“There are men high up there fishing. I haven’t seen quite enough if the world. I ain’t seen a sign of my hero and I’m still diving down for pearls…” Drowned by, Pete Townshend
Life roads twist curve, split, climb, fall away, and sometimes they end abruptly in a corn field… or dead end. We navigate the inner voice of who we are and take hopefully a directive that leads somewhere. We make a choice. That free will practice. All navigation leads some where. This is the nature of these experiences. Is it really what we want? That question.
There are moments when the road is empty. The sound of the wheels drones the brain into a light focused trance and the mirages on the road are ghosts of things deeply hidden. Failures. Lovers. Mistakes. Inadequacies. Dreams. Hopes.
The coyotes of memory gnaw at the edges and the Ravens watch. Time bends just enough to slow the clock and the tears come. The brain starts to wonder what could have been done differently. Is there another way? I am drowning in my fears. The vultures pick at my bones and scatter my entrails. The hawks watch for the divination.
The smallness feels big. The sun beats down and the road vanishes into a pin prick. Where are the Goddesses? Where are the Gods?
The heart keeps time. It synchronizes with the breath and the mind stills.
The bones bleach in sun and dry on the medians. The winds change. The clouds rise to create the rain that washes the thoughts into rivers. I keep driving.
The sun will rise and set. The moon will cycle. All things turn with the dance of the universe. The coyotes smile. The Ravens wink.
Shaman @ Large 