A History of Healers

Where do I begin? More of a forced feed than a dream

Over a week of this incessancy and a repetition unlike any other

Begins on a full moon and ends with no moon at all

A happy, healthy tribe of people. Indigenous from somewhere in South America.

Preparing for a feast, a celebration of new leaders ahead.

All family and loved

One isolated woman, a strong, mindful, proud woman of heritage.

Proud of her status with these people, engulfed in her serious knowledge

She cares for all of them, in heart, and when they need help

She is a shamaness, she is revered and always respected

They know not what burden she keeps, how she keeps them safe

She has an ally in care, known to none of the tribe, known only her

Her ally, small and quiet, under her control, under her guard

A powerful totem, a figurine, a powerful ally

Small enough to hold in hand, she will place it where she wishes

Looks white and wolfish and appears as if only art, but changing always

The Color will change to show its deed, place it where you most need

She keeps one with her all the time, in case something changes the mood

While the tribe is in cheer and in honor of the next chief, some kids only care about their fun by how they play

They make a mistake and trip to fall, they cause a break and endanger it all

The chief’s son fell from a cliff, and his friends mistakenly follow

Upon reaching their destination below, they break bones and damage internal organs

The scream from a woman above tells everyone how serious it was.

The shaman does respond, the others do stare. She asks for them to cover her while she does her work

She reveals her ally to those that are hurt, with no witness to see.

A little figurine, her ally, now set beside those in need.

No longer small, no longer still, no longer art but a monster of skill

It opens the skin and chews on the bone, not for consumption but to mend it everything whole

Huge arms and claws that cut like a scalpel, enter the skin with ease and no remorse

No bedside manner, no ease of words, all parts of its natural self will heal it all

The teeth grind bone into place, they bind those bones together when they are broken

The saliva cures disease and stops all the pain

The claws cut deep on entry and sew up everything as they depart

The children have no knowledge of what has occurred, no clue of the savior that provided their cure

No ailment can escape the power and prowess of the brutal creature

Within moments of being unleashed upon those who would be dead,

It reduces itself and retires to the shaman’s bag

The relief of the children’s survival overwhelms the tribe with wonder

The shaman retreats from the celebration to finish the task

She shrugs off the hugs and those who would ask

Where she goes, no one in the tribe knows

Her burden would be less if not for what she must do

She now goes to finish it and her heart now sinks

She pulls her ally again as she must, its now no longer white and no longer still

It is flushed with pink and red, and it changes in pose

Not sitting patiently, but looks like it's on all fours

It needs to be replenished, so she makes sure it does

To have a healing gift takes much power and the right place

Obtain these, requires the right space

Her ally needs no rest, it will never retire. It needs the exact parts to make it whole

The whole of others, who are healthy and bright, it will feed on others deep into the night

The shaman finds another tribe that competes with theirs

For food and water, and the space they share

The time is right and no one she knows is in it's path

All people, all young and old, no matter if their evil or good

They shall perish tonight, a sacrifice for her tribe to replenish the healer so it may sit by her side

She can only stay to ensure the feeding starts, after which she must hide

If her ally catches her scent of her during the replenishment, she will become an unwilling part of the process

She sees a member of the enemy tribe get close to her healer who is now anxious to kill

It moves with the horror of how fast the consumption occurs, making her own instincts flare up to flee

The healer follows the scent of all in their tribe

By morning, no more, no tribe, no fight, no survivors

The shamaness retrieves her ally by sunrise, very still, very artistically set, very pristine, and renewed

Ready for another hundred healings, another break from the sorrow of killing

The necessary killing to save her own people