1-17-96
Your spirit called out to me -
so I wrote words of you, then
shared you with
my brothers.
I wrote of the sacred rituals -
smudging, with the smoke of
sweet grass, cedar, and sage
to cleanse, and purify.
With care, I sent my words to
the letter wizards of the east,
in their bastions of knowledge,
but the words were rejected.
I could not make them comprehend you.
I sang the sweat ceremony,
in the inipi, to be one
with Maka Ena / Earth Mother
and become centered by rebirth.
Wakna Tanka / Great Spirit
you showed me, and I understood,
I cannot share you
with words.
Your spirit called out to me -
so I painted pictures of you, then
shared you with
my brothers.
I've painted the mystic symbols
of the Sioux, and Cheyenne
in the north, and the sacred sands
of the Hopi, and Navaho, in the south.
I drew the totems
of the Kwakuitl,
and their Sea Hawk,
in the west, and still
I hear the call of your voice.
People see my paintings
and instantly fathom
the spirit of the symbols,
if not their meaning.
As if in vision quest,
I have come to understand
why so few of
the Human Beings
Share our world
with words, and
why so many
use paint.