Sister of the Northland

A number of legends and other accounts have survived in Europe, dating from the Dark Ages and early Medieval times, of visions and other strange phenomena related to Christ's Crucifixion, which were allegedly experienced by people throughout Europe before, during and after the Crucifixion actually took place in Roman-occupied Judea in the 1st century CE. In this story, an elderly female shaman in Norway journeys to the site of Jesus' execution, after experiencing and hearing of such strange visionary phenomena, and stands at the foot of the Cross asking the dying man some pointed questions about what will be said and done in His name in Europe many years after His time on Earth.

Words and Music 1996 by Karen I. Olsen

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My brother of the Southland, I'm glad I found my way
That I charted in my journey,
When I sang my path to you today.
Omens flash across the sky throughout the Northern lands,
And Pictish bards awake with shouts,
And wounds within their hands.

And I know you're dying now for love,
But what comes in my sight
Are looming clouds and wind so chill,
To devour and dim your light...

And do you see, and do you hear,
And do you know as well as I--
My brother of the Southland,
Do you see what's coming after you?

My brother of the Southland, do you know whereof I sing?
For the men who occupy your land,
They will soon claim you as King.
For the Emperor, they took Celtic lands,
Leaving free but precious few;
And we'll be forced one day at swordpoint
To confess our love for you.

Now, I see within your face
That you would never treat me so;
But won't you please disarm this mob
By command, before you go?

My brother of the Southland, will you hear your sisters' cries,
When they call our bodies "devil's traps",
And our spirits crush with hateful lies?
Some nomad's tale your people tell
Will become all women's bane;
And old wives like me are surely doomed,
When priests by fear drive folk insane.

And how will such horrors profit you,
Whom a child could call to play?
Would you have my daughters hate themselves,
Or can you feel for us today?

My brother of the Southland, don't you know it's sadly true:
Your words will serve as tools for power,
And conquest drive their prayers to you.
To Iceland I will gladly flee, before I'll bow in fear;
For I call my soul and body one,
And all Nature I hold dear.

But come yourself with the Midnight Sun,
And welcome with us stay;
I'm your sister of the Northland,
And I see what's coming after you.

I'm your sister of the Northland,
And I know what's coming after you...


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