This was written on the final night of my 3-day vision quest solo. The three days are spent alone in the desert with water and some personal belongings. On the final night we’re advised to stay awake all night, and then we return to base camp on the fourth morning. When we return we’re asked to consider a give away, a song, a poem, a lesson, something that we can offer to our people. This is that give away.
Grandmother moon rises a golden yellow half plate Father sky swirls white, black, opal, water vapor and stars The stars look wet- and soft, it is dream time Everything is black, but the sky Everything is still, but my heartbeat, and breath She says to me from her supine sky throne “I love my brother sun… but he can’t weave magic like this.” I looked out into the West to greet my death and saw only more. Death, death, death- always death- and change, and the fall, and the grief There above the soft black mounds, decomposing ancient mountains, anonymous in the night, was the overwhelming loss and sadness that no one thing could contain. It swirled and swam on the West horizon. It was beautiful… The light of my own eager soul flickered there as a star along with the stars of every other living thing, Each with their time to set. There is an in between time when Moon and her glowing rainbow corona still reign the black but on the horizon black, purple and red feathers lay atop the first blues of dawn. Daylight, in prayer and with prostrations, receives permission to kiss its way slowly into the corners of passing night… then Most beautiful dawn, Father Sun brings gifts of such brilliant color, arrows, bird wings, flames- There is nothing left of me but joy, and humility He murmurs to me from just below the purple black jagged mountains of stone: “No one can weave magic like Sister Moon. But watch- watch how I bring this place to life.”