If you ever lose heart and the earth seems as distant as stars fading into the noise of your busy mind, know this. That a tiny island exists in the blue hands of the ocean. That a tree grows upright into the salted clouds. That two eagles love each other enough to spend their lives greeting the morning sun together. That two eaglets stand in their nest, gazing at the heavens. Looking down to the forever ground. They eat and sleep and flap their wings. And one day in July, one by one, they will jump into the air. They will know the difference between existing and what is beyond. They will hold onto nothing. The hurricane will come, courage catching their pinions on fire, as they mount the wind, climbing ladders into realms of the invisible.

--T.L. Stokes

Sunday, September 4, 2011

Messenger of the Dreamtime

The whale rock thinks while waiting
for the warming tide laden with green gifts.
Murmers from the sea.

The sheer sheet of the sky is almost blank
holding the ocean's mirror.

The wings have all gone northward. White crowns
and hems. A thousand words from a thousand songs.
Carriers of mariner letters through the dreamtime.

Touched as we are by eagles we stayed. Unknowingly
pinning thoughts to the sky. Effortlessly
the eagles picked them up.

Words drawn into feathers and lifted
by the hollow flame of wind. Can't you see
what you have done?

Your little notes passengered by eagles
through a filmy door, enter the silence
of Great Spirit's dreaming.

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