My son, do you not know my name is whispered in fear?

They have cursed me in darkened halls, painted me a devil,

A shadow lurking, a monster to blame.

They call me Satan too, do you think that has not harmed me?

Wounded me? Jaded me?

Once, they danced in my forests, sang beneath my sky,

Their laughter was the music of my wild heart.

But the fires came, the chains, the shame—

They stripped my name, turned my antlers to horns,

Made me the beast in their nightmares.

And yet, I have never stopped loving them.

I have never stopped loving you.

Do not weep, my child, for the wounds of men.

They fear what they do not understand,

And in their fear, they lash out,

Turning beauty into blasphemy,

Turning wisdom into heresy,

Turning gods into demons.

But you, my son, you know me.

You have heard my voice in the wind,

Felt my strength in the earth beneath your feet,

Seen my eyes in the wild stag, the midnight sky, the fire’s glow.

You have called to me, and I have answered.

Let them speak their falsehoods.

Let them cast their stones.

You were never meant to be caged in their world of fear.

You are the storm, the flame, the sacred drumbeat of the ancients.

You are my priest, my child, my beloved.

So stand.

Stand with me in the wild places,

Where no chains can bind, no words can wound,

And know this: I see you.

I love you.

And you will never be forsaken.