Swan Songs

I cannot teach you languages, nor histories of nations and men, nor can I teach you of wars and rebellions; but I can teach you of the stars and sky, the silt and dirt of this dear Earth. I can teach you why your heart flutters at the sight of beauty and why the touch of another is the hand of a most holy angel. I can show you galaxies undiscovered by mankind until the reflection of your own soul appears, in cloudbursts blanketing the sky. I can tell you why your feet, bare, long to hug the sand and soil. You are a channel to the divine. Do you not recognize the call of birdsong at early dawn? How can you deny your breath and body? It is made of the same elements as driftwood and thunder. Your voice is that of lightning, your breath, the aether of ancient firmaments, ones your ancestors sat and prayed beneath, bedouins in the searing sun, the sweetest eye of heaven. Come, take my hand, I shall lead you to yourself. You have seen the well-worn path, wooded and weary by lakes and rivers. You know the way, you may have forgotten. Come, come follow me into what is known and unknown, what is truth and fiction, where there is no language, only sight, where swan songs are heard, deep, meditative ruminations, trumpeting supplications to the great Gods. Come, come follow me into what is known and unknown, what is truth and fiction, where there is no language, only sight, and walk proudly, dear soul, walk proudly, into your rightful place of existence. © Photo & Words Susan Marie