Her white beads, little pearls of hope she sees in the salt that she scatters
Her red beads, blood stained crystals of those that guide-be her
Her hair, think strings that source her to the Beloved
Ten magical wands make her hands, mapping brown streams of healing
‘The bones speak, they have little mouths of truth, they release flesh from the body and free the spirit, they speak’.. she says this to a skin-made bag.. given to her by her grandmother.
She is now gasping, growling, bending to her own being
She is reaching out for thin air, grabbing nothing, still gasping.. ‘they whisper to me you’.. now telling her uncle
She now holds water like she is one with it.
Red and white beads flying with the air of her locks
She now holds water like she is one with it.
‘cleanse him, cleanse him’!!!!
That cloth with ritualistic dances rhythms the connection with her tribe
She feels them surrounding her, their bare feet on the ground, holding her still, 'be, child'
But it’s only their spirits present
The cloth covers all her fears with a comfort she feels in her core.. it’s a sort of love.. a deep love that never leaves her.
‘shelter me from my fears great mother, I’m afraid’
‘My eyes burn with dreams’.. she notices.. but she loves the alternative existence they brew
Its peaceful, it heals her while it heals him, her uncle now saying incantations she fails to know why she understands like the mother tongue she speaks
05/09/11
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