The Nine of Wands

I am here, and then I am there, almost transported against my will. The sun beats desperately against my instantly sweating brow. I raise my hands to shield my eyes from this harsh heat. And in the scintillating waves of heat I realize there is someone standing not far from me. There was no trying to find this man. He stands before me now and eyes me warily. I feel uncomfortable in his harsh and defensive gaze and I drop my hand and my eyes with them. "I'm sorry," I say quietly, "can I help you?" And he shakes his head barely altering his stance. He seems suspicious of me. And then I truly notice him. He stands tall in clothes that he must have been fighting in. There are smudges of dirt and the edges lay in tatters and he is holding tightly to a staff. I look at him more fully and see his head is coarsely bandaged with a filthy torn rag and his hair is sweaty and matted with blood and dirt. Blood seeps out from under the bandage to run slowly along his rough and unkempt face.


His eyes shift towards me sharply. "What are staring at?", he growls as his eyes seem to narrow in defiance and distrust. And I startle to realize I have been staring at him. "you're, you're hurt" I stutter and I fumble as I try to reach out to help him but he gestures angrily, lowering the stick he holds slightly toward me. I react taking a step back. "But you're bleeding" I try one more time, more sure of myself. But he grunts at me and seems to end this conversation. I realize he will not speak to me again.


I glance to the side of him and suddenly notice that the stick he carries is multiplied eight times behind him. He must have placed them as a guard about himself before I arrived. And most assuredly, the do form a bit of a fence or boundary behind him. And I realize that once they were sticks, but somehow these eight staffs seem to broaden and grow under my careful watch. They expand and sprout the tiniest of spring green leaves. Roughly they form, and I am fascinated as I continue to watch and realize that these sticks he chose to place behind him are now supporting him in his determination. With each wave of strength and resolution I feel emanating from this broken soldier, I watch the branches sprout farther and the leaves darken. He seems magical without even knowing. He has created this strength and this resilience. He has created his own defense against the enemy and I lean into those subtle energies. I feel my own soul being honored in that flow.


And I realize he no longer looks in my direction and I glance at my own hands somehow grown sticky and notice they are bloody even tho I never touched his wound. I brush them on my pants suddenly noticing my ragged and dirty cloak. Suddenly my hands and feet seem to fade away and I notice the green coarse grass waving under them. And then my whole being seems to fade and I realize I am spirit and I can still see this place, but no longer can this worn but triumphant soldier see me. And then I start to realize that I am seeing from where he once stood. I hear distant sounds. And I feel this same resolve and strength I had seen earlier. I am standing strong and holding onto a staff of my own. The sounds again pierce my consciousness...metal on metal and indistinct yelling.


Am I now that soldier himself? I have only done as I needed. This is not a path of struggle chosen - rather I feel myself rising to the form and calling. There is no other path. I must only do what needs to be done. But somehow I have gained acclaim in only doing as must needs be done. I have been thru so much and I have endured past the point had ever imagined I would. My body is beaten and bloody and in some ways unrecognizable from before, but I am stronger than I ever imagined being and I clutch more firmly even now to this staff in my hand. It has changed as well. I feel the rough bark under my raw fingers. I realize my blood has stained this wood and created a staff of remembrance. Somehow my spirit knows that this will not always be like this. I have this knowing that when night falls, I will be released of this firm stand. Beautiful night with the moon shimmering over coolness and stillness. I have persevered so long and I choose to be proven worthy. At this moment I stand alone as the hermit of old. I wonder at that. Did I choose this path? Or was it chosen for me?


And I realize this is my life with a special needs child. I am this soldier in the battle and I have struck out to form my own shelter and my own world of safety for him. I have done only what was necessary and I have come to each battle and fought my hardest. I have only done what I had to in the moment to survive and protect what I hold so dear. I have held firm to that which I so ardently believe.These things have changed everything. They have changed the scenery. They have changed my trajectory. But most of all, they have changed me, irrevocably. I am injured but I am strong. I am dirty and full of memories of trauma and fighting but I am overcome. I am a victor.


And again I glance at these tree beings behind me that have become solid and unwavering. The have continued to grow as I have been standing here numb in the face of so much revelation. They are now forming a luscious green canopy above me. I relish the cool shade and feel myself lift into the arcing and graceful branches. I feel myself comforted and slipping away in the knowledge that this soldier will endure to the end and the victory that he alone can see. I have become him after all.