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Since I have began my bardic studies, I have more carefully paid attention to the noise of the wind slipping through the leaves. Did you know that they hold secrets? I carefully ran my fingers along the moss on a log, as I meditated in the forest. Did you know that they hold sacred patterns? I held my flute to my lips and blew whatever tune I could muster. Did you know that sound has impact? I am the Buffalo of the Mists, an ovate of the runes and flowers, a singer of the Song, and a weaver of tales. My journey began not so long ago when I heard the Song. I heard the birds sing through the grove. I continue to hear those birds, even though grief has been clutching my heart. Where the boughs open to the sky, I see those same birds take flight. It's almost as if they were singing my heart into being - reminding me of life and death, and that they are connected. One day, my heart felt like it was cracking open like one of noots' acorns. I grabbed a branch from a nearby oak, sending a few ants flying, and cracked it from the tree. I started to give a guttural hum. I started off low. It sounded haunted. It was not pleasant, but it was real. I waved the branch in the air above my head, continuing along with my hum. I knew that I would need to carry my sorrow and happiness with me. Not just in my flute. Not just in my heart. But also in my stories, my Songs. I apologize to the oak for hurting it and placed the branch on the ground and continued on my way to the city of Buya. I made a promise to myself to listen to my elders and their words - to share their stories with our children, and hopefully their children. I would collect their tales like precious stones and would turn them into the most beautifully cut version I could. In my circle, I have just begun to offer my Songs. They are not eloquent. They are not the most pleasant. But they are born from my heart. That is the bardic way. You take what you know, learn more about it, and share it in a way that others would find enjoyable. You need to pass along history and myth. You need to share stories of strength and vulnerability. You tell the tales of heartache and passion. And so shall I. Zenath, the Buffalo of the Mists | |