Squirrel lifts his head in the direction of Borealis ... the north wind carries a familiar rhythm ... a drum-beat from some distant fire. The sounds are certain, with rectitude in their intention ... from a pool below the muladhara shakra … a dark resonance within his truth. The fresh and beautiful moon is traveling in the utmost empty sky. The whispering in his dreams is a gentle melody ... the heart’s atonement ... lucidly adapting a harmonic voice from some parallel universe. The shaman’s rattle cuts through the universal resting fog ... first reflecting and then emitting the piercing light of two entrusting parallel arches ... the gateway from some other world ... the slender niereka from which his chastity had fallen some time ago. The warmth of the Perberbian fire had long since left his naked limbs ... drawn into the roots of his moss laden bed ... latent ... transforming ... entropy. As prayer awakens each molecule ... the tribe holds hands across the abyss ... awakening to flight ... the moment ... the breath. Squirrel has not forgotten the beautiful poem ... and the ephemeral gathering of beautiful souls. A mind-full-mist is conquest, as peace comes dropping slowly ... carrying forth solitude ... that in the clarity of still waters, wisdom will complete the circle of their dreams.
Originally posted by ~Alexandria~ :
COME play with me;
Why should you run
Through the shaking tree
As though I'd a gun
To strike you dead?
When all I would do
Is scratch your head
And let you go.
Squirrel replied:
Your friend is your needs answered;
And when he is silent ...
your heart ceases not to listen to his heart;
For that which you love most in him ...
may be clearer in his absence;
And let there be no purpose in friendship ...
save the deepening of spirit.
Originally posted by vancouverman :
POS ... my love / hate relationship with Squirrel is well known here ... after all .... I emptied few clips at him and Uncle Floyd.
Squirrel replied:
For what is your friend (Cousin Floyd) ...
that you should seek him with hours to kill;
Seek him always with hours to live.
For it is his to fill your need,
... but not your emptiness.
- Kahlil Gibran
