Tales From The Woven Flame: The Skin Remembered

🎙️ Episode 4: The Skin Remembered

TailorSun Tales | Song of Shielding | 1959 Arkansas

In the cotton fields of 1959 Arkansas, where silence was survival and strength was worn too early, a young girl named Delorah Mae discovers something older than fear, and stronger than pain.

This episode brings the House of Protection to life through the awakening of the Song of Shielding. In a moment of danger, her skin doesn’t bruise… it remembers. Ancestral memory rises, not as armor, but as sacred witness.

🔹 Key Themes:

• The inheritance of strength through silence
• The sacred burden of protection for Black girls
• When pain becomes memory, and memory becomes power
• Ancestral defense systems reawakening

🔹 Featured Quote:
“Protection is not the absence of pain… it is its witness.”

🔹 Spark Moment:
When faced with harm, Delorah’s body hums back — awakening the long-dormant glyph of Gahn, and reactivating a lineage of shielding carried in her very skin.

Transcript

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Before the flood, before the forgetting, there were songs that shaped the world. Now, they're waking up through you. This is Taliesin Tales. The fire remembers. Let's begin. Tales from the Woven Flame Episode 4 The Skin Remembered House of Protection Song of Shielding Scroll Number 4 Before we built walls, we learned to stand still and not fall. In 1959, in Parkin, Arkansas, the soil remembered names that the maps forgot. And in that soil, one child, a girl, when sons were more in demand, carried way too many things that were hers to hold. But the old songs don't ask who's ready. They just return. This is how the Song of Shielding remembered. Delora Mae Boys don't know nothing about quiet pain. They break. I bend. She bends under a sack of cotton nearly as big as she is. Her bare feet cut through with old weeds. Her mother says she came out the womb already knowing how to carry that cotton in that heat. Dolores sneaks away. After supper. Not to play. To rest. She hides beneath a tree said to be haunted. Nobody goes there. So she goes. She hears footsteps approach. Boys from town. One has a switch. You think you different? You think you different? She doesn't answer. He swings. But the air between them sings, not loud, not sharp, but something solid. Her arms glow faintly, not light, but memory. A braided pattern appears across her shoulders, then fades. They run. She Stands still. Later, she lies. Says she tripped over a root. But her mother pauses. Places a hand on Dolores' back. Feels the faint heat. Some trees guard more than shade. She doesn't explain. She doesn't need to. The glyph of God awakens. The song of shielding has returned. Not with armor, but with memory. Delora Mae will grow up. She'll move east. She will raise daughters of her own. But on some nights, when the thunder calls, she still feels the hum rise in her skin. before the storm even begins. Some of us were taught to be strong before we were taught to be safe. But the thread remembers, and so must we. What strength have you worn so long you forgot it was borrowed? Who taught you that stillness wasn't safety but shame? Thanks for listening to the Tailors and Tales podcast. Episode 4, Tales from the Woven Flame. Peace, the spark doesn't shout. It hums. So if you feel it stirring, follow. Let the rhythm lead and the tale will meet you. Peace.