(revision 2.07)

Finding Our Horizon

Can I stand beside the bushman,
humble the lineage to the magnificence
of the hunter’s will?
Join him, as eye upon track,
nostril flared to the scent,
I become the heartbeat of my prey.

Can you take me back to the grace
of the gatherer?
To find me
falling in homage on beds of grain,
and dancing triumph in pools of elixir.

Can I hold the artistry of the storyteller,
and draw upon rock in faithful colors,
to paint history with strokes of integrity?
I would, my vision be simplified
to find each solid canvas
holds the secret to a boundless journey.

How can I be inspired to create without pestilence?

Can we wipe our face clean of arrogance?
Look upon the sky without ownership . . .
Take a quantum leap backwards,
falling into our steps once traveled in unison.

Let me be immersed in my birth waters.

Can I speak with my brother in melodious tongue
and clicks of memory washed over the continents?
Let me carry my home on my back.
Have me offer,
reverence
devotion
for all horizons that lay beyond time.
Show me how to consecrate
the sand that lies beneath my feet at any season.

Let me be immersed . . .

purged,
in the heat of the primordial fire.

*****

original

Finding Our Horizon


Can I stand beside the bushmen,
humble this lineage to the magnificence
of the hunter’s will?
Join them, as eye upon track,
nostril flared to the scent,
I become the heartbeat of my prey.

Can you take me back to the grace
of the gatherer?
To find me
falling in homage on beds of grain,
and dancing triumph in pools of elixir.

Can I hold the artistry of the storytellers,
and draw upon rock in faithful colors,
to paint my history with strokes of integrity?
I would, my vision be simplified
to find each solid canvas
holds the secret to a boundless journey.

How can I be inspired to create without pestilence?

Can we wipe our face clean of arrogance?
Look upon the sky without ownership . . .
Take a quantum leap backwards,
falling into our steps once traveled in unison.

Let me be immersed in my birth water.

Can I speak with my brother in melodious tongue
and clicks of memory washed over the continents ?
Now let me take my home on my back.
Have me offer,
my reverence
my devotion
for all horizons that lay before me.
Show me how to consecrate
the sand that lies beneath my feet at any season.

Let me be immersed . . .

Wash me,
in the heat of the primordial fire.

jeanne rené 8/04