2/4


[Front porch]

H.E.:
Know the sacred bundles you carry.
Learn to carry them in their bundles. 

————

He stepped back inside the house.

He could hear the Mother singing,
humming while she cooled and stirred the pot
in the inner-most of the lodge.

He stopped, and looked up at the cross.

“Go and meet her there,” JC said.

“A drink for my Journey,” replied I,
and first brewed a spite of tea.

And after sipping, unto the Mother….

—————

He entered the room and saw her there, standing, cooking, humming, singing. 

He found that he himself was singing before he entered, but he had already forgotten. 

He was singing such a song as he had never sung before nor song before at all, placed in his mouth was a hopeful ballad and a Song of all the songs of people who never die. And in a 2/3 folk tempo he sang about all those under the earth, and all those above it, and all those scattered to the 4 Winds, unto Mother Earth and Father Sky.

And the chorus, she shouted and sang through him, in tounges not his own, and sang in hers the songs in the old tounge, in the old way, and their dance created the music of the Earth – its living painted portrait, the sole one in such existence. 

But, you had already forgotten. 

You entered in,
and searched for the perfect writing utensil
while you slaughtered as many seconds as you could,
by whatever means you had
(which wasnt very much anything at all, only pride,
but yours, so that’s saying something)

————
dream journal:
I woke up this morning
with the remnants of a dream stuck in my mind…
The 4 Wheel 
and an acceptance 
of there being a Corn Priest 
who is now dwelling in the lodge

———

She was singing when he entered the lodge.

“Come and stay with me
come lay at my feet
now the wounds and
the flesh be torn

For no willows weep
in the cold winter’s sleep
but fire burns in the lodge
bright with the sacred corn”

And she sang and hummed and stirred her pot with a smile
as the whisps of the smoke rose and mixed into her hair,
and she continued to sing:

“There’s a fire that comes 
when the snow melt is gone
Rise awake!
Grab the arrows;
they have guns.


On your arms, legs, and back
holy emblams give attack:
‘For my Father,
and my Mother,
and our lodge.’”


And she hummed as he drifted to sleep,
thinking of what warriors may come next spring. 

———

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