Feeling the mountains today and so I share a poem written in honor of their sacredness no matter on what continent they live.
You are calling me,
calling me,
to where heaven meets earth,
to where kachinas dance,
dance their dance,
between strikes of lightning,
lightning and lightning,
between raindrops and raindrops,
beneath ripening,
beneath ripening and rippling skies.
Once, I stood before you,
in awe of you, in great awe of you,
and above you
the cloud shamans,
the mighty cloud shamans,
struck their pose, their pose,
numinous spears held aloft,
dared me closer,
without prayer,
without ceremony,
without kneeling,
without hands clasped in front of my heart
in honor, in honor,
in honor of you, White Mountain.
You who are majestic,
majestic and mighty,
made of the weight,
the weight of the earth,
the weight of the earth and the stone,
beckon me, call me,
to thin places,
in between places,
the doorways,
the gateways,
where the People once lived,
once walked,
once knew how to
move between worlds.
You watch and you wait,
and you wait and you wait,
for our gifts, for our gratitude,
for our gifts and our gratitude,
for one such as Krishna
who can hold you aloft,
who can raise you and place you,
raise you and place you,
where you have always been.
He will come.
She will come.
He is walking.
She is walking.
Around Kailash, around Kailash.
Around Meru, around Meru.
Around Kailash and Meru.
Bending and prostrating,
prostrating and bending,
touching his forehead,
touching her forehead,
to your good ground.