The shaman walks the medicine way
leaving no footprints.
The cry of the owl bids you follow.
Take up your staff, wrap up well in your cloak,
for the night is cold and the fog will poke
its chilly fingers
into every exposed inch of human skin,
seeking to steal some warmth
Hush! for there be spirits here.
If you listen, you will hear
the heartbeat of an ancient cedar.
In its bark is the memory
of who you were a thousand years ago,
when it and you and the land
In the night sky
is written the promise
of who you are becoming
a thousand years from now.
Gaze well, and remember,
so when at last you meet,
you will recognize yourself.
There are dreamers, and there are
the ones being dreamed.
The journey of transformation
is the shedding of the false self
- the one who meets the world -
and the stripping away of everything
that is not essence, joy, wonderment,
trust and awe.
all is as it is meant to be.
All we need do
The mystical hooting of the owl
bids us safe passage
through this eery midnight world.
Hasten, for the shaman guide's cloak
is already swirling
with the swiftness
of his being gone.
One from 2013, my friends, posted here for the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. Wishing you all a wonderful weekend.