Indian spirits dancing ‘round my bed in the wee hours
Teaching me of ancestral art while in the land of sleeping,
Offering instruction and delicate beaded visions
Of rust colored canyons, blue and white puffed skies.
Indian spirits sitting still in the back seat of my car
Driving me down the deserted New Mexico highway,
Protecting my growth as a loving parent would
With a tender touch, a kind word and some concern.
Indian spirits encircle, filling the room with sage
Daring me to explore myself, eyes fixed upon the fire,
Pointing in the direction of my journey with the shaman
As I return to this holy place of power on this night.
Indian spirits dancing ‘round my bed in the wee hours
Teaching me of ancestral art while in the land of sleeping,
Offering instruction, and delicate beaded visions
Of rust colored canyons, blue and white puffed skies.
Leather and denim on skin, long flowing hair and feathers
Signals a natural tendency towards my present being,
Elders tell guides to whisper the truth and all her power
To speak the incantations of Mother Earth and Father Sun.
Questions why they reside here, in this room of many doors
Enchanting rose quartz crystals, hearth with chair aside it,
Answers to connect me to these invisible animations
To embrace the citrine power of sacred wisdom shared.
Indian spirits dancing ‘round my bed in the wee hours
Teaching me of ancestral art while in the land of sleeping,
Offering instruction, and delicate beaded visions
Of rust colored canyons, blue and white puffed skies.
Indian spirits lift The Pilgrim painting off the wall
When I’m not paying attention to key elementals,
What is chosen to be shown as metaphor is deliberate
For that which they give must be fitting, they suggest.
Indian spirits feed me, fill the Hopi wedding basket
With amber shades of hope, earthen shades of worth,
I dance with the native spirits moving through the mist
And thank the force that brings them to my waking dreams.
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