The Debt of Harm

There are times when a circle of one or manybreaks the sacred threads of another:Violates what was entrusted, wounds what was whole,Claims what was not freely given.

The Mothers frown upon such acts.For respect is not owed where harm is chosen,And the breath of autonomy, once misused,may rightly be withdrawn.

In their quiet wisdom, the Mothers shaped lifeto stir with hunger for repair.They tuned the soul to feel unease in the face of injustice,to crave the mending of broken balance.

And they favor those who rise to restore,who speak truth to power,who refuse to let pain be buried without redress.

But greater still is the woundwhen one circle seizes the future of another:Taking land, breaking vows, ending lives,Shaping another’s fate without consent.

Such harm echoes deep across time,and the Mothers do not forget.They whisper: the debt endures at least as long as the wound breathes.When the harmed live on, so too must the work of repair.

And if a people are the ones betrayed,then the debt may span generations:Until the victim forgives, the balance is not restored.Only they may name the moment of healing.

Let none rush forgiveness,Let none claim peace where none was made.For the Mothers bless not the silence that hides a wound,But the voice that names it, and the hands that bind it in care.