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COLORS OF THE WIND
You think you own what ever land you land on,
Earth is just a dead thing you can claim,
But I know every rock and tree and creature,
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name.
Think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you.
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You learn things you never knew.
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon?
or ask the grinning bobcat why he grinned,
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest,
Come taste the sun-sweet berries of the earth,
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once never wonder what they're worth.
The rainstorm and the rivers are my brothers.
And the heron and the otter are my friends.
And we are all connected to each other.
In a circle in a hoop that never ends.
And does the eagle let you know where he has been?
How high does the sycamore grow,
If you cut it down, then you'll never know.
And you'll never hear the wolf cry
To the blue corn moon,
Or whether we are white or copper-skinned.
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains,
To paint with all the colors of the wind.
-unknown
The River Calls
Hush ~ listen Do you hear that child?
Hush ~ Be still The Sparrow calls
Close your eyes
Feel the breeze upon your skin
Still yourself, quiet your heart
The rustle of the leaves will call
And more
There ~ again
The chatter is the chipmunk call
Yes ~ that’s right
The standing people groan
As they bend and touch
With the swaying of the wind
Lean back against the earth
Let the stone people bring you
To the space and time of knowing
Breath deeply, let your spirit go
The river calls ~ follow her
To my Granddaughter Kylea Mays
By Tana Hamiter 9-4-97
WHEN SPIRIT MOVES ...
When spirit moves...
When spirit moves nothing is the same.
For what would be the point?
When spirit moves the wind blows
Stirring up the old to clear the way for the new
Whispering...don't be afraid, trust that we love you.
When spirit moves the wind blows
Bringing water to our eyes to wash clear our road
When spirit moves the big wind comes
Shaking us to our core
Making waves that roll us as if with no control
Whispering...don't be afraid, trust that we love you.When spirit moves nothing is the same.
What was it I asked for...prayed for?
When spirit moves, it moves from call to response
So swiftly...
So amazingly...
So completely...
So thunderously...that we forget.
What did you say grandmother, your voice in the wind and water?
When spirit moves...
When spirit moves...
When spirit moves nothing is the same.
For what would be the point?
by Roberta Jones
Our Creator
Creator, you touched each of your creatures
With a loving hand
Gifting each with their own Medicine.
Creator, touch us now!
Gift us in each moment
Even as we still shed doubt and shame
Piled upon us by those
Who've forgotten your touch.
Creator, remind us of our Goodness in you
Enliven us with Boldness and Willingness
To touch our Selves
Proudly bringing Pleasure
Back into the world
Back into our bodies
Back into your Body, the Circle
Bringing healing to all we touch.
Creator, let us touch each of your creatures
With loving hands
Reminding
Remembering
Re-Embodying
Each one's own Medicine.
- by Acer
The Four Candles
The four candles burned slowly, their ambiance was so soft you could hear them speak.
The first candle said, "I am Peace, but these days, nobody wants to keep me lit." Then Peace's flame slowly diminished and went out completely.
The second candle said, "I am Faith, but these days, I am no longer indispensable." Then Faith's flame slowly diminished and went out.
The third candle spoke, "I am Love and I haven't the strength to stay lit any longer. People put me aside and don't understand my importance. They even forget to love those who are nearest to them." And waiting no longer, Love went out completely.
Suddenly, a child entered the room and saw the three candles no longer burning. The child began to cry, "Why are you not burning? You are supposed to stay lit until the end."
Then the fourth candle spoke to the little boy, "Don't be afraid, for I am Hope, and while I still burn, we can relight the other candles." With shining eyes the child took the candle of Hope and lit the other three candles.
Never let the Flame of Hope to go out of your life. With Hope, no matter how bad things look and are... Peace, Faith and Love can shine brightly in our lives.
THE WOLF WITHIN
An old Grandfather, whose grandson came to him
with anger at a schoolmate who had done him an
injustice, said, "let me tell you a story. I too, at
times, have felt a great hate for those who have
taken so much, with no sorrow for what they do.
But hate wears you down, and does not hurt your
enemy. It is like taking poison and wishing your
enemy would die. I have struggled with these feelings
many times."
He continued, "It is as if there are two wolves
inside me; one is good and does no harm. He lives in
harmony with all around him and does not take
offense when no offense was intended. He will only
fight when it is right to do so, and in the right way.
"But the other wolf, ah! He is full of anger. The littlest thing
will set him into a fit of temper. He fights everyone, all the time, for no
reason. He cannot think because his anger and hate are so
great. It is hard to live with these two wolves inside
me, for both of them try to dominate my spirit."
The boy looked intently into his Grandfather's eyes
and asked, "Which one wins, Grandfather?"
The Grandfather solemnly said, "The one I feed."
- unknown
The Ballad of Kokopelli
A strange lonely figure stares out of the past
where engraved by an artist in stone
Held firm by the sand in which he is cast,
these last thousand years quite alone.
Could he be listening, trying to hear
moccasins scuffing the butte?
Bringing the people once again near
to hear Kokopelli sweet flute?
His image inscribed on a thousand rock faces
from east to the great western sea;
From Sonora's hot sun to the north glaciers bases,
proclaiming this loved tutelary.
Though powers possessed and methods employed
are often in open dispute;
One thing is agreed, the people did love
to hear Kokopelli sweet flute.
This stick figure man, with a hump on his back
seemed always to cast a good feeling;
His magic perhaps, taken out of his pack
would comfort the sick and do healing.
Whatever his talents, they surely were grand,
a fact no one cares to refute,
As people would come from afar in the land,
to hear Kokopelli sweet flute.
-unknown
PLEASE HEAR ME
Don't be fooled by me. Don't be fooled by the face I wear, for I wear a mask.
I wear a thousand masks, Masks that I am afraid to take off and none of them is me.
Pretending is an art that's second nature with me;
But don't be fooled, for God's sake don't be fooled!
I give you the impression that I'm secure, That all is sunny & unruffled in me,
Within as well as without, That confidence is my name and coolness my game,
That the water's calm, I'm in command, And that I need no one. But don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth,
but my surface is my mask,
My ever-varying and
ever-concealing mask.
Beneath lies no smugness,
no complacence.
Beneath dwells the real me,
in confusion, in fear, in aloneness.
But I hide this.
I panic at the thought of my weakness
and fear being exposed.
That is why I frantically
create a mask to hide behind,
A nonchalant,
sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
To shield me from
the glance that knows.
But such a glance
is precisely my salvation.
That is,
if it's followed by acceptance,
If it is followed by love,
It's the only thing that can
liberate me from myself.
From my own self-built prison walls,
From the barriers
that I so painstakingly erect,
It is the only thing
that will assure me
of what I can't
assure myself:
That I'm really worth something...
But I don't tell you this,
I don't dare.. I'm afraid to.
I'm afraid your glance
will not be followed
by acceptance and love.
I'm afraid
you'll think less of me,
that you'll laugh...
And your laugh will kill me.
I'm afraid that
deep down I'm nothing,
that I'm just no good,
And that you will see this
and reject me.
So I play my game,
my desperate
pretending game,
And my life becomes a front.
I dislike the superficial game
I'm playing,
The superficial, phony game.
I'd really like to be genuine
and spontaneous,
and me,
But you've got to help me.
You've got to hold out your hand...
Even when that's the last thing
I seem to want or need.
Only you can wipe away
from my eyes
the blank stare
of the breathing dead...
Only you can call me into aliveness.
Each time you are
kind and gentle, and encouraging,
Each time you try
to understand
because you really care,
My heart begins to grow wings...
Very small wings,
very feeble wings,
but wings.
With your sensitivity and sympathy,
And your power of understanding,
You can breath life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know
how important
you are to me.
How you can be a creator
of the person that is me,
If you choose to.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction
of worthlessness
builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach me,
the blinder
I may strike back;
It's irrational, but despite
what the books say about man,
I'm irrational!
I fight against
the very thing
that I cry out for,
But I am told that love
is stronger than strong walls,
And in this lies my hope.
My only hope.
Please try to beat down
those walls with firm hands,
But with gentle hands --
for a child
is very sensitive.
Who am I, you may wonder?
I'm someone
you know very well. . .
For I am every man
or woman you meet.
by Charles C. Finn
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