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Return of the Guard
A story of the future, and a prayer
Kip Parker
They stood on the back deck, shuffling their feet in restlessness and anticipation. This band of warriors, this group whose birth pains had spanned centuries, was finally ready to publicly present itself to the Tribe’s current Hearth Queens. I moved in close to Tri, my sworn sister, and said quietly, “We are here at last, my friend. No matter what happens, we are together again.” Her eyes, as they met mine, were filled with depth of mingled joy and apprehension. The Hearth Queens knew we were coming, but no one else did. Would the Tribe accept us as the Queens had already done?
Suddenly, a door opened, and a Priestess motioned for us to enter. There was no more time to think or worry. At last, it was time to act. We filed into the circle in twos, lining up before the three Queens, and I began.
“We have come here today again, to this circle between the worlds as we have come so many times. In this circle, there is no time, no place. We are between. Each of us has been coming here through the ages, gathering, connecting, and doing the work of the Mother. We are a Tribe. A family. A congregation. It has always been so.
In 3786 BCE, I was initiated into a group called the Hechtas; the closest translation in today’s language is to call them the born-to. During my initiation, I was told that this group had always been with our Tribe, and that you were happy to admit me again to the group. That next morning, we all went out on a hunt and I brought down meat. We dragged it to the fire of the village so that all would eat. That is how it has always been with us. We have each worked at our tasks and shared the result. We have taken care of the tribe and been taken care of by the tribe, always. The Hearth Queen has guided our hearts and minds.
IN 2745 BCE, one of our group stood in the bow of a reed boat that we sailed up the river to bring news and trade goods for our tribe from distant sisters. She looked up to the top of the hill and saw her Priestess standing there, and knew she was home. No matter how tired and dirty we were, we always experienced a rush of warm happiness at the sight.
In 1345, we rode our horses to the foot of the hill and climbed up to the temple to lay our swords at your feet in defense of the people. An army that was bent on removing us from existence had attacked our city. We fought bravely, down to the last person. But we failed, and were, during those horrible days, forced to witness the destruction of all that we held dear. We saw our people slaughtered, raped, carried off. Our temple and libraries burned to the ground. We who had vowed to protect our city were decimated. WE had failed you.
For many generations after that, those born to protect sunk into oblivion, depression and addiction. We who had come home to this circle between the worlds for so long remained absent. Our terror and our shame and our overwhelming sadness kept us away. We were scattered across the globe. Like lone wolves, coyotes, or birds of prey, we led solitary existences. Some of us lived alone in the woods, in the mountains, in the desert. Some of us were just as alone in a crowded city. Even when surrounded by people, we were alone. Some of us had withdrawn so far from ourselves that we did not know why. We simply felt an underlying sadness. A hollow, echoing loneliness that nothing would fill up.
Many of us continued to fight. We became activists and radicals, carrying picket signs and writing letters. Our anger burned and we took it out on the patriarchy in any way that we could. But even as we joined resistance groups, we kept ourselves in the shadows and at the perimeter.
But the winds of change were blowing, and in this century, several events happened in the Empire of Amerika that changed us again forever.
Out in the woods overlooking the Pacific, high on a hill, a woman stood surrounded by her closest allies. She raised her hands to the shook the ethereal world with a resounding cry: ‘The Goddess is Alive! And Majik is Afoot!’ And all around the world, wolves and coyotes and birds of prey lifted up their heads. Their ears pricked up. We did not know who or what or why, but each of us knew something had happened.
Among the rolling hills in the Northern tier of the middle of the continent, another incident occurred. Another woman stood, with her arms to the sky, surrounded by her closest allies and she shouted ‘I declare the family, the tribe, the congregation of the Goddess to be RE-Formed!’ And in the woods, and on the mountains, in the cities, ears perked up again. She had commanded us to return.
And, in the lush green of the Eastern Shores, still another Priestess/Queen stood outdoors, her arms raised to the sky. And she said “I Whisper the names of wimmin of the Tribe, and commit to their defense and their protection. I call upon the Guardian beingnesses to come and be healed. I will ride the Wheel and pluck the Web and call them once again home!”
Still, it took many turns of the world for us to gather. Some are still not here. But one by one, we staggered and limped and swaggered into those circles.
As we began to surface, the Hearth Queens rejoiced. They know us well, and love us dearly. And as each of us arrived on Her doorstep, She took both our hands in hers and knelt before us, saying ‘I acknowledge you. I will never judge you or reject you. You belong here, and I welcome you home.’
For a long time, we stood in the background or outside the door, smoking cigarettes and watching the horizon. We were physically in many places, but our souls were here, between the worlds, together. Some of us came inside and set up chairs and ran errands, still unsure of our place in the tribe. Some of us had chance encounters that became monumental moments of recognition and joy. Some of us could not connect, even to one another, because the wounds were still too painful, the damage too great. Some of us cannot still. We hold them in our hearts even now and pray for their eventual Return. Slowly and with lots of help, we have emerged again as full members of the Tribe of the Goddess. And finally, we have begun to Re-form the Guard.
Today, most of our “horses” have 6-cylinder engines, and our swords and told have a different look. In this era, my personal sword drips ink. Each of us has a tool or a weapon that she uses to serve and to protect. They may look different to ancient eyes, but make no mistake; we have each given our lives and our futures many times in Her service, and would do so again this moment if the need arose.
ON this night, again, with echoes of ancient battles in our ears, we have ridden our horses to the base of this hill and climbed through the mysteries and up to the temple to lay our weapons and our hearts and our tools at the feet of the Hearth Queens in service to the Tribe. And I personally present to my personal Priestess that which she has always had: my service, my loyalty and my sword.”
I nod to my sisters, and we turn, making an outward facing circle with in the larger container. We stand, shoulder to shoulder, facing the Tribe. Our circle begins to turn, each of us looking into the eyes of the wimmin in attendance. Once we have completed the rotation, I touch Trib’s shoulder and she says:
“We present to you the Re-Formed Guard. Our commitment has never wavered, and mission is reborn. We pledge to protect, to defend and to serve the Amazon tribe with all the tools at our command. It is today as it has always been. May it ever be so!”
May it ever be so.
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