Post by Juan Castrocafe on Sept 8, 2006 17:19:07 GMT -6
On Being A Wolf
Awake brother for there is a Hart in our woods,
his blood flows swiftly and strong..
let us shed the roots of mankind and join
the river of blood that we are all a part of here...
can you feel him brother? do you know his fear?
let us take him now with our brothers and while his
blood still flows, let us drink and eat of the life he gives
for we are all grown from the same root
and when this Hart falls, so do we, but we rise with
the life we have taken to ourselves and again
life will come where the root must bleed of itself...
for we are the pruners, without us the root would
stop to grow,
we are one as our brother deer is the same
only to feed upon but to give us all life...
this river of blood must not stop its flow
for if the river stops to move, it will surely die,
we are the wind, we are the sky, we are the movement
that causes the flow...
as one brother dies, we howl at the still pool
and drink up the life before it leaves,
we shall protect this root, we shall make it to grow
and from this river we shall always give and take
no more than we were, no more than we are
no more than we will ever be,
for we are all one, one that eats itself to grow,
but to grow is to be as we are then, now and forver,
free and from this Mother, we are loved with the trees,
with the waters and with the blood of the Hart
which must flow
I am the sky over the trees which breathes through
Her branches, I am the earth which makes Her stand tall
I am the water which keeps Her ever changing
for we are all the same and dance in the skins we are
given and the skins we take,
this is our Mother, and we live in her womb, to
remain the movement in this river of blood that
feeds us all, no life is without its belonging,
no life is separate, for this is the curse of mankind
that men are not each others brother...that man
pulls out his own roots to be his own tree, to own his
own forest...this is the land of our Mother, given to us
all of us and we are its guardians, we make our peace
in our movement and not in our stillness
and we each have life to bring and give
and we will bring and give again,
we come up like flowers and for a season,
we are, for a season we are no more
and then again we will be in our glory of the next season,
we are not new, we are not old,
only that which dies can age, for I am
the movement of my feet and not the feet I move...
John moseley
Awake brother for there is a Hart in our woods,
his blood flows swiftly and strong..
let us shed the roots of mankind and join
the river of blood that we are all a part of here...
can you feel him brother? do you know his fear?
let us take him now with our brothers and while his
blood still flows, let us drink and eat of the life he gives
for we are all grown from the same root
and when this Hart falls, so do we, but we rise with
the life we have taken to ourselves and again
life will come where the root must bleed of itself...
for we are the pruners, without us the root would
stop to grow,
we are one as our brother deer is the same
only to feed upon but to give us all life...
this river of blood must not stop its flow
for if the river stops to move, it will surely die,
we are the wind, we are the sky, we are the movement
that causes the flow...
as one brother dies, we howl at the still pool
and drink up the life before it leaves,
we shall protect this root, we shall make it to grow
and from this river we shall always give and take
no more than we were, no more than we are
no more than we will ever be,
for we are all one, one that eats itself to grow,
but to grow is to be as we are then, now and forver,
free and from this Mother, we are loved with the trees,
with the waters and with the blood of the Hart
which must flow
I am the sky over the trees which breathes through
Her branches, I am the earth which makes Her stand tall
I am the water which keeps Her ever changing
for we are all the same and dance in the skins we are
given and the skins we take,
this is our Mother, and we live in her womb, to
remain the movement in this river of blood that
feeds us all, no life is without its belonging,
no life is separate, for this is the curse of mankind
that men are not each others brother...that man
pulls out his own roots to be his own tree, to own his
own forest...this is the land of our Mother, given to us
all of us and we are its guardians, we make our peace
in our movement and not in our stillness
and we each have life to bring and give
and we will bring and give again,
we come up like flowers and for a season,
we are, for a season we are no more
and then again we will be in our glory of the next season,
we are not new, we are not old,
only that which dies can age, for I am
the movement of my feet and not the feet I move...
John moseley
