I followed a feeling through the forest,
to the old and gnarled fence before absolute darkness.
Stars glittered in the space ahead of me, and I reached for them—
intoxicatingly sweet, tempting, they felt meant for me.
I leaned toward their light. “Let some starshine spill between us,” it whispered.
I wondered, “Is there a form in it? Who is there?”
“Come closer,” the dark urged. “Find out. Cure your curiosity.”
My child’s heart knew no better, and I began to climb over the fencing.

Two large white orbs appeared on either side of me.
They threw me backward, harder than any force of spirit I’d ever felt.
I fell to my butt on the ground, scared.
Did the voice in the dark hurt me?
I was afraid.
My ancestors flanked me, holding me safe.
They told me to watch from a distance.
The darkness swirled — a void swallowing stars.
It was my stars reflected against the hungry pit.
I would have been swallowed whole had I crossed beyond the fence.

Grandmother spirit said,
“That is not your path.
Come with me.”
Grandfather spirit told me,
“You are safe now. You will be.”
I felt uncertain in the grass,
my instincts raw from being misled toward a sure death.
I could not have known the dangers without Divine intervention.
And I realized: love intervenes on my behalf, always,
preserving me expertly, often without my noticing —
yet by faith, even blind to the truth,
I am led to safety.

© 2025 Raven | Jasmine on the Grave. All rights reserved.