The Measure of Integrity

In the weaving of circles, the Mothers whisper caution:Not all threads hold firm beneath the weight of light.Some shine when watched, yet fray in silence,Straying from the rhythm of the whole.

A soul may stumble; this is known, and not condemned.But when harm repeats like shadows at dusk,The circle must not turn away.

Let forgiveness be true, but not without return.Each wound must be mended where it lies.The Mothers bless no balance madeBy piling good in one hand and harm in the other.

Beware the luminous mask:The one who stands high, cloaked in acclaim,Hiding misdeeds beneath good works,Casting shadow while basking in borrowed light.

Such ones unravel trust at the root.And the Mothers favor the circle that sees with clear eyes,That shields not only from the stranger,But from the harm within.

So they teach: where patterns emerge,Shape boundaries with care, not cruelty.To limit the reach of one who woundsIs not judgment, but devotion.

For the world is healed not by brightness alone,But by constancy in the light.