mystical – Rivers Renewed

The Legend of Holds the Fire

Perhaps there have always been healers and seers among the People, but one in particular is still talked about today. All the People could see she was a very special child from the moment she was born. To this day her mother says that when she was born, Holds the Fire sang instead of cried.

No one understood the language, and some said it was an ancient one from when the People were first created from the Earth.

When she was 3, Holds the Fire ran to the injured Songbird, when she was attacked by a bear. At first, Holds the Fire was pushed away, but she snuck through the crowd and touched Songbird. Everything changed from that moment. Holds the Fire’s beautiful brown skin changed to red and then orange, glowing as if embers from a holy fire.

It was in her hands. Healing was in the hands of Holds the Fire. Songbird, who had been screaming in agony and fear, immediately calmed down. Healing washed over her as waves from the sacred lake. And Holds the Fire spoke in that ancient language again, the language no one could understand.

When she was older there was much work to be done. Rattlesnake bites, war wounds and emotional trauma took their toll. And no man was brave enough to ask her to marry. Maybe she didn’t want that type of life anyway.

To this day though…..all the People know….. she is their Mother.

Note: I’m bringing an early Christmas present today! This is brand new. Merry Christmas!

Amazed by Our Journey

No I’m no mystic, just a writer seeking more than mist, the tossing and shaping of words, by channels of the sea

I walk, and I am alone again….. seeking and perhaps that’s the danger of wordsmithing,

forever a quest, will we allow the heart to be open enough, risking?

Or do we cloud walk only long enough to use the heart?

I think of it more now, maybe as enjoying our gift

flowing, then becoming amazed

by our journey,

In the Depths of My Heart

My friends if you were to look into the depths of my heart you would find my faith in God (which has been renewed lately), a deep and amazing love for my wife, love for the rest of my family, and the heart of a writer. I do love to write, and in some ways it’s who I am.

Yet it seems to me that blogging is less popular than it was. I’m going by current trends on my site and some others as well. Photography blogs still tend to do amazingly well, yet many bloggers are loaded to the gills with social media. There are so many platforms now, it’s simply amazing!

And yet I’m not on any of them. There’s nothing wrong with social media, and that’s not my point anyway. It’s just that people are a lot busier than they were say, 3 years ago, or even last year. Some of my readers are part time, which is much different than when I started.

And now we are all streaming videos a whole lot more! What’s you’re favorite show? I lean towards science fiction. Anyway, now we are yet pulled in that direction too, with less time for blogging.

I really appreciate each of you!

I’m going to ignore trends for days of the week, and simply post on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and maybe a quick photo on Sunday. That’s plenty for me. The heck with stats. My posts will be a little different too, with more fiction mixed in,

Remember my post the “Interpretation“? I loved writing that!

Thank you so much for reading!

August’s Forest

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The comforting dark of August’s forest made it easy to slip

through to the world unseen,

and I was spirit, as if in a dream,

not of false rainbows but of peace,

an amazing depth

I had never known before,

where silence takes us

beyond bravery

as light flickers

through the trees.

Gateway

20160709_140207 When he was young he didn’t know very much, yet he could sense the forest holding his prayers,

and that all streams led to the ocean, with the depth of his spirit flowing,

and he loved how the leaves sang in a gentle rain, with birdsong never ceasing.

He was thrilled with the idea, that he was connected…..to a gateway, of a world unseen.

The Shaping of a Sacred Space

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I do remember the bending of light,

the shaping

of a sacred space

and within my quiet

I knew, I really did know

where I fit,

where I belonged

between

the earth and sky.

How it All Began

20190427_101241 He was just 17 when he first started searching for his spirit, deep in the cool darkness of the woods.

With light streaming occasionally, he always found the shadows of wings in the stillness,

not quite a ghost. And water falling through rocks brought calm, balm for his soul,

until a crow bursted with noise, offended by his presence. He could sit for hours on the large rock,

by the rope swing, especially in winter listening to the silence of the snowfall….

that’s really how it all began. Soon he would study the tribes, including the Lakota and Cheyenne.

The Rhythm of the Waves

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I love how the ocean listens to our prayers,

sometimes shaping the words

in the rolling of up

and down, flowing almost

as a liturgy.

And somehow we listen too

going deeper and farther

in our hearts,

with the rhythm

of the waves, carrying us.

Ghosts Often Keep Silent

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In the mist, in the density of fog, ghosts often keep silent

taking away even the joy

of birds chirping

preferring a silent forest,

yet keeping their presence

their shadows as they

blip

in and out, waiting

saving the scare

for tourists with too much cologne

and clean,

expensive tennis shoes.

The Prayer Stone

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In search of the prayer stone this morning, there were no ancient sages whispering mystical words from the dark corners of the forest.

And the sun was dull at times, as clouds ceased the calling of flowers, even their strength was diminished. Shadows prevailed.

I closed my eyes, waiting…..and then a glimpse of a word. So I decided to write a poem today…..after all.

Tag: mystical