A poem about what is the Modern Shamanist

[Ir24]

So what to think of the Modern day Shaman ?
 
With both feet in heaven and his ear low to the ground.
Scooping up, filling lungs, breathing in the unfinished stories hiding in nooks and crannies and cracks of time.
Breathing out in trilling air with new sound -not heard before, but composed of eons and sacred ions finding their way down Jacobs ladder.
Through suspended air, in rhythm with ancient wind carrying it across the world to those curious and brave seekers of the unheard, so deeply felt within.
 
 
 
He has recipies handed down by mother Nature-Shaman proven to rebalance soul sickness and leaking life issues, when wholeness is with holes.
Connecting heart back to original place, tuning in the senses to delight and even lighter !
And with a magic touch tickles up joy bubbles, back to life.
In tune, instrumental to ITS tune.
 
 
They see through layers of sedimented pain, heavily wearing down the crust of earth, the hot tears melting ice caps.
They see through with their piercing eyes that can't get blind as they are full with mercy.
Not theirs, but to merciness itself that only longs to have its way, in praying plays, to shine with wondrous healing rays.
 
 
Does such a person then exists, the modern shaman ?
Only for those who can dream them,
Who do not shrink back from strange phenomena, without paraphernalia,
for he needs empty be, from matters free.
Who shapes himself by shifting needs.
As water, changing and adapting according to its current lead.
With feelings only to guide him through, in and out and up to its evaporating stage of highness.
 
 
For those who can travel without the body of the flesh and in total selflessness.
Who recognize the signposts and parts of a godly plan trying to form up, perhaps giving himself a role in this play.
In a respondant, responsable, surrendering way.
 
 
Is the new Sha(wo)man born yet ?
(S)he exists in all of us, if we choose to be, that hasn't changed.
Made of historic bits, an ancestor heritage but stopped by lack of tribal grids.
Emerging now from womb of echoing waves of core, electro-magnetic reaching this cave, this hollow reserved for a new model to raise.
In incubation, discovering its technology, with updated biology, learning it's new songs.
Discovering a new balance, aiming for the Oneness to meet the new challenge.
 
For those who see that their genius comes from genuineness and not from puffed up elitism.
Coming to understand that all have a part to play -all life, the fauna, flora- all have their say.
They connect the bits, first in themselves, that went astray so that the scales get rebalanced for a future day.


Written on Halloween night,
when the veil is not so tight.
  

[Stacey]

neat-o!