Wolf Moon Birth

crow

 January moon,

Wolf Moon,

Native American sweat lodge,

Tennessee mountain, Cherokee haunted lands.

Pitch black,

loud knee to knee singing

in Lakota,

the lost prayer language of everyone.

The stones,

our ancestors,

bleed wisdom in the form of steam

under the stress of fire and water.

We hold on to sage, listen and sing at once.

It is the prayer meeting of a lifetime.

The kind that sears

the soul to heaven.

In this prayer, there must be utter darkness

not even the sight of the hand two inches from the face.

Upon reflection, it was a darkness for which I was not prepared

That darkness of womb, of outer space, of inner space….

of God.

And so, soon enough,  I said the holy words,

“All My Relations”

and I meant it.

They graciously, lovingly raised the flap,

speaking their encouragement to me,

and climbing out of that dome

like a baby fawn from a womb

I entered the arc of the world.

Zipping up my Born boots,

A long inhale and exhale,

covered in sweat,

stumbling off to search for my character

my story

my song.

This lifelong, tiring journey.

Inside the safety of the house

by the hearth fire,

while the others were still praying,

I stared long at a painting of an Indian woman

with several crows emerging from beneath her

buckskin covering

in the snow.

A murder of crows.

I sensed that these same wings were forming beneath my skin too

Black, iridescent, oily and ancient.

I recalled, at that moment,

back in the sweat lodge

It wasn’t that I couldn’t breath

it was that I could breathe too much.

“Perhaps we might choke if we gained our freedom all at once,”

I said to the woman in the painting.

Like a newborn baby,

emerging from that Wolf Moon birth,

a fragile fawn,

a sturdy oak tree,

a bridge,

a mossy stone,

a river,

(the river beneath the river).

Later on in the year,

on top of a foggy mountain nearby,

a fog that covered the road ahead,

I heard an old man say,

(a wise old man whose ancient, black wings had turned to silver)

“All along I thought birth and death were different,

but now I know they are one in the same.”

Sherry Cothran

January, 2015

Posted by

Speaker, Author, Musician, Pastor, Nature Lover. Co-Founder of the Social Enterprise: Dreamweave: Renew Lives, Recyle Products;

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