Out of the darkness, the chaos of time,
the whirlwind gave birth to the Mother sublime.
She woke to Herself knowing life had great worth,
the dark empty void grieved the Great Mother Earth.

The Mother was lonely. She was the only.

For the dust of Her birth She created the other,
a pale shining friend, a companion, a brother.
They grew up together, learned to love and to care,
and when She was ready, they decided to pair.

Around Her he'd hover. Her pale shining lover.

She was happy at first with Her one counterpart.
Then the Mother grew restless, unsure in Her heart.
She loved Heir fair dried. Her dear complement,
but something was missing. Her love was unspent.

She was the Mother. She needed another.

She dared the great void, the chaos, the dark,
to find the cold home of the life-giving spark.
The whirlwind was fearsome, the darkness complete.
Chaos was freezing, and reached out for Her heat.

The Mother was brave. The danger was grave.

She drew from cold chaos the creative source,
then conceiving within, She fled with life-force.
She grew with the life that She carried inside.
And gave of Herself with love and with pride.

The mother was bearing. Her life She was sharing.

The dark empty void and the vast barren Earth,
with anticipation, awaited the birth.
Life drank from Her blood, it breathed from Her bones.
It split Her skin open and sundered Her stones.

The Mother was giving. Another was living.

Her gushing birth waters filled rivers and seas,
and flooded the land, giving rise to the trees.
From each precious drop new grass and leaves grew,
till lush verdant plants made all the earth new.

Her waters were flowing. New green was growing.

In violent labor spewing fire and strife,
She struggled in pain to give birth to new life.
Her dried clotted blood turned to red ochre soil,
but the radiant child made it all worth the toil.

The Mother's gret joy. A bright shining boy.

Mountains rose up spouting flames from their crests,
She nurtured Her son from Her mountainous breasts.
He suckled so hard, the sparks flew so high.
The Mother's hot milk laid a path through the sky.

His life had begin. She nourished Her son.

He laugh and he played, and he grew big and bright.
He lit up the darkness, the Mother's delight.
She lavished Her love, he grew bright and string,
but soon he matured, not a child for long.

Her son was near grown. His mind was his own.

She took from the source from the life She'd begun.
Now the could empty void was enticing Her son.
The Mother gave love, but the youth longed for more.
For knowledge, excitement, to travel, explore.

Chaos was her foe. But Her son yearned to go.

He stole from Her side as the Great Mother slept,
while out of the dark swirling void chaos crept.
With tempting inducements the darkness beguiled,
deceived by the whirlwind, chaos captured Her child.

The dark took Her son. The young brilliant one.

The Mother's bright child, at first overjoyed,
was soon overwhelmed by the beak frigid void.
Her unwary offspring, consumed with remorse.
could not escarole the mysterious force.

Chaos would not free. Her rash progeny.

But just as the dark pulled him into the cold,
the Mother woke up, reaches out and caught hold.
To help Her recover Her radiant son,
the Mother appealed to the pale shining one.'

The Mother held tight. And kept him in sight.

She welcomed him back. Her lover of old,
With heartache and sorrow. Her story She told.
Her dear friend agreed to join in the fight,
to rescue her child from his perilous plight.

She told of Her grief. And the dark swirling thief.

The Mother was tired. She had to recover,
She loosened Her hold to Her luminous lover.
While She was sleeping, he fought the cold force,
and for a time drove it back to the source.'

His spirit was strong. The encounter too long.

Her fair shining friend struggled hard, gave his best,
the conflict was bitter, the battle hard pressed.
His vigilance waned as he closed his great eye,
the darkness crept close, stole is light from the sky.

Her pale friend was tiring. Her light was expiring.

When darkness was total. She woke with a cry.
The tenebrous void hid the light from the sky.
She joined in the conflict, was quick to defend,
and drove the dark shadow away form Her friend.

But the pale face of night. Let Her son out of sight.

Trapped by the whirling Her bright fiery son,
gave no warmth to the Earth, cold chaos had won.
The fertile green life was now ice and snow,
and a sharp piercing wind continued to blow.

The Earth was bereft. No green plants were left.

The Mother was weary, grieving and worn,
but she reached out again for the life She had borne.
She couldn't give up. She needed to strive,
for the glorious light of Her son to survive.'

She continued the fight. To bring back the light.

And Her luminous friend was prepared to contest,
the thief who held captive the child of Her breast.
Together they fought for the son She adored.
Their efforts succeeded, his light was restored.

His energy burned. His brilliance returned.

But the bleak frigid dark craved his bright glowing heat.
The Mother defended and would not retreat.
The whirlwind pulled hard. She refused to let go,
She fought to a draw Her dark swirling foe.'

She held darkness at bay. But Her son was away.

When she fought the whirlwind and made chaos flee,
the light from Her son glowed with vitality.
When the Mother grew tired, the bleak void held sway,
and darkness returned at the end of the day.

She felt warmth from Her son. But neither had won.

The Great Mother lived with the pain in Her heart,
that She and Her son were forever apart.
She ached for the child that had been denied,
so She quickened once more from the life-force inside.

She was not reconciled. To the loss of her child.

[color=#78dc00]When She was ready. Her waters of birth,
brought back the green life to the cold barren Earth,
and the tears of Her loss, abundantly spilled,
made dew drops that sparkled and rainbows the thrilled.

Birth waters brought green. But Her tears could be seen.

With a thunderous roar Her stones split asunder,
and from the great cave that opened deep under,
She birthed once again from Her cavernous room,
and brought forth the Children of Earth from Her womb.

From the Mother forlorn, more children were born.

All the birds and the fish and the animals born,
would not leave the Mother, this time, to mourn.
Each kind would live near the place of its birth,
and share the expanse of the Great Mother Earth.

Close to Her they would stay. They could not run away.

They all were Her children, they filled Her with pride
but they used up the life-force She carried inside..
She had enough left for a last innovation.
A child who'd remember Who made the creation.

A child who'd respect. And learn to protect.

First Women was born full grown and alive,
and given the Gifts She would need to survive.
Life was the First Gift, and like Mother Earth.
She woke to herself knowing life had great worth.

First Women defined. The first of her kind.

Next was the Gift of Perception, of learning,
the desire to know, the Gift of Discerning,
First Woman was given the knowledge within,
that would help her to live, and pass on to her kin.

First Woman would know. How to learn, how to grow.

Her life-force near gone, The Mother was spent,
to pass on Life's Spirit had been Her intent.
She caused all of Her children to create life anew,
and Woman was blessed to bring forth life, too.

But Woman was lonely. She was the only.

The Mother remembered Her own loneliness,
the love of Her friend and his hovering caress.
With the last spark remaining. Her labor began,
to shaker life with Woman, she created First Man.

Again she was giving. One more was living.

To Woman and Ma the Mother gave birth,
and then for their home, She gave them the Earth.
The water, the land, and all Her creation.
To use them with care was their obligation.

It was their home to use. But not to abuse.

For the Children of Earth the Mother provided,
the Gifts to survive, and the She decided,
to give them the Gift of Pleasure and caring,
that honors the Mother with the joy of their pairing.

The Gifts are well-earned, when honor’s returned.

The Mother was pleased with the pair She created,
She taught them to love and to care when they mated.
She made them desire to join with each other,
the Gift of their Pleasures came from the Mother.

Before she was through, Her children loved too.
Earth’s Children where blessed. The Mother could rest.

 

 

, located in book five of the Earth's Children series, the Shelters of Stone.

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Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries had its humble beginnings as an idea of a few artisans and craftsmen who enjoy performing with live steel fighting. As well as a patchwork quilt tent canvas. Most had prior military experience hence the name.

 

Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries.

 

Vendertainers that brought many things to a show and are know for helping out where ever they can.

As well as being a place where the older hand made items could be found made by them and enjoyed by all.

We expanded over the years to become well known at what we do. Now we represent over 100 artisans and craftsman that are well known in their venues and some just starting out. Some of their works have been premiered in TV, stage and movies on a regular basis.

Specializing in Medieval, Goth , Stage Film, BDFSM and Practitioner.

Patchwork Merchant Mercenaries a Dept of, Ask For IT was started by artists and former military veterans, and sword fighters, representing over 100 artisans, one who made his living traveling from fair to festival vending medieval wares. The majority of his customers are re-enactors, SCAdians and the like, looking to build their kit with period clothing, feast gear, adornments, etc.

Likewise, it is typical for these history-lovers to peruse the tent (aka mobile store front) and, upon finding something that pleases the eye, ask "Is this period?"

A deceitful query!! This is not a yes or no question. One must have a damn good understanding of European history (at least) from the fall of Rome to the mid-1600's to properly answer. Taking into account, also, the culture in which the querent is dressed is vitally important. You see, though it may be well within medieval period, it would be strange to see a Viking wearing a Caftan...or is it?

After a festival's time of answering weighty questions such as these, I'd sleep like a log! Only a mad man could possibly remember the place and time for each piece of kitchen ware, weaponry, cloth, and chain within a span of 1,000 years!! Surely there must be an easier way, a place where he could post all this knowledge...

Traveling Within The World is meant to be such a place. A place for all of these artists to keep in touch and directly interact with their fellow geeks and re-enactment hobbyists, their clientele.

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