Old Wanderer

In the language of the lower realms
I am welcomed by the shield of the frog people
Into the vault of history

Studying culture, studying ways
With the old wanderer
The new mysteries

The impulse to ask runs with memory
Over the red earth
The child and the mother
I see the petals in their footprints
I hear their overlapping voices in their search
For the one in the other

Sharing in a dream hug
A deep and wide emerald river tugs

From the moonfire of inter-rest
Where the dance is forever just begun
In all ways the first moves
Mirror to what is second-come

From the word world of the magnet mazes
Where a tight-knit sound fabric
Reddened with the bright blood of ancestors

From the lodge of grief
Where what has hardened softens
As it is
Breathed into relief

The mother and the child
With wide eyes to the sky
And wide ears to the ground
Are returning to the womb-time

The old wanderer has shown me that

At the end of culture, at the end of ways
The present is filled with settlers
Leaving the warmth and cold
Of being behind or ahead
Within the see-say

They seek home in silence
Restoring the bond of vibrating from the base
By the nature of their own reliance
Blending into one face

That as it enjoys, smiles
That as it is saddened, cries
That as it arrives, feels
That as it understands, sighs

The old wanderer has shown me that

Our bodies are our stories
That continue beyond the boundaries of fear
That they are told forevermore
Echoed right here

In the same space that we all will inhabit
In the same space that we all will know
The very field of potential
In which we all will grow

The old wanderer has shown me that

He walks through the field with a sickle and with love

That they are both beyond measure
As he finds all the treasure

Of each ripened grain
He will tell stories again and again

Again and again

Again and again

The old wanderer has shown me that

The very time and place I'm part of is all

I will ever be

I am that I am

He has shown me


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