Puffy clouds lift behind, trailing as my car trembles
upon rocky desert path, ominous vortex
leading me towards mountain's dark embrace.
My destination, a microcosmic circle of humanity,
ready to engage in hope, of ancient mystic ritual
executed via a motley blend of sounds and faiths.
We sing Native chants of unknown lyrics.
Our drums pulsate in synchronicity
(boom boom boom boom)
with our hearts' sacred intent.
Gradually, slowly, drenched in light
she appears, as if only for us,
Sister Moon smiling,
delighted at our primitive display
of souls seeking to meld
with nature's cosmic revolution
of time and space.
The circle is then broken, pulled
open by the gravity of routine living,
As I drive home, Sister Moon winks
in camaraderie, confirming our connection,
reassuring our relation, and thanking me
for not having concrete rhyme or reason,
and yet immersing in the circle, intuitively.
(Submitted to: Dverse Poets.)
When a friend invited me, my first inclination was not to go. So I don't know if it was intuition or just my usual "aiming to please" attitude that prompted me to attend this drumming circle. It is something I have not done in all the years I've lived in New Mexico. I'm sorry to admit I don't remember the tribe of the woman who led our group. But she was a terrific singer and taught us (at least for the moment) some chants that we repeated with respect and honor.
I'm so glad I went. Amazingly, time seemed to stand still, and the moon took an eternity to peek out from behind my mountains. Was that an expansion of consciousness? Perhaps.
I smile as I recall observing a rain dance for the first time. Though it had been a clear, sunny day, the rain began to pour. I was enthralled.
"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science."