
May the Grandmothers,
break the Silence
with the music
of their chimes,
end a life
spent in exile.
May the Peace
of the Forest
flow through me.
(I surrender
heartmind and body
to clear mountain streams).
They come,
embodied Souls
without possessions,
carry protection
in their arms.
Spirit born.
Emerging as
mushrooms,
three lobed trillium,
scarlet sunsets,
purple berries –
the path ahead
is lit from within.
They teach me
Primal Forest
Wisdom,
heal torn limbs
and hearts.

Transformed,
wily Black Bears
feast on rotten fruit,
accompany mein my dreams.
Sounds like a Native American piece! 🙂
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Interesting observation – this piece came from a dream I had about Indigenous women who were helping me!
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Wow! Now that is awesome! 🙂
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