Past Life in Scotland

Tags

castle, poetry, Reincarnation, Scotland

Sixteenth century

In castle high
upon a stony Highlands ridge,
I lived for my clan;
my father and I septs, outsiders
accepted by the chief, allowed
into the brotherhood, blood brothers
I would give my life for; the clan
meant everything to me, to all:
home, family, safety.

One evening, as we rowdied
in the dining hall over venison and beer,
my closest friend, returning wounded
on his horse, named the clan
that did it, and then died.

While mother and sisters wailed,
so young, seventeen, dying
for a blood feud centuries old,
cause long forgotten,
bagpipes skirled,
the chief planned our revenge.

With moonlight
guiding us on rocky trail
around the mountain,
we found their camp,
guarding cattle;
as we attacked, they sprang
to their feet, ready;
with dirk across my throat,
I passed from this world,
my day of honor:
I died for my clan.

Past Life Together: A Fragment

Tags

ocean, poetry, Reincarnation, Relationships

Beneath the brilliant sky
the dark sea heaves and rolls;
our boat lifts and drops
as you pull the oars,
guide us
towards the narrow inlet,
rocky cliff on each side.

Belongings in the bottom
of the boat, tied in an old shawl,
soaked with seawater.
In danger, pursued by the past,
our future lies between
the walls of rock.
If we can get ashore,
I know where to go.

The Lake, Long Ago

Tags

blocked emotions, dreams, Reincarnation

Two swans glided across the water
and I felt bereft:
my last memory
of a forgotten life.

Past Life: Healer in Russia

Tags

death, healer, Love, past lives, poetry, Russia

Nineteenth century

I had no words for what I did;
born with a light shining
in me, I knew, even as a child,
I was to help everyone
in the village;

their well-being was my work.
Snow everywhere, always cold,
those are my memories, as I walked
from one home to another,
wherever illness called me.

I was small, too slight
for the fire in me, a candle
burning much too fast. Thin
and always thinner,
I never bore a child.
My husband, big and brown
as a bear, expected me one day;
I never came. He found me
—only time for a kiss.

The light in me so great,
my body was warm for days;
I looked like I was sleeping.
Everyone wept.

Past Life in Mongolia

Tags

bow and arrows, Mongolia, nomads, poetry, Reincarnation

Like the harsh wind from the north, we flew
over the steppes, my comrades and I, long ago.
I was only eighteen, but my will made the others
bow down. Our small horses could run all day
as we fought and hunted

with bow and arrow. We raided the nomad camps,
grabbed their swords, axes, goat milk and meat
from the yurts. We raped the women and girls,
and made the men watch before killing them.
We wanted to celebrate

with a good feast, so we roasted the best of their sheep,
and later we chose the horses we liked. I wasted
no arrows; if one of my men fell, too injured to ride,
I left him behind. During a raid, a bearded old man
rushed from the crowd

and thrust a sword into my chest. I dropped
to the ground with my eyes open wide,
surprised that I could die, and remembering how,
as we rode to attack, I stood on my galloping horse
and loosed all my arrows.