[Author’s Note: This story is a tribute to those all over the world who are courageously reclaiming women’s roles of spiritual power.]
The seer was both coming home and making yet another journey to the farthest bounds of existence. She entered through the door of a small thatched round dwelling that had been her first gateway to those realms where time is an open horizon and strength emanates from the soul rather than the sword. Her blue cloak, heavy silver brooch, red wool dress, and ornate iron staff were outward symbols of her high status but in this simple house she was still an apprentice. The home belonged to the woman who had taught the seer to peer into the future, to make the rain fall or storms vanish, and to heal or curse, but who had chosen to live out her own last days in her simple gray, roughly woven tunic and bare feet, spinning at her wheel.
The elder woman had summoned the seer, simply saying she wished to know the future. The seer settled on a stool by the fire, arranged her cloak around her, laid her staff across her lap, and closed her eyes. She began to chant, riding on the rhymes and intonations, then fell into a silent trance.
After a moment, she flinched awake and grabbed her teacher’s hands. “What vision is this?” she asked. “My sight has gone far beyond your fate, deep into the future of our people, and there are no seers, no women prophesying, no one to intervene when the powers of the cosmos threaten, no place for women like us! How can this be? How can those who live in such bereft times survive?”
“It is what is never spoken,” the old woman said. “What you see is true. In other lands women seers continue, but not in ours. I saw this myself, right before I retreated to this little hut. I then closed my inner eye and told myself not to speak of this, to let the people of the future make their own way.”
The seer left the house, folded away her robes and jewels, and wandered the primeval forest. Her ancestor heart ached for her descendants who would never be able to peer beyond their own narrow lives as she did. She closed her eyes, sang holy songs, and danced until she fell into a trance, then powered her soul forward in time to not just witness, but to be with, the women in the forlorn future.
When she opened her eyes, the forest was no more and she stood on a lawn with short grass enclosed by a chainlink fence. She was alone, yet in her heart she could hear the mourning cries of the women from many different centuries and places, heartbroken, emptied out, barren with grief at the loss of that which they could not even name, did not even know had ever been. To never see their own holiness embodied in the women seers, to never know that flights to other realms could happen right in their own kitchens, and to live without the understanding that they and all beings were embedded in a cosmos infused with magic were voids too deep to bear.
The seer fell on her knees, grabbing her belly where all the trauma was flowing in. She had not the vigor to intone a blessing, to fall into a trance and prophecy, so she simply laid her hands on the Earth and let the women’s pain flow there, where it could be transfigured. Then she decreed that when she died her grave would lie untouched until the right time when women would find her with her clothes, jewels, amulets, and herbs and know that they, too, held great spiritual power. Maybe then they would begin to hear their own song, to see with their own prophetic eyes, and to hold the staff of their own century.
And, indeed, after many centuries her grave, with all the symbols of her office, was excavated, confounding the archeologists who always assumed that only men would lie in such magnificent tombs. But the everyday women who learned of the find recognized their own household tools in the distaff-shaped iron staff, symbols of their own inner spiritual sovereignty in the glorious clothing and jewelry, and their own poignant humanity in the bones of a woman just like them.
The seer travelled back to her own time and returned to the old woman’s house a year later for another vision of the far distant future to see what her visit there may have wrought. Her mind’s eye was filled with a burst of blazing light. What did it mean? The elder woman said “Maybe it is the sun and earth exploding, or being born again. Maybe it is the passageway into paradise. Perhaps it is the sacred fire emerging in the souls of those future women again, thanks to you. I think it is all these things and more.”
In time, the seer retired to her own small cottage and put away her clothes, jewels, and staff until she would be buried with them. She still sang and danced her way into trances, but this time traveling to the future not to tell what would be, but to create what will be. When she saw a woman just beginning to understand the power within her, she would whisper encouragement and advice. When a circle gathered, she would send into their minds images of her own rituals and chants, that they might know the proper ways, just as her teacher had shown her so long ago. When a barrier was placed in the way of truth, love, and justice, she would offer courage and persistence. Have you heard her voice, received her visions, felt her faith in you on your path?
Endnote: Max Dashu’s Witches and Pagans: Women in European Folk Religion, 700-1100, (Veleda Press, 2016), was the source for many factual details about European seers for this story. Any inaccuracies and all flights of fancy are mine!
(Meet Mago Contributor) Carolyn Lee Byod
(Meet Mago Contributor) Carolyn Lee Boyd