Warrior Song

In the days of prehistory, when the plains were wild again. We trod the path of the bison and the caribou. In the harvest of a seal or whale we saw the taste of life. To a wise old shaman did I go. With a toothy grin he smiled gaily the whole day long, though many a winter had creased his brow. His eyes were always in a far off place to the curtain of destiny so twas as if he saw us not.

The woods were wild and the storms mighty, but we knew the way of the old wise man. We saw in nature his many forms and they spoke to us through the wheel of life, and twas as if our nature was one.

In the spring, we made our camp and spoke to heaven in our war dance. The drums rolled to the beat of the clouds and the moose and the beaver heard the song of our passing.

Deep Woods

There is a stillness in the air with the weight of the passing storm. Crisp snow flakes in a lake of trees. The wind has turned this forest into a wood flute whose damp chimes are ringing under the rolling thunder. The angry lake cold and frosty. The peace of the sleeping wood.

The land of fables has come to life, here a perspective has changed. Somewhere echoing through the spirit of these sleeping trees is the act of nature unfolding. Many worlds are colliding, but a gentle breeze pervades that gives the solemn evening the fragrance of a smile.

Universe

Have you seen a lightning storm? The air is clear and sky is cast in blue rust. The electric light has formed a mystic bridge between the earth and the clouds above. Hollow, yet vast and filled. The paradox.

Here am I. You are in me. I have been before your sight all along. Close your eyes and I do not depart. How is it that sleep has come to my mind and from where did my memory first arise. Well I was always myself. Sometimes I knew it and at other times not.