I have a friend whose name is Becky. In my blog and in her blog, I call her Shaman (although she insists she is not a full shaman but a shaman in training). She is the nugget of pure gold in the mountain full of pyrite, the echoed melody in the canyon, the right blend of woman-power and vulnerability, competitiveness and giving; and every day she gives us poetry.
I always enjoy what she writes, and so often she creates word-pictures of the same things I'm seeing through my camera lens.
This morning I found some of myself in her poem:
In times past, they were the shamans;
the ones who knew
the plants, where to find the hunting grounds,
and the sacred stories of creation.
In these modern times,
in my family,
there are story tellers.
They are the keepers of the line,
the ones who spin the lore,
the backbone of my who-am-I wonderings.
I have a friend who has a blog
she makes, and builds, sings
and maybe even surgically enhances
the past with photos and short amusing stories.
I read her truth and am truly entertained
but that is not all I glean from the years,
it is the wisdom and the knowledge
that I honor from those times.
And when all is told and listened to,
when all the names and places
when all the old bones and old blood
are fashioned into lessons and elevated
to their rightful place I can sit and hold them
knowing of that man at war, or the woman,
the one who made the hats.
The story of my DNA
becomes re-tooled old leather
for me to wrap around my heart.
I am proud I came from them.
I am grateful too for the story tellers
for taking all those old bones and fusing
them to mine.
By Becky Harblin.... March 30, 2008
Dedicated to: Jane and Harold Harblin, Percy Harblin, Alvina LeFebevre
and blogger - Judy Andrus Toporcer
Gosh. (Blush). I learned the word "namaste" from Becky, and today I say it to her: Namaste, Becky. I bow to you, and to Jane and Harold, Percy and Alvina. Becky, I'm so very honored.
Monday, March 31, 2008