As our villages gave way to towns, and in time, our towns gave way to cities – so we gave away our connections to spirit.
Out of the timeless dharma, the ryhthms of the tribal ceremony and the personal intimacy of our holy woman (or man), we have given ground over the millenia to our connection to source. Our wholeness, our holiness.
Today, here and now, we stand confused, betrayed and uncertain of our future.
Our shaman, our beloved shaman, who once held the rememberence our history, the keys to who we are, and in ceremony reflected back to us the reality of our being, our love, our union, our creator.
Today, if you happen to wander past the anthropology section of your bookshop, maybe you will find a passing reference to your spirit ancestors. Those who thought you worthy of rememberence, those who kept a verbal transmission of your glory.
The priests betrayed you – wrapped you in a cloud of unknowing – and a confuson of symbols.
The psychologist hates you, reflecting back to you only their own shortcomings.
And the pyschiatrist, evils as ever, wants only to subjicate you to their will.
Oh! Shamam. Fly free!
And sing back to us your sacred journey, so that those of us who have yet to lose our sanity can fly with you, and remember our original home, our love, our creator.