The illusion and a Ojibwa prayer…
I told the pretty poet. I have too much now. I would give away if I could. Sell the car, sell the house and keep a few books and my laptop. Find a community where I could write, read , grow natural herbs and make wine.
She told me. “You could escape. Go to places where no-one is a stranger. Where life is slow and easy. We live in a illusion, we need everything and want more. “
I took the poet to Lake St. Clair and I set-up my mediating rocks and small Native American Tipi. I put the white sage into small Tipi. I told her.
“We learn too late,
the more we have, the less freedom, we shall know.
The best days are the simple days,
the beach days, the long walks and the intimate conversations.
Life is trickery and foolishness.
We could have the sweetest love,
be surrounded by the euphoria of the sea, the deep forest and the flowing river.
And, not be content.”
She danced on the rocks and I watched Lake St. Clair do her Winter dance.
I brought her near and I lite the white sage and I held her hand. I told the water, the sky, the earth.
“Thank you for the beautiful late December day in Michigan.
The sun is warming my skin,
Lake St. Clair is dancing for me and I have good company with me.
This is my Ojibwa yearly prayer,
I pray for peace for my world,
I pray men will be kind to Mother nature.
I pray men will be kind to the free animals and be kind to each other.
I pray we learn.
Gun don’t bring peace,
every life had value.
If we don’t lead with kindness, concern and love.
We shall kill all the sweetness of life.
Thank you for this day, thank you for my good health and my family is healthy and strong.
I burn the sage and I hope the Great Spirit is listening.”
The kind Poet, holding silence as we walked the three mile circle walk of the Metro Beach park.
She asked me with sad eyes. “Will men kill everything that is good before he learn? We were given perfection. The sea, the lakes, the rivers, the great forest and the gift of food from the earth.”
I brought her close and I whispered. If the common people listen to the devils. One day, all things that are beautiful. They shall be myth and tale for our children.
Dancing Coyote