What Should We Do about that Moon ?

A wine bottle fell from a wagon
And broke open in a field.


That night hundred beetles and all their cousins
Gathered

And did some serious binge drinking...

~So sorry, but this post has been moved to my new website, Toward The One, and can be found here? What Should We Do About That Moon?

Last Night's Storm

Last night's storm was a journey to the Beloved.
I surrender to that, the wind that
is my Friend, and my work.

Each night, the lightning flashes.
Every morning, a breeze....

... so sorry but this post has been moved to my new website, Toward The One, you can find it here: Last Night's Storm

Farewell Song To Northland

As the years passed Wainamoinen
Recognized his waning powers,
Empty-handed, heavy-hearted,
Sang his farewell song to Northland,...

... I am so sorry, but this post has been moved to my new website, Widdershins, and can be found in its entirety here: Farewell Song To Northland

Ask Now of Death

Then Almitra spoke, saying,
"We would ask now of Death."

And he said:

"You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind unto the day
cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death,
open your heart wide unto the body of life....

... I am so sorry, but this post has been moved to my new website, Widdershins, and can be found in its entirety here: Ask Now Of Death

Rhythms Of Life

The following makes a really nice chant! There's plenty of room for variation and improvisation. It's great for a group, drumming circle, or gathering to get the energy moving.

The very inception of life is rhythm.
Life is rhythm and Rhythm is life.

The rising of the SUN is rhythm.
The shimmering of the RAYS is rhythm.
The BLOOMING of a BUD is rhythm.
The Feel of the BREEZE is rhythm.
The ROAR of the WAVES is rhythm.
The Chirping of the BIRDS is rhythm.
The BUZZING of the BEES is rhythm.
The Voice in a SONG is rhythm.
The TICKLE on the FEET is rhythm.
The BREATH we take is rhythm.
The Heart that BEATS is rhythm.

~source

Song For The Dead

We are beating the drums
and singing the songs
having a great feast for the dead
for our children are gone
and none remain.

Come back my nephew we miss you
Come back my daughter we miss you
Come back my son we miss you
Come back our lost ones we miss you

Come back we are lonely
Where have you gone
Come back we are lonely
Where have you gone
Come back we are weeping
Where have you gone
Come back we are asking
Where have you gone

Come back my brother
Come back my sister
Come back my father
Come back my mother

We will sing a song for you
We will follow the river to the sea
And add our tears to the waves
The tide will rise
The tide will fall
The night will come
The night will go
You will not come
You are gone.
Where did you go?

We are singing our sorrow
We are singing our grief
We are singing our farewell
and our puzzlement
Why did you go?

From: Daughters of Copper Woman

Things a Shaman Sees

Everything that is
is alive

on a steep river bank
there's a voice that speaks
I've seen the master of that voice
he bowed to me
I spoke with him
he answers all my questions

everything that is
is alive
little gray bird
little blue breast
sings in a hollow bough
she calls her spirits dances
sings her shaman songs
woodpecker on a tree
that's his drum
he's got a drumming nose
and the tree shakes
cries out like a drum
when the axe bites its side

at these things answer
my call

everything that is
is alive

the lantern walks around
the walls of this house have tongues
even this bowl has its own true home
the hides asleep in their bags
were up talking all night
antlers on the graves
rise and circle the mounds
while the dead themselves get up
and go visit the living ones.

~David Cloutier

House Made of Dawn

House made of dawn.
House made of evening light.
House made of the dark cloud.
House made of male rain.
House made of dark mist.
House made of female rain.
House made of pollen.
House made of grasshoppers.

Dark cloud is at the door.
The trail out if it is dark cloud.
The zigzag lightning stands high upon it.
An offering I make.
Restore my feet for me.
Restore my legs for me.
Restore my body for me.
Restore my mind for me.
Restore my voice for me.
This very day take out your spell for me.

Happily I recover.
Happily my interior becomes cool.
Happily I go forth.
My interior feeling cool, may I walk.
No longer sore, may I walk.
Impervious to pain, may I walk.
With lively feelings may I walk.
As it used to be long ago, may I walk.

Happily may I walk.
Happily, with abundant dark clouds, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant showers, may I walk.
Happily, with abundant plants, may I walk.
Happily, on a trail of pollen, may I walk.
Happily may I walk.
Being as it used to be long ago, may I walk.

May it be beautiful before me.
May it be beautiful behind me.
May it be beautiful below me.
May it be beautiful above me.
May it be beautiful all around me.
In beauty it is finished.
In beauty it is finished.

~Navajo Chant

Ah to be alive

Ah to be alive
on a mid-September morn
fording a stream
barefoot, pants rolled up
holding boots, pack on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.
Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard on toes
cold nose dripping
singing inside
creek music, heart music,
smell of sun on gravel.
I pledge allegiance.
I pledge allegiance to the soil
of Turtle Island
one eco system
in diversity
under the sun -
With joyful interpenetration for all.

~Gary Snyder

Arms of The Beloved

Let me stand in the Soul of the World
Let me feel all the radiant colors of Life
Let me merge with the Spirit of the Beloved
Let me hold your gaze and journey skyward

Let me immerse in Ever-after with you – Here, Now
Hold your arms out, catch the soft snow
Kisses from the sky, winter flowers from Heaven
Dance with me, let your spirit flow

I look into your eyes and find your Soul
A realm of everlasting romance, a universe of secrets
What can I say, how can I describe such beauty?
With so much life, wonder, and majesty?

What words, what language can possibly describe you?
Hold your hand over your heart, listen to the hidden music
Gentle, healing, soothing, like sweet ocean waves and violins
Do you see me whirling and dancing within?

My dear Beloved, let us bloom in this astounding place
Expand with the galaxy, unveil new Truths
Sit by me on the hilltop, here is my art
Belonging to you, flowing straight from my heart

Hold my words close, embrace them with your Love
Let them dance in your heart, let them become a mirror
And show you your blessed Lover, who walks endlessly with you
Let this Luminous Love shine like the Divine Light from above

I would pray you a good night, my mystic beauty
I would wish you the sweetest of dreams, my brilliant flower from the east
I would recite a prayer for angels to comfort you tonight
I would wish you all these things only if separation were reality

Our Love is the portal to Union
Come Here, in our Field, let us embrace the eternal moment together
Let us meet in sweet dreams, let's live those wonders
Let's rejoice in the presence of Angels
In the eternity of awakened Life

Forever, you and me,
And Allah almighty
Never alone

I Love You Habibty


~JehanZeb~

Mountain Spirit Speaks

Oh my children, how I weep for you.
I send my tears down the Esophus Creek, down Panther Creek, off the snowy slopes of Slide Mountain.
For a hundred years my tears have flowed through the aqueduct to nourish the children of all races.
It fills my heart with joy to have a newborn infant washed in my tears.
It fills my heart with joy to slake the thirst of a bowery bum.
It fills my heart with joy to merge with the onions in an onion soup.
It fills my heart with joy to become a hot shower flowing over a human body.
And from this joy I send more tears to create more joy.

But little by little the Circle is being broken.
I send my joy but I do not hear the joy of my beloved in return.
I do not hear sincere gratitude from the other end of the aqueduct.
I am starving for the Spiritual Support I need to express my joy.
I, the Spirit of the Mountain, am as alive and real as the Brooklyn Bridge.
You pay a toll to cross the bridge, because you understand the relationship between bridge and toll.
Yet I hear no prayers, I receive no bundles of fragrant flowers on my mountain tops.
I feel no tears of human gratitude splashing into the Catskill Creeks.
I don’t smell the sweet sage offerings drifting through my forests of pine.
I understand your ignorance; but I can not live outside the boundaries of the Sacred Laws.
Your ignorance of the Sacred Spiritual is killing me.
You can live outside the Sacred Circle for only a finite drop of time.
The Sacred is Infinite and waits for you to wake up into this World beyond Worlds.

~Medicine Bear, Spring, 2006

A bit of background on this work. There are several reservoirs in the Catskill Mountains that feed the water system of New York City with some of the best drinking water in the world. This prose refers to the Spirit of the Catskill Mountains and the unthanked used of these sacred waters. Image is from Kaatskill Falls in the Catskill Mountains.

~via Mandala Madness

I Stand Before The Earth Maker

I stand before the Earth Maker and offer my unspoken prayer.
My head is held high in worshipful silence before the great Mystery above.
I look to the hills and there I see His strength.
His reach extends to the whole universe and all help comes from Him.
He puts in order all that I see -- the heavens, the earth,
the trees and leaves of the forest, sign of the four winds.
The wide world which I see measures the strength of my Great Father!!!


~Jennifer WhiteFeather

With Your Feet I Walk

With your feet I walk
I walk with your limbs
I carry forth your body
For me your mind thinks
Your voice speaks for me
Beauty is before me
And beauty is behind me
Above and below me hovers the beautiful
I am surrounded by it
I am immersed in it
In my youth I am aware of it
And in old age I shall walk quietly
The beautiful trail.

american indian - navajo

~via the prosperity project

I Will Remember

I will remember what I was. I am sick of rope and chain.
I will remember my old strength and all my forest affairs.
I will not sell my back to man for a bundle of sugar-cane,
I will go out to my own kind, and the wood-folk in their lairs.
I will go out until the day, until the morning break,
Out to the winds’ untainted kiss, the waters’ clean caress:
I will forget my ankle-ring and snap my picket-stake.
I will revisit my lost loves, and playmates masterless!

Toomai of the Elephants,
The Jungle Book by Rudyard Kipling

special thanks to:

Mother Wintermoon at Romancing the Crone