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Drifting Drifting amidst black skies dotted with white specks of light I close my eyes against it
Crawling in space lighter…no mass rings and fields of stone pass me moons with blemishes stars in flames no end no end
How is it to breathe here but not there cry tears covering all emotion
Objects moving for eternity with one radiance at the center I open my eyes to see a butterfly kiss a sunflower petal
Everything is clear.
Silence The silence of white rain in darkness except for the glow from moonlight
With a clear sky after it has fallen with millions of tiny lights of lives past Not a print made by anything real or artificial
Only in that brief moment with icicles forming on painted tree branches
The clarity The solitude The miracle becomes unquestioning.
Tears A single tear falls No one sees
Give this to me I need it I want it I deserve it I own it all
But no one hears the call of the child
Deer Moon Night falls with all its mystery lit by a presence felt in the blood of a deer moving silently gracefully eyes filled with the spirit of the moon.
Suffer For what exists suffering the nature of some defies reality of what it should be
Unfairness Inequality for those least deserving
Prequel to Mentor Floating lightly along the earth a feather finds itself in my path chosen for its particular markings by a force still unknown to me
The purpose of it is more than I realize
Mentor Walking along a narrow path amongst rays of sun leaking through leaves on the trees. Silence except for the twigs breaking under bare feet and the sounds of orange breasted birds.
Conversation starts and stops but thoughts persist about life death and fear. “What about the spirit world and the peace it brings?” my walking companion of life asks me.
My answer is uncertainty as it has always been. Suddenly he stops noticing the tiny miracles I always missed. “What kind of feather is this?” he asks as he picks it up and delicately smooths it, knowing I would not know the answer.
My lesson of this visit had begun. Lessons of life from him in a day taught me more than years of living. The lesson of the feather became a quest for answers to something greater than the winged creature it came from.
Books from the library; asking anyone I knew who had the slightest knowledge of birds but no one knew for sure. You cannot go to others for your life’s question when the answer lies within.
What was it he meant for me to find? Confusion came more than once. Months passed, I still had no answers. But I carried the feather almost everywhere between pages of a book or sitting on a dresser where I could always see it.
In time, I began to forget about the feather except on certain occasions late at night lying in bed staring at the dark ceiling.
One day I received a card. It gave me the answer I did not expect.
After looking and seeking the wrong paths the words written in blue ink by his hands on a card with the face of a wolf gave me a lesson for the rest of my life.
It said: It is with great joy that I share your quest of the feather. Life is to be tasted…the salt of our tears, the tears of joy and the tears of tranquility…the cotton mouth of exhaustion, the thrill of laughter! The feather is from the pheasant. Look at it again. Hold it against your cheek. Touch the satin softness of the gift. What does it matter if it is from the pheasant or the crow? The eagle or the seagull? To name it is to limit it… and say you know all there is to know. It’s only a stone. It’s only a drop of water. It’s only a bone. It’s only a feather. It’s only a baby. A life. A baby that will grow and share tears…tears of joy and sorrow, laughter and shame. The feather is you little one. Do not look for labels- do not look for degrees…what do they mean? What do they do? Know yourself.
Wotai tree branches and leaves rhythms of life in their tiny veins shadow the forest floor blanketed with brown pine
silence except for an occasional winged one and the crunch under two legged feet, I see it
the white of it catches the light of the sun and beckons me to pick it up and examine its surface
it is dusted with black and seems to form creatures and images only a few can see
are you the right one for me? I ask it as I hold it to my cheek
the answer is clear as it sits in my pocket or bag where I go
my piece of this great earth formed throughout the ages.
The Lodge Fire glowing filling a stone with the power of green and blue specks inside a small structure built with the gift of the forest
Drums pounding like the hearts breathing in the steam of warrior rains falling on the hot stones
A name cried out in a song and given to a gentle soul sweat streaming, soaking, cleansing free the teachings of white in favor of red.
Warrior Woman Sleeping under bear skin dreaming of a woman warrior with power and grace and beauty radiating from within from a heart pure and free
Free, roaming the hills of a Dakota filled with grain and buffalo. Decorated with beads and paint, she sings from her soul.
A crow follows, black like the hills circling above with a message Hurry, you must go now to save this moment from blue greed.
Awake she cries out to her village. It moves with her in a matter of moments. They have done this before.
She will never know her dream to run free in the hills, but a warrior she remains.
Before Eagle in the heavens soaring over a people in times long forgotten.
In times when Earth was mother the Sky was father and each direction was more than lines.
The road was not pavement but red stone placed in a circle connecting all.
Energy Spirit intertwined creating energy that can only be seen with eyes open enough to see.
Minds racing to produce a light, colors with hues not known by the common eye or definition.
Lessons of a Tree A tree stands alone bark crawling with creatures who feel nothing or everything.
One tree leaves pulsing to teach those who might listen. The four legged and the winged already know the secrets But it cannot be heard by deaf mortal ears.
Solstice Delicate crystal hanging from branches the calm after the tempest of white no wind no footprints no sounds only stars
standing outside the red brick church waiting singing getting caught not caring.
Rolling seas of green next to the college above it’s blue dropped with white warm wisps through the hair kite sailing too perfect to be real.
I will make it through. I will feel the way I felt in those moments Indefinitely. |
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