When an otherworld fae contact whispered these words in my heart last year I was in such a state of grief that I could barely take note of their implications.
The Departure, how I refer to the mass exodus of many faery and elven elders from this planet as they completed their story with Gaia, had knocked the wind out of my lungs. An interesting metaphor, since our lungs are said to hold our grief, and I was drowning in sadness. It was a sadness that I rarely wore bright and loud on my sleeve but rather it seemed to choke me with its heavy but invisible veil of silence.
As I sat along the Faery Queen’s river waters, a blending of her flowing robes and silky hair, silver and sapphire strands, and currents enveloping me.
I had come at Alphia’s request. Though I could have declined, for I had little desire for company, I felt it was important to honor the memory of Elphim, my friend and her mate, who had departed this plane with the others. After earning his trust and friendship, it was he who had introduced me to Alphia, after all. The least I could do was visit.
Sometimes shared grief is a comfort; but the fae and sidhe peoples do not grieve as we do. To them, loss is not an all-consuming ocean because they do not struggle with attachment in the same way as their human brethren.
I cannot claim to fully understand faery emotionality. But as my tears flowed with the waters that day I caught a glimpse. The felt-sense of it was so fleeting, it was like grasping for a dream slipping away. But before it did, I knew a deep truth—joy and sadness can coexist. From their faery perspective and lens, one never occludes the other.
She bid me collect her essence. To help others remember the waters too, the waters within us and the waters of the earth.
I could not know then what I know now. I imagine I still know close to nothing. But what I do know, I gained through experience—the waters have journeyed me on a great pilgrimage over the last year, internal mostly. To the sacred springs within my own body. To hidden wells within the inner landscape of the Earth.
For months, I traveled brambled pathways, overgrown from disuse. I did my best to clear and tend the trails as I went along my way.
Then one day, almost as if to match my inner world experience, I found myself magnetized to local springs in my geographic area.
Following my maps and often vague directions, I set out on each adventure like a mini pilgrimage. I got lost and turned around a lot, making my eventual arrival all the more satisfying.
I would then sit with them and listen to their song. I sing to them as well, an offering of heart and soul from my spirit to theirs.
Sometimes I collect their waters. Always singing.
Sometimes they reflect to me the dreams that live buried and forgotten deep within.
I am not normally a sentimental creature. It is not my way. But these waters . . . these waters who I can feel their song singing me alive and awake, their songs guiding me. Even when I think my way has been lost. These waters . . .
. . . Some days I swear it is as if I can hear all the waters of the whole world singing and my blood and tears are singing too. A great call and response ensues, one filled with longing and memory and beauty and joy. Our braided song glitters like flower moon drops and silver samite in a flourish of rapture and delight.
In little more than a week’s time, I embark on an epic pilgrimage of the soul where I will return to the lands of Avalon and Albion and Cymry (known as England and Wales in the modern English tongue).
This pilgrimage marks a great passage of endings and beginnings for me. Following the soul song of wells and springs and rivers and streams, I will be laying down the grief I’ve carried, for I have journeyed it long and hard, giving it the respect it has demanded of me.
In that unburdening, another door, a new door, will open wide. To where it leads is a mystery as of yet. The mysteries are the stuff dreams are made of, and I live for such thing 😉
All I know is the wells and waters will guide me through the ancient lands that in many lives I have called my home. That even in this lifetime, my heart knows as home.
The waters will sing and I will listen, especially at each crossroads I come to upon my journey, for the pilgrimage path is teeming with them.
In truth I’ve already begun this pilgrimage. I’ve been on it since I heard the waters in the land waking up. Ever since I heard the evocative melody of Alphia song.
I do not know if you will hear from me again until my return. Although I am full of surprises and may send you a sacred transmission or an encoded image or some magical treasure via email if I inspiration takes hold.
Only the unknown is before me. This is all that is certain.
If you’d like to listen with me, the waters can be heard singing if you keep in your inner ear tuned just so, especially during this three-day solstice portal when the sun appears to stand still.
And now . . .
A pilgrimage awaits.
Good luck!