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 open to the
fire within,
Pointing in the direction of the 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,
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 jump 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.