Medicine song

Misfortune waxes with the full moon, ever close. Day and night balance on a knife-edge.

While I am spared this season’s violent turning, so many others are not. Friends, family with illnesses, medical disasters. Untimely deaths, killing waves, the Earth shrugging as the land heaves. A sun built by man gone wild with fire, spewing poison with its power.

Disaster means “ill star” and it twinkles darkly above so many lives.

And so, I offer a poem from the southwestern bard Mary Hunter Austin, penned around the turn of the previous century. May its words be a reflection of the ill star and the water that washes it clean.

Medicine Song: To Be Sung In Time Of Evil Fortune

O Friend-of-the-Soul-of-Man,
With purging waters!
For my soul festers
And an odor of corruption
Betrays me to disaster.

As a place of carrion
Where buzzards are gathered,
So is my path
Overshadowed by evil adventures;
Meanness, betrayal, and spite
Flock under heaven
To make me aware
Of sickness and death within me.

Medicine my soul, O friend,
With waters of cleansing;
Then shall my way shine,
And my nights no longer
Be full of the dreadful sound
Of the wings of unsuccesses.


About whitecatgrove

The musings of a Druid priestess, singer, poet and musician in Upstate New York.
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