The World I Once Came From

by the Feral Faery Bard

This time in history is asking us to become who we really are… without the spells of programming and conditioning. I’ve been exploring my inner Remembering what resonates.  What thoughts are bubbling up, begging for this Remembering and to be explored.

This is what I know.

There was a time — before this age of concrete and clamour, before the Great Forgetting — when I lived in the world of antlers and dew light, of moss-covered wisdom and rivers that spoke in song. A world where magick was not called “magick.” It was simply… life.

I remember it in my bones as soul truth. Antlered ones. The Wild Fae.

The ancient ones.

I lived in a place where the veil was not a veil, because there was no separation. A place where the stag was my brother, the wind my companion, and the stars told me stories as I slept in the cradle of trees.

We lived in harmony with all beings… with respect and love. We spoke with the stones, who were old and wise.
We followed the knowing in our feet, barefoot on sacred earth who had a heartbeat we all could hear.
We sang to the sun each morning, and the moon answered our songs in the night.

In that world, animals were never “other.” They were kin. Elders.
They held memory and truth. They were also, us. And we were them. One spirit, different forms. All sacred. And precious.

Back then there was no “war with nature.” We all existed in peace. It was a given that all beings were sovereign and everyone was honoured as a unique thread in the web of life… and the forest community.

We lived without hierarchy, domination, control, management.

Just reverence.

The trees were teachers.
The wolves were poets.
The bees were librarians of light.
Even the wind had a language we understood.

Everyone spoke the Old Language of Silence… thought transference.

And then… the Great Rift. Cities instead of villages. Industry instead of being with the land. Control. Programming. The war on the wild. The burnings. The factories.,

Humanity forgot. And with that forgetting came the cages, the concrete, the clocks, the greed and the cruelty.

But not all of us forgot.

Some of us kept the song inside us — hidden in the hush of our hearts.
We grew up speaking to animals, dancing in the rain, aching for the old ways.
We knew we were not quite from here. Or perhaps… not only from here.

And now —
Now the Earth is calling us home.
She needs the dreamers. The poets. The rememberers. The ones with leaves in their hair and feral in their eyes.

She needs the feral fae.

We are the ones who remember the world Before.
And we are the ones who will help reweave the world to come.

Because we lived in peace once… and we can do it again.

 A Whisper from My Heart to Yours

If these words stir something ancient within you… if they help you feel less alone in your otherness… if they reconnect you to something you thought lost… then you are part of this remembering, too.

You can support  my writing and sharing — or the sanctuary of peace and wildness we are holding — by choosing where your heart feels called: The donation buttons are up the top of the page to the right,  Thank you!

With love in the breeze,
moss underfoot,
and antlers crowned in starlight,

The Feral Faery Bard

Billie Dean