First Nations

Our relatives in the First Nations—sovereignty rights of Native American land, hunting & fishing rights, rights to sacred lands, etc. know that all created beings listen to their spirits—inside & out—When I was a little boy, I often felt lonely in my own family, I was mis-matched to my family and the world around me; I was the silent, absorbed observer, and in my listening, I heard these trees’ wisdom, wind-carried on whispered and bearded clouds and currents, sitting down at their feet, at their roots, my body-mind felt their nascent vibration within me, in my spine, and in my sublime mind/brain
It’s chemistry running from my head through everything, like sap reaching for a tree’s

I went to the Civil War battlefield sights, and heard their laments for those who died, compassion-blown like glass given by this sage that was exploited and split into boards to build homes, When I think of my boyhood Willow Tree mast, me high in its branches. I sway. I sway doing a dance that shelters and soothes—that cools the flames of my young depression & anxiety and the numb coals of my loneliness, the organic cure, as yet undiagnosed, later learning I was the only one who could find my path, the huge Fur Tree, festooned with holly in my grand parent’s rural, old, Kentucky spread, a fanned skirt to which my sister & I would escape to hide from adults, hidden from the view of condemning, judgmental eyes, invisible laughs & sighs

© Christopher Bear-Beam (n.d.)

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