The Called

Some are called, some are chosen. Some are lost, others frozen.

Immobile in their thoughts, lame in their passions. Life will not rise to meet the passive.

Action must be taken, the light must be awakened. The fire fueled by pick and chisel, words that leave you shaken.

Meeting in the sunlight, convening in the dark. Secret glances in the field at work, find me in the park.

I’ll be dancing with Coyote, I’ll be drinking from the cup- the chalice of the ages, left to wither in the dust.

Those lips do stain my proud, warm chest. Her blood does flow over the crest, and to the ground, a crimson mess.

What was I to do but give my life to those who’d seldom “live”?  To smash the cage, ignite the rage that nations once were conquered with?

Hand-prints, in their perfect form, converge around the burgeoning storm. Born of Sky and filled with water, whipping up a holy slaughter.

The shadows cast upon the earth are proof of something True at work, the Dial of Destiny begins turning. Mankind feels its stomach churning, lightning descends and homes start burning.

Did I invoke this wrath with my lips to the chalice? Did I awake the Shaded Spirits, sleeping in their Shadow Palace?

These beasts know only fear and malice, and humanity is theirs to balance.

Creeping closer, growing taller, they’ve got us gagged, and bound, and collared. Unheard will go unholy hollers. Voices of the helpless squandered on these soulless monsters, so Hollow.

When all is lost now, who is Winner? Glory to the unborn sinners? Or is it failure of a species, will we mend the broken pieces?

Of our art. From our hearts. May our fingers never part. To hold the hands of men and women, impotent in their indecision.

Deer will run to meet the darkness, caught up in an earthly trance, trees uproot from ancient ground, and with their roots begin to dance. A dance that tells the story of a Being whose inequity… was only countered by his value to He who loves all living things.

A dance the Called can only learn, and so we go along. Can you imagine human songs, carried by voices of those we’d wronged? See the trees all demonstrating endless love and faith unfailing, leaves aloft and limbs are flailing!

The love of Mother, as no other, resonates among the brothers. Flower and squirrel. Crow and turtle. All bound in a sacred circle. Blood flows through us, time shall undo us, do we deserve what’s coming to us?

And are we worthy of the grace shown to us by those in this place? Will we make peace, or just escape- to live and trifle in all our old ways? These souls are older, and bodies faceless, knowing no greed. Showing no hatred. Can we make it? Would our Green Brothers take us? Or is it simply time to face it?

Face the facts, and feel the music, branches for arms, bark for a tunic. How therapeutic are the movements of our new and proven prudence?

Life and Death both seem so small when dancing with the trees, so tall. And who will live to see it all? The saga of a world, appalled.

Only the true. Only the called.

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