Council of Wolves Celtic candle holder
(I happen to own one) available here.
Lazily, I turn
the kaleidoscope of my mind round
and round. A giraffe mama's long neck
bends down to kiss her baby's head. A line
of elephants parades ponderously past, trunk to
tail. And tawny golden lions lie amber
in the setting sun, as twilight falls
over the savanna.
Two more turns, and there is ocean: wild waves
galloping in to shore like white-maned horses. Eagles
spiraling lazily in the air currents, wind-surfing
the sky. And Old Growth standing sentinel
on this last pocket of pristine wilderness
before the logging trucks roll in
to carry it all away. The wolves,
with diminished homeland, are thin and hungry,
and wrestling seals for a hard-won dinner for their cubs.
My heart loves the wild ones, but my eyes
see clearly: my loves are in peril.
The wild ones are Third World citizens
in our young-souled country. I would ask for
forgiveness, for we know not
what we do. But before forgiveness must come
protection, restitution and restoration,
(as with First Nations, who are waiting,
along with the land and its creatures,
the ocean and its dying denizens,
for all wrongs to be made right.)
In a dream-state, the journey from
doormat to healer unfolds, frame after
frame. Drums sound,
owls hoot, shamans chant, and wolves
sing their kinship song to me, for they
have claimed me for their own, recognizing
that I am more identified with wild
creatures than uncivilized humans,
who still have centuries to go
in the evolution of soul.
I click ahead just twice more, for that is all that is
left: the unknown yawns before. But I have faith,
and trust that there will be wolves and ocean waves
within my Heaven. I will sit in the centre
of the circle, ringed by their wise loving eyes
and bushy tails, and we will speak together, in kinship,
of many things.
shared with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.