by Mary M

I ponder where they first came from, these Salmon people swimming in the well of knowledge. I have seen them painted in threes–there are always three, aren’t there–not so different, of course, than the Three Graces of the Greeks who still inspire us.

And then I remember…a well of water is a place of transition, a corridor of transportation between one reality and another, a vortex perhaps, and here after so much traveling and so many dangers the salmon stop, swim peacefully, calmly eat their fill of wisdom, as if they were always among us.

Into The Well

The People, beautiful of form,
Silver and gold, tawny, lithe, and playful
Bourne upward toward the portal of creation
Dark to light, tumbling, spiraling, whirling,

Traveling from form to form, worlds without end
only
to stop
at the Portal Door

Puzzled.
Bemused.
Where next? they question the Guardian
Who stops them

Your choice, he replies
Other worlds, or this world? Which?
But I will tell you . . .

The People here are different
From what you know. They are hungry
Their souls are hungry
Though they do not understand this.

They will kill you here

So The People
Mothers, daughters, fathers, sons
All of them flawless in their beauty
Spoke softly among themselves
Some agreeing, some not,

Then finally all of them
as one decided

They need us, they said

And so they chose sacrifice

The Salmon People
Surged forth up and up
Into the well
Bearing their great hearts
And so
Came forward

To us.

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