The Weaver

Standing in journey space I announce myself. A black unicorn appears. Running towards me, it comes to an abrupt stop in front of me, motioning for me to get on its back. The unicorn runs and runs. It feels almost like flying. We come to a place with orange-red dusky type sky with a black barren landscape. The unicorn comes to a stop in front of a grove of dead trees. Their black empty branches juxtaposition the orange-red sky gives this place a weird eeriness. Ravens perch on the dead branches by the hundreds. They caw back and forth to each other intermittently. I dismount and stand in front of one of the larger dead trees looking up to Raven. I yell out loud to them ‘Show Me”. The sound of my voice causes all the ravens to fly off the branches dispersing out onto the landscape and then disappearing all together. A chickadee lands on my hand. It asks me to lay down. It wants to help me. As I lay on the ground,the chickadee lands on my forehead. The chickadee places it’s forehead onto the area of my third eye. At some point the chickadee disappears and the ravens have all returned. They are feasting on me. They are eating every part of me. Good. Let them take all of me. When they are done, they fly back up to the dead tree’s branches. Standing up, I am nothing but a skeleton. They have eaten all of me, except my eyes. I tear out my eyes, tossing them to the ravens, who gobble those up too. ‘Now you know my story.’ I tell them.  My skeletal being wanders off. It feels good. While walking I simply enjoy the feeling of being just a bag of bones. I take myself to the healing pool. As I wade in, the healing waters embrace me. She builds me back. Flesh and bone once again. When I leave the pool, a fox greets me. She is jumping and running around me as if she is excited to see me. I am wearing a long white robe and there is a staff in my hand. There is a beautiful glistening tapestry before me. Within the tapestry are parts frayed and worn thin. Taking a golden thread, I begin to repair the threadbare parts. Weaving in golden thread to repair my tapestry of life. The drumming ends and I return to the beginning which is also the end.