined and tenacious to the point of stupidity. Back and forth, so close, at times a hair’s width away from the cat’s prey. The next moment, almost back to the forest.  Rose sobbed with effort. Her cries grew louder until they overwhelmed even the sound of the fight. Then a new sound burst through the air. Young, robust, vibrant. Skin like snow, hair like the night. Her child in the world.

The first among the pack watched as a strange claw the color of his stormy eyes flew through the air and embedded itself in the cat’s neck. Surprised, the cat stumbled back and then forward, slumping down for the final time. The youngest ones in the pack, still jumpy from the fight, nipped at the corpse, ripping at the fur looking for meat or a fight.  The first looked to Rose and there she was, baby on her breast, fingers frozen in the same place as when they’d thrown the knife. The two stared at each other for a while, then the first chuffed, and signaled for the pack to leave. They left her in peace, dragging the meat towards the woods. The loss of the knife was worth it.

Snow White had been born.

Rose felt it swell in her and tears fell. She was a Lady now. The land accepted her as kin and blood and her lord waited for her, impatiently, at home.

She left joyfully, her daughter sleeping close to her heart.

‡ ‡ ‡

Something was wrong.

There was a chill in the air, in a land where in living memory people only remembered summer.

Rose’s child had grown to be a wonder, a dream made flesh. She had an impact on all who knew her but none more than her father, the crowned lord of the land, and her mother, the lady of the land. There were gifts in abundance at her home, for Snow White’s birthright, for her mother to commemorate her trials, for her father in exchange for a promise to keep and protect them until Snow came of age.

Among the gifts provided were ones from the Children of the River. Tall and fair and as enchanting as a summer sunset, they had given several to the lady Rose, among them a comb that would tease out bad thoughts, a set of leather lacings that tied themselves, a set of charms that would bring only beauty to the eye, and finally Rose’s favorite gift: the silver bowl. The bowl was, more often than not, her constant companion. In quiet times it would show her reflection. In others, the spirits of the land talked to her. So many of them were ones she was familiar with, from her youth. Robust and full of life and whimsy. It took her more than a week to find one that embodied the chill that lurked at the edges.

“Lonely spirit, mirrored there, is the world not full and fair?” she asked.

“Lovely lady, kind and cruel, as your troth fades, so fails the world.”

The tones in which it delivered the news was heartbreaking. Her troth—her loyalty and her fidelity—was the core of her very being. It was reflected in her face, in her looks. Her looks… She gazed at her reflection in the bowl.

Didn’t she look tired?

The effect startled her and she took time to contemplate it. The lines she hadn’t noticed before. The shadows underneath her eyes. Her hair, losing its color. The frown at the corner of her mouth. When had she lost faith in the world?

She did not feel like a cruel person. How could she be seen as cruel?

No. She had never lost her faith in the world. She understood that now.

Her faith had been taken from her.

There was something she never told anyone about her daughter. She loved her fiercely, as any mother, but the truth was–and it was a truth she turned over and over each night—quite often she didn’t like her daughter.

They were opposite in composition. Rose was always full of exuberance, opening her home to revels and celebrations, fiercely dedicated to the health of the people of her lands. Snow, on the other hand was quiet and focused. Her eyes were sharp and clear and incisive and a single word could cut the conversation to the bone. It was not pleasant arguing with Snow, and Snow’s sporadic blustery angers were already the things of legend.

Snow was not a bad person. She was simply different. And there was nothing her mother could do about it. Often Rose prayed it was a phase Snow would outgrow. But she also understand that might never be the case. It was frustrating but not important.

Until now.

Those who took care of the land reflected the land and the land reflected them. If the family was divided… the land could die.

Rose’s attention to the problem grew with a deadly focus. It did not take long for her to confirm what the spirit had touched upon. As her daughter grew in vigor, her own strength failed. Her husband, her lord, would not listen to her, even when the leaves themselves began to change color from brilliant green to other less savory hues.

When his health began to fail, she knew what she would have to do.

She resisted it for so long. She combed her hair with the magic comb, removing the thoughts time and again until the comb itself dripped with poisonous intentions. It made no difference.

She couldn’t see that she had a choice.

Snow White had to die.

‡ ‡ ‡

It had been some time since she bled on her own, so she took a knife to her palm and raised it to the wind. The moon was a silent sliver overhead. She had shed her clothing at the edge of the glen to let the world know she was there.

She howled.

And they answered.

She was shocked to see him at the edge of the forest. When she’d last seen him, at the birth of her child, he was old, first among his pack. But now he was younger, an adult full in his years. Somewhere in that time, he had adopted two legs and the body of a man. A horned mask covered his face but his stormy eyes and his pack-mates, now older, gave him away.

She made her demands. He did not approve and he made it known.

But she was Briar Rose. She was the lady of the lands. She would not let her words go unanswered.

For the land to live, Snow White must be taken to the far part of the forest, where life was rooted deepest and she must die.

She heard a deep snarl come from his chest but she silenced it. With tears, she showed that the burden of this rested on her just as heavily as on him. And in the end, he gave in. She let him go.

The deed would be done.

‡ ‡ ‡

Her daughter disappeared the next day.

On her bed the next night, the Huntsman left a gift to remind her of what she had done.

A heart. Snow’s heart.

It reminded her of an innocent doe.

She cried for a week and none could staunch her pain. And then she was done with tears forever.

‡ ‡ ‡

Her husband was dying.

The world was dying.

Despite her sacrifice, nothing had changed.

Finally, she returned to the bowl. It had been an age since she’d used it and her friends, those spirits who had filled her with laughter and humor, were gone or hidden or lost.

The answer they gave to her queries was the same. It led her to only one conclusion. Snow White was still alive. Whether the Huntsman had betrayed Rose or not made no difference. Somehow, Snow had made her way to the People Under the Hill, her relatives and her aunts and uncles.

It was… frustrating, to say the least, that those same relatives had not bothered to mention this to Rose.

Snow was living currently with the dun men, who mined and crafted and worked metals and jewels for the people. It seemed to be a comfortable arrangement but it was obvious that with her still alive, her influence on the land was still spreading. The dun men, by tradition, would not interfere.

The leaves were falling, and Rose was prepared to sacrifice anything to save them. An exchange of years off her life for the land could likely bring summer again. Giving up her time wasn’t quite enough, though. She had to fool her daughter and for that, she needed to change her appearance. Rose used simple mummer’s art to disguise herself and her voice. Playing the part of the wandering trader, she gifted her daughter with the magical laces.  Her hands shaking—what a relief and a horror to see her daughter so strong, so vigorous—she helped lace her daughter into a new vest… and then quietly commanded the laces to bind her. She fled as her daughter reached out for help, death swiftly approaching.

It would have worked. It should have worked. But later Rose found out that the dun men had been driven from their mine. Knockers pounding on the walls, making it unsafe. So they came home early for lunch and they found Snow not breathing. They cut the laces with a fish boning knife and brought her back.

The dun men were no fools. They knew something unseemly had happened and foul magic had deliberately entered their home. They hunted the forest for the wandering traveler but could not find her. Rose had covered her tracks well. They did not tell Snow that the actions of the lacing was intentional. Life went on, for Snow at least. The world was still dying.

‡ ‡ ‡

The next time, Rose waited until Snow went to market. While the dun men protecting Snow were distracted by apples ripe for the cidering, she appealed to Snow’s vanity and presented her with a comb, the same comb that the Lady filled with her poisonous intentions. Stunned by its lethal beauty, Snow traded for it and walked off with it in her hair. She barely made the edge of the market before the tines of the comb pierced her scalp and the poison sank deep into her.

The dun men returned her to their home as quick as they could. They pulled the comb from her head and treated her feverish state with unusual mushrooms, herbs and hot stones. Some returned to the market, suspicious, but they found no vendors selling combs.

This time they prepared. They gifted Snow with charms to protect her from magical attack. In their foolish pride, as hosts, they didn’t tell her how close she’d come to death. They were confident in their skills. That proved to be a mistake.

‡ ‡ ‡

Snow was out walking the forest when she heard unmistakable sounds of delight. Then she saw the old woman, basket full of apples, coming through the forest. The two talked and Snow was surprised how much she liked this grandmother, how much they shared in common. As the two conversed, the old woman wound a bracelet of holly and lavender and marigold around Snow’s wrist. A gift, the grandmother said, for such a fine young lady. The grandmother told Snow in the most convincing terms that she had found a branch on a tree in the forest that, for this season and this season only, produced sweet apples. It was a rare find and such a gift this late in the year! A gift she was also willing to share…

Snow knew that the charms given to her by the dun men saved her from hostile magic. She had faith in their skills and their protection. So, she picked an apple from the old woman’s basket and she bit into it with relish.

The moment the soured apple, picked from the courtyard of her dying father, hit Snow’s throat, she began to die.

The charms Rose had wound around Snow were old ones, a gift from Snow’s birth set to only allow its user to recognize beauty. Not hostile magic at all. Rose stared at her daughter’s last moments with a deep regret. She had won.

Snow White was dead.

The world was saved, wasn’t it?

‡ ‡ ‡

In a silent castle, in a silent land, a lonely woman sat on a throne of stone.

In her courtyard were the mourners for her husband’s funeral.

In her forest lay the corpse of her daughter. As was their custom, the dun men gave Snow White’s body to the river.

The lord was dead.

The world was dead.

Snow White lay silent in shallow, translucent ice as the waters froze over.

Rose’s white-haired howl of grief was enough to shake the world. Nothing grew. The forest floor was covered in a crust of snow that nothing could penetrate.

The dun men finally sought out who had broken tradition, who had come to kill their beloved Snow White, their adopted cousin. They found Rose, all alone.

When they came for her, she offered no resistance and followed them into the lands under the Hill into the Dark.

‡ ‡ ‡

The howls of his brothers and their various complaints were loud. At times like this, the Huntsman regretted giving up his fur for his current form. In his defense, it was a useful body and it was taking years off his age. He was supposed to be hunting for food for his people but the land was stubborn. Honestly, he wasn’t searching for food so much as absolution.

He had been party to a murder and the stain had never left his heart.

The sun was rising on a fruitless, bitter night when he came across the river.  And much to his shock, there she was.  The thorn that had turned inside him. Snow White, frozen and gone. His knees failed him and he found himself by her side, above her, weeping.

The mask—that crown he so proudly wore—he couldn’t bear it any more. He removed it and let hot tears spill like years onto the ice. And under that gentle, heartfelt pain, the ice melted. When he saw her forehead, unburdened by ice, he understood he was younger than he once was and that the mantle of the land had passed to him. Its responsibilities he shouldered and accepted gladly, in her name.

In gratitude, he placed one sun-touched kiss upon her forehead. And she awoke. Transformed… hair sun-kissed, cheeks rose-red, eyes like calm pools. She looked out and she saw him as she rose, slowly, from the water into a new life.

As spring to summer. As fall to winter.

“Beautiful.” He said. The word rolled over her. It was important but not the whole of the story.

Her love had come. The world would live again.

She would live again.

She smiled. The day was becoming so clear to her.

It marked the end of a beginning.

Categories: Magick, Short Story, We Rise Tags: Tags: , , , ,