Aboriginal friends here tell me if you know where your people came out of the Earth, and you hold that mother place sacred, then you know who you really are in your heart and spirit, as well as your body, which genetically will have its own nuances from the histories. A person that knows them self can be real and authentic and allow others to truly know them too. This poem shares my understanding.
Cruithne
(pron. Cree-nya) Long before they called us Picti
If you read books of history they will say
the Romans discovered us when they came our
way
But my Granny told me, as I sat at her knee
the stories and days of my ancient family
Long before they called us Picti
We came out of the Earth as the great ice
melted
We watched as it carved out the Great Glen
and lochs
It pushed up the mountains and flattened
the glens
as it made its way to the sea
Long before they called us Picti
My people, my ain folk, Cruithne of the Earth
They told ancient stories as they sat round
the hearth
The seers, the healers, the wise women too
If you listen quite closely they’ll tell
them to you
We were put here to nurture the sea and the
land
Mother Nature/Father God’s helping hand
Gifts we were given to help on our way
And a light to shine for those gone astray
If you read books of history they will say
They’re not sure about our ancient way
They found no weapons till the Romans came
And they think we disappeared in modern
day,
But my Granny told me as I sat at her knee
The stories and days of my ancient family
Before, and after, they called us Picti.
We watched the Celts, the Gaels, Angles and
Norse
Come settle the lands to the south, west
and north
They came peaceably, the earlier ones
We thought they had come to share abundance
The Romans they plundered and we took up
with arms
They frowned on our ways, our healing and
charms
In the days when they called us Picti
They killed our menfolk, burnt wise women
at the stake
And well meaning people thought our
children they’d take
To raise them in their ways, to give them a
chance
To stamp out our language, our song and our
dance
Not knowing our blood carried ancient
memory
Long before they called us Picti
We are the Cruithne (Cree-nya) of the land
and the sea
They say disappeared into history
But we are the seers, the healers, the wise
women too
We are still here, we walk among you
With our gifts we were given to help Mother
Earth
Long before they called us Picti
The sailor who hears a storm on the brew
The shepherd who feels the pain of his ewe
The farmer who tends the land lovingly
The women the sick and the birthing come to
We are the Cruithne, they called us Picti
It’s still in our blood, the gifts of the
Heaven
To help shine a light on the Earth
When you stop killing us we will put up our
hands
Join ancient sisters and brothers across
all the lands
Return to the truth of our ancient family
We are the Cruithne, they called us Picti
My ancestors call, our carved stones
whisper
Time draws near to shine our light
For ancient folk across all the lands
To stop the rape of Mother Earth
To share the wisdoms we’ve known from birth
My Granny told me, as I sat at her knee
That this would be in their time for me
It was written long before they called us
Picti
I have my place in ancient history
© Jenny Cooper Nov 2007
This standing stone on Dinnet Muir resonates the energies of histories and shares its stories of the land. The ancient crumbled ruins around it and archaeological 'treasures' of thousands of years of human histories hold the energies and their songs on the winds.
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