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Song of the Sacred Wind
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254 pages4 hours
Summary
The quest that began with the Song of the Circle has gathered momentum in many lands as Tu Ahu have been raised to join the Creation Light of the Cosmos to planet Earth. Now the journey around the rim of the circle moves towards the end.
Crossing the great deserts of Egypt the valiant seekers of the good and true sail through the Mediterranean Sea and to Ireland. Here they gather power from the Roth of Tara, the wondrous standing stone that holds the wisdom of the ages. And they reawaken the magic of the sacred springs of that land and in the strength of stone and star and life-giving waters launch their great ship to cross the vastness of the Atlantic to complete the great circle that began so long ago.
In South America, in the waters of Lake Titicaca and on the Fields of Cuzco they come at last to the final confrontation with the Black Robes. Is the Sacred Wind, born of the turning of the stars, strong enough to overcome the anger and anguish of the darkness? Is love the greatest force in the Cosmos, the healing that is of the One?
The journey is the destination. There is no beginning and no end, just the journey.
Publisher: Barry BrailsfordReleased: Sep 6, 2015ISBN: 9781310013454Format: book
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Song of the Sacred Wind - Barry Brailsford
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1 The Cry of the Manu Tara
Align stone with stone and song with song to honour the Manu Tara; the sacred sentinels of the Bird People. Fly the mind to create the dream that defies the night to welcome the light.
The old woman sat within her cave amidst mountains cloaked by sparkling new snow. It was a cold dawning, one of many she had endured during that long winter. Yet, the bright flame of her fire served her needs and the stone that sheltered her was kind in its embrace. Much was asked of this wise one and much was given in return.
A flash of light that spoke of birds in flight brought a smile to her ageing, wrinkled face. Then came the cry of greeting. They were coming home. Her eagles, gone since the turning of the seasons, were returning. Spring would soon arrive, for they were never wrong. Their journey was founded in the knowing, an inner wisdom that reached out to the stars. Hers was also of an ancient calling, of old trails forgotten by all but a few, lore she honoured in this harsh, yet beautiful place where soaring snow-draped pinnacles of jagged rock reached for the skies. Turning her head she followed their path across the glow of the early Sun. Sending words on the wind to her eagles, the stone and all that was of her world, she spoke firmly as if to assure herself she was still of this realm.
'I, Te Whetu Marama o Te Po, greet you. Remember I am the one named for the Dawn Star, the Keeper of the First Light. Ah! My beautiful birds, my life, how I have missed you in the time of the falling snow. Only the Stone has been my companion, aye, the Stone of Stones.'
With sure hands Te Whetu reached into the woven basket at her side and reverently brought forth a shining stone polished smooth by the rushing waters of a river. This she understood as she ran her fingers over its bright surface and let her mind travel into its depths. She had done this many times over the years and by the soft touch of her hands added lustre to its magic. The story it revealed, its journey to her mountain realm, spoke of courage on the land trails and the long tides of the wide ocean. It carried the spirit of renewal and healing.
'Pounamu!' she cried, as she held it close and called it by name. 'Stone of Stones, friend indeed, how far you are from the river of your birthing.'
Yet, she knew it felt not the separation, because it was nurtured and honoured for its power and purpose. She spoke to the wind, knowing she would get a whispered response as it gathered strength for the day.
'Those who first heard the song of this Stone and answered its cry were of another land, of the distant Islands of the Double Sea. They named it. They listened to its spirit and heard it speak of its journey. They carried it to rocky shores bounded by wild waters and set it within a huge double-hulled waka that sailed the many tides to our land. They gifted it to my elders, who placed it in my hands when I was but a child, to join my spirit with the Beginning of All. They knew that without that joining there was no way for me to reach into tomorrow. The Stone is of me and I am of the stone.'
She knew few remained to honour the joining of the land and the sky. Many of the Bird People, those born of the line that flew with the spirit of the winged ones, had lost the old lore that held the balance true. Only the smoke from their fires still found its way aloft with certainty. Only the child of the flame kept the promise of the Ancients alive. The fire and the few who lived out their days within the fastness of the mountains to nurture the Stone aligned for the joining.
Each day she carried Pounamu to the Manu Tara, to sit where countless keepers of the sacred had sat over unnumbered generations. She would do so until her days came to an end. And as she came to her later years, she would dream of the one who would gather her bones and climb to the deep crevices high upon the cliffs. Climb where she had climbed with the whitened bones of the one who came before her. That was the calling, the cry that had taken her from the village far below to sit alone with the clouds. It was of a timeless thread that bound her to all the Keepers of the Manu Tara, those who had walked this ancient path in trust. It was of the mystery of stone and the magic of the eagles.
The eagles circled the towering alpine peaks and rejoiced. They saw the smoke of her fire carry the prayers of that dawning to the heavens. Here, in this place uplifted high, all was as it should be. Their nest would be well founded and their young would grow very strong. In other lands it was not so. There the returning was to mountains devoid of an old one's song and the sacred fire.
When the Keepers of the Manu Tara left this realm, there would be no place for the flight of the birds. All would awaken to a silent dawn, the death knell of the world, the long darkness unlit by stars. Te Whetu Marama o Te Po, the Dawn Star, was one of the last.
2 The Seal Breaker and the Reader
Nothing is lost to us. All we need to know is held in memory. It but waits its time. We come at last to the returning, to the age when prophecy is fulfilled, when wisdom is gifted back to guide us into tomorrow.
The Sun rose over sands that gently shifted and swirled as a warm wind gathered strength. Those who came to honour the Central Sun knew they looked into the realms of the Absolute, the Beginning of All, the creative fire that gifted life to their world. And they hoped they would survive.
So much had been achieved. The Darkness was held in balance, the Web of Life restored to its completeness, yet the greatest of all challenges remained.
The wise one had said, 'I know I am of the sacred, the everlasting fire, the realms of the spirit.' Touching his hand to his heart as he spoke, he had continued, 'I just know. I don't have to believe. If I have to say I believe, that means I don't know. It's very simple.'
Those who sat in this circle in the sands of Egypt knew the challenge was to hold the trust, to honour the peaceful way. To be all they were capable of being, to heal themselves by stepping beyond the tyranny of ego running wild, and to find strength in the joining of the nations. Only thus would they restore life to the Earth Mother and gift it onward to the future.
'It is decided then,' said the Pharaoh. 'All are agreed it is time to open the sacred Scrolls of Tara.'
'Yes! But there is much I do not understand in this,' confessed the Khan of the Middle Kingdom. 'Yet for all that, I agree. Your heart is true to the lines of old, your wisdom bound in lore that is honest and honoured, and above and beyond all that, your hospitality is wonderful.'
Laughter now, for all knew the two monarchs manoeuvred with a gentleness and joy that was wonderful to behold. They had sat silently in the sands throughout the night as the stars that arced across the darkness carried them to this moment.
For Eroa, the journey had been along the pathways of memory, back to the time when he had carved the last feather of the wondrous Stone Bird of the Ancients. He embraced that moment again after thirty years and savoured the remembrance of sharp stone cutting into stone to bring forth flowing lines that melded with others incised thousands of years before. Down through countless generations, Master Carvers had brought their magic to its shaping, each gifting power and purpose to its journey.
That thought had moved him deeply from the beginning, had sat with him through the long years that had brought him to the day when he had taken up the chisel dedicated to the finest of cuts. Humbled by the hands and hearts that nurtured this gift of the Old Ones, he had come to that final act, the ritual of completion, in his twentieth year. That was not of his choosing. The stars had called him to take up the cutting edge; the same stars that had called Awi to the birthing rock that knew her blood, the stars that had gifted her son, Utini, to the journey and gathered around that child those destined to answer the cry of prophecy.
Awi's death upon that stone had been foretold. The old one, who knew Awi could not survive the birthing of her child, had given her the choice of life. She had brought the leaves that stop the flow of the seed tides, offering Awi the loving way that did not bring the quickening of a child. That had been their secret, theirs alone. Tu, her young husband, had not been brought into that circle of life and death. The final act of putting aside those leaves had been Awi's. She had known her leaving would cleave his life in two, yet the decision could not be shared. It was beyond words, for it was written in the stars.
It was Awi's gift, the sacrifice of her life for her child, Utini, which brought them to the wonder of the dawn light that sent a golden glow over the Sphinx.
Utini reached out to hold Hera’s hand. They were twin flames, born of prophecy to fulfil prophecy, their minds attuned to communicate with in the silence. When the need was there, they gently touched into the mind of others. Thus did they catch glimpses of Eroa's journey into the past, for it crossed their own. That prompted Utini to reach into his tunic to bring forth the circle stone of his mother, Awi. He raised it to greet the Sun, to see fire and stone joined again in the circle of a mother's love.
Hera saw the colours of the Sun flash across the stone. By some trick of the light it gave birth to the seven children of the rainbow. Their brilliant dance sent her mind spinning into the Wheel they had created on the lofty heights of the Tibetan Plateau to hold the balance. Then she heard the words of the Pharaoh... it is time to open the Scrolls of Tara. Everything moved as the Ancients foretold. Trust opened the trails into tomorrow. It was time but where was the one who was destined to break the Seal?
The Pharaoh had shared the story of the Scrolls soon after they carried the Stone of Lore into the chamber beneath the Sphinx. For thousands of years his people had guarded them, awaiting the one ordained to break the Seal. And their trust in that event was twofold, for it was clear the Seal Breaker did not come alone. Only the companion of the Seal Breaker, the one known as the Reader, could make the invisible visible.
Who would dare to cross the void to touch the Seal? Who had the power to bring forth the words? All would soon be revealed, for mystery and power were the children of this dawn. It was written in the stars. It was indeed time.
Ra glanced across the circle to silently greet Aria and Eroa in that dawn light. They were the parents gifted to him by fate, who had taken into their lives a babe left to die on a bloodstained shore. He had no memory of the death of his old family, no recollection of the terror unleashed by the blades of the advancing Altec Nation. He remembered only this family, Utini the older brother, Hera the ever-watchful sister, and Porea, who had been born when he was five. None of them joined by blood but all were cherished. Ra had found sustenance in their long vigil beneath the stars. They were of his journey, for he was born to the long trails of the ocean and the realm of the whales.
Tai, Ra's life companion, who was now heavy with child, sat close by. She felt the need to leave, to find shade before the Sun climbed too high. 'I feel like one of your huge whales,' she confided in a whisper. 'If you don't help me up, I will never rise from these soft sands.'
Porea and Ra answered her plea. Standing side by side, they set themselves firmly and with a careful heave brought Tai to her feet. Their laughter greeted the new day.
'All this talk of the coming of the Seal Breaker and the Reader sits strangely with me!' said Tai when she recovered her breath. 'I have nothing to offer. My mind and body have been captured by a little traveller who kicks impatiently. There is too much Ra in this one and not enough Tai.'
More laughter and a knowing smile from Ii-chantu, the old one from the lands at the Roof of the World… More than the child moves here, was the thought that slipped into his mind… More than I had realised. Indeed it is time.
The wise one's eyes had caught a colour that brought joy to him. It encircled Ra, Porea and Tai. And when they parted, it was Porea who carried it across the sands. She walked with more than she knew… How careless of me… murmured Ii-chantu to himself… Either I am growing less able to see into the depths of others, or she guards her secret well.
When they descended to the path, a litter with eight strong bearers awaited Tai. Her every need was uppermost in the mind of the Pharaoh. Many portents had opened the way for this gathering of the nations. Omens and star signs had confirmed this auspicious meeting of ancient tides. It was of the lore of ancestors long gone from this realm. The arrival of the fleet of the Khan of the Middle Kingdom with the carved stone, brought to pass a prophecy of immense power.
The night vigil to honour the stars and greet the new Sun was part of the ritual of cleansing that opened the way to the Scrolls of Tara. The Pharaoh had shared much, but not everything, not yet. He waited on other signs, for it was safer if the final steps were walked with the blindfold of secrecy.
The Scrolls were not of this realm. Although the parchment was of the reeds of the River Nile, and the Seal itself from the fiery depths of the Mother, the ink that formed the words was unknown. Until the Seal Breaker stood revealed, none would have entry to the wisdom, and even then mystery waited to be unravelled.
The Keepers of the Scrolls were bound by five understandings...
*That they held the New Covenant, the universal lore founded in Creation and carried through the cosmos by the Sacred Wind.
*That only the Seal Breaker could open the lock within the stone and free the Scrolls.
*That three sheets of papyrus made up the teachings.
*That only the Reader could bring forth the knowledge by making the invisible visible.
*That to do so, the Reader would have to walk the trail of the Talents.
Tonight they would meet again to carry the journey to the Scrolls one step further.
Later that day, Porea and Abdullah broke free of the city to ride to the waters of the Nile. They had spent more time in camp of the guardians of the Kirghze horse than in the city. Tovitalih, the Chief of the Kirghze Nation, found joy in their company and happily provided Porea with a mount. He had seen many changes in this little one. It seemed years since he had first met her beside the waters of the River Road to bring her people through the desert trail of the Silk Road. Even then she had stood apart, the quiet one, who flitted here and there like a butterfly, nay, more like a little bird joyfully tasting nectar along the way. Solitary, but not lost within herself, she was like a flower that was about to bloom. Now she rode swiftly beside this lad who claimed the Kirghze people as his own. It seemed he had an adopted son and a nearly adopted daughter. Twins of the distant horizons, children born to know the magic of the soaring spirit.
The young ones rode the wind with cries of excitement, letting the horses have their head. Shadow Wind was all that Abdullah had ever wanted. A wondrous mount gifted by the Kirghze. He had come far since the days of tears, since the death of his beloved parents, but he was still vulnerable.
Death on the trails. Abdullah had been but ten years old when the elders had brought him the news. His parents were gone, never to return to comfort him, buried in a far place. Sent on their last great journey by thieves who savagely ended their lives in the remote lands feared by travelling merchants. He had no other family in the town of his birthing. Yet, he had a home, and within it, a wise servant who loved him dearly and held him close. Unlike others who might have sent the boy to relatives in a distant town, this old one decided the lad was best served in the place he knew well. So they stayed together in a house filled with memories and set a course that defied reason, but answered need.
They had sold the remaining carpets that were among the finest in the nation. Keeping only two for remembrance, they had charted another course. Hiring a retainer to care for the house, they had set off on the trails of the nation on mules of a rather stubborn and wayward disposition. In a wilderness, that was a place of cleansing, the sadness of loss had been shifted aside by the heat of the Sun and the sands of time. And there was more, for by the age of twelve Abdullah had become a seasoned trail guide.
Those who had first hired him for their journeys had been friends of his parents. Honest folk who sought to bring life to the dream of a youth determined to make his way in the world. He had proved so adept at his craft that they had confidently recommended him to others. As the seasons turned and turned again, the name of young Abdullah had won praise in the Bazaar. Then had come the travellers of the Silk Road, the Khan, the Kirghze and all who journeyed with them. They had taken him into their world and shared more than he could ever repay. Friendship had set loneliness aside and Porea's company had offered a joy that was still a mystery.
'You know all about me, I've shared my dreams and more,' exclaimed Abdullah, as they leapt off their horses and rushed up the sand hill beside the river. 'Yet your world remains secret. I have talked myself out, spoken again and again of my past, and heard little from you in return. I do not complain. It has been good to share the pain. And you have laughed at my stories, even when they have stretched the truth into strange shapes. You have seen adventure in journeys that I saw as hardship and found joy in my joy. But I wish to know more of the Porea behind the Porea others see. Speak to me of your Power,' he said, with a chuckle that broke into laughter as Porea sent him tumbling over and over down the steep sand slope.
She waited for him to climb up again, prepared to wrestle with him if he came back to contend in that way. It was a long, slow return, with Abdullah taking three steps up and sliding back two. Porea had time to think about his words. Her swift reaction was a sign that he had touched a nerve, had found a hurt and laid it bare.
Abdullah returned breathless
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