The body knows.

Like the Baobab Tree, the Fox huntress, the Leopard, the Sparrow. The body knows. Like the lichen shifting and sticking, curling, climbing.

There are shrouds of oil sheen laid over our eyes by loved ones who believed that they were protecting us.

There are shackles placed around our wrists by those who deemed their chrome and shine Progress.

There are voices we were told never to listen to, languages lost out of fear of the darkness.

It is our responsibility to come alive, to come home. Again, and again.

There is a warm fire waiting.

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My love for the world threatens to overwhelms the rigid borders and tired garrisons of my judgement and condemnation. The brutal war for my identity, shackled to the cold trenches of mechanized othering may be lost at last.

My white flag shall be raised, the crows will come and consume the scraps of this long and bitter battle, tearing away the remains of old stories of righteousness and blame with their sharp beaks and intelligent talons.

I surrender to the power of my loving heart.

It is time now.

It is time now.

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Water vapor and fire.

Crows filled the skies as we sat, gathered together around a sacred fire of scrap and forest wood which roared as the wind whipped through the tan, leafless trees.

The moon shown clear in the deep blue, the sun low in the west, casting the first signs of dusk as golden light creeping up the cottonwood tree trunks and branches.

This land, these forgotten urban lots, woodlands, soft earth, held us as we spoke our names and our prayers out into the clear crisp late afternoon air, our tongues and precious mouths followed by water vapor with each word, akin to bison breathing in the cold and holy nights of Solstice time.

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Restorative Ramblings

Restorative Ramblings

This is the container for the Written Word work of Restorative Ramblings, channeled and facilitated by the Father, Poet, Musician and Guide, Daniel Cherniske