Again. Again. Again.

The Shapeshifter holds a smile as she shows me through doors made of bone and wood. She whispers something like “Don’t you remember?” or “These are just for you.” My senses blurred, hearing muffled. The candlelight flickers and I’m alone again, in the center, a new beginning among the ordinary. 

The days are counted poorly. The clock on the wall speaks a language that I haven’t the will to decipher. This body runs on a path less linear, one of moon phases and blood cycles. I go on, traversing the spiraling journey with bare feet until the thirst is unbearable, and then she is returning. 

With eyes of clarity and a heart grown weary, she brings me back to the doors. Each time there is a deeper understanding. Now as she whispers I hear her clearly. “You’ve never been alone.” 

Lights out, but the shadows seem full, inky and watching, waiting for recognition and naming. Wanderer. Healer. Unknown Mother. On and on in the name of love. Driftwood. Hawk’s Feather. Beloved Sister. “You’ve never been alone.” The darkness holds me steady, feeling forward with tired hands until she catches me. 

Guiding me again to that place of transition. The drum beats on and I only want to dance a while. Hips moving, belly twirling, palms open to Her as she holds that same smile. Only her eyes have changed from sympathy to pride. I know I’m getting closer. “Again.” She whispers. “Again.” She sings. “Again!” She shouts as she pushes me into the next beginning. 

A forceful leap from the womb causes hands and feet to catch chill with ease. So I learn to make fire. I learn to tend the flames, the furthest reduction only to raging coals. I sit, thaw, wait in quiet meditation for her to come to me as she always has. I trace my lineage through the smoke and send prayers up with the flickering sparks and ash. 

“Don’t you remember?” My roots have grown closer to the center with each moon and conscious death.

“These are just for you.” My heart fills easier by the light of simplicity, the blessing of bird song, the intimacy of sunrise.

“You’ve never been alone.” My hands steady and back straightens each time I call the shadows by name.

“Again.” I stoke the fire.

“Again.” I sing my song.

“Again.” I begin to dance a ceremony of flesh and bone, blood rising.

“Again.” She is always returning.