Voelva Vigga bumped along the dreary wintry path
leading along the little brook near the hovel
she had moved into after the death of the sister
the highborn Sophia - she had inherited the book
of reveil - not revelations - but a throve of treasures
medical - meditational - metaphorical memes
of the late but latently patient Sophia's thoughts
and she stared ahead - she had never looked into
what the book actually contained only she knew
that her wise sibling was not wont for advice or
spreading good tidings of a special internal kind
so she was entering her adequate abode closing
the door to the world - ruminating its weary ways
what could be done - what could she do - what???
nothing noted -she could do or say or even think
would change this world's evil men obsessed
with their dreams of supreme supremacy over others
the earth needed only to go back to its beginnings
the amoebae or even before that - decimate the globe
as it was - would it really be such a terrible act?
musing she shuddered as she took to making herself
a mug of dandelion tea and adding a dash of elderberry
wine - the concoction did not taste up to snuff
but she needed that for her mind to stay starry-eyed
and clear in her head - just as her sibling Sophia had been
Ah she missed her so - and mayhap it was a mistake
to live where her sister had been but there was not much
she could do to honour her memory - Vigga the Voelva
mused while taking a sip of her mulled drink -
sun up and sun down she realised her sadness ceased not
only the time - as usual - would heal the thoughts -
and she smiled as the process make her think -
Gemma Sarah - her victorious daughter - wildly worldly
and a pride to her womanhood - and a little taking after
not only her birth mother but surely of her sister
the genial genes of female forage - to find the gems
of human kindness and care - a truthful treasure
- something that her descendant dearly had in abundance.
Schmuel - the summer of her wondrous love's wandering
off the beaten paths of dreamy times and away awaiting
he had been a beacon of hope but he was the wandering
and becoming invisible due to his supposed heritage
ah but she had followed him and had found heaven -
in his arms - but she needed more - than he could give
so she had returned to the brook the woodlands and
her life leaving a male just because she needed her self
her womanly weaving of thoughts and trials (sometimes)
self-inflicted by doubts and dullard thoughts - Vigga
unbound and wild to the point that she could only
truly live alone apart from the daughter she so treasured.
She was a soul of something that could not be defined
only felt in a moment and only by her friends who knew
drinking her tea she decided to have a look at the book
that meant so much to her wise sister of yore
The Voelva took it down from the shelf over the chimney
the first impression when she grabbed the volume
was not the size an octavo but the weight - so light?
the bark of willow was glued over the old leather
a silk band bound to the edge showed where Sophia
had been last or mayhap it was just an afterthought
Vigga bought it over to the rocking chair next to a small
table where she had placed the teacup - a relic
she did a switch - put down the book - sat down
- took a swig of the tea - it felt weirdly bitter
and started to reach for the book again -
But poof her sister stood in front of with her granny
nothing had prepared her for this harrowing event
they both silently looked sadly at her - deeply disturbed
like she had awaked them from their deadly hallows
---
she had of course known it was no ordinary oeuvre
but still to see the two people she revered the most
beckoning her to come with them to their unearthly world
she raised herself - strengthening her back -and said
in an assertive voice without fear or rancour just plain
I am living - when I need you I shall call for you.
She tapped the old volume three times and waited -
-
the mist in her little hut slowly fading while her
feminine fabulous foremother evanesced ...
her sister languished for a while longer - seemingly sad
but eventually she also disappeared elegantly
leaving a speck of dust on the surface of the Voelva's tea.
Vigga shuddered a little because the vision had been vivd
too vibrant was she already in half between the world of
living and the realm of the dead mennschen
alas she took another sip of the concoction and opened
the book of reveils hoping to find soulage
for her sorrows and to dig into the wisdom of the ages.
The yellowing page upon which she glanced -
turned to be ... blank - nothing - not even her sister's -
the highborn Sophia - writings were to be found...
lei alone her granny's medieval ministrations...
The Voelva Vigga started from the beginning -
nothing - no signs not hieroglyphs - no Celtic runes
no alphabet no drawings - just plain yellowing pages
throughout the whole olden oeuvre ... emphatically empty
Vigga found the the flask with the elderberry wine
and instead of drinking the tea mixed with the concoction
she dumped the rest over some dead plant on the sill
and poured a good swig of the wine, sat down again
and glanced one more time at the opus that was not.
Bellowing she could not believe what she had seen
but categorically she also knew that her reality was real
How could they (Granny and Sophia) have made
the world and her trust that there were vital creeds
created over time to be followed and truthiness sought?
Nothing had prepared her for this kind of business bunco
the double deceit made her realize that her sphere
her own reality was hers and that she had to find
her vital sources within herself and not in a book.
The strength of this discovery was illuminating
for one thing only - you are always alone -
you can find your own force from within
only a person's personality will prevail - influenced
inwardly and from outside - machinations only
by yourself and your learning will help you grow.
Vigga the Voelva looked up from the book
of revelation and - while smiling mischievously
mumbled, while taking a swig of the bonnie beaker
filled with the flowery wine - a fitting gesture
to remind herself that believing can become
if you do not dissect the facts - a fool's errand.
