I am a hawk with river-red shoulders. There isn't another winged acrobat under these
majestic trampoline purple skies who can hypnotize the soul of the most fiercely
loyal Angel and seize her golden heart in early morning flight. But I can. When the heavens
are yet but newly streaked with yoke-yellow skies over bloodied-molten lava, I
stealthily circle the globe each and every dawn. I can tell you the future a day
before it happens. It is an urgent humility that lets me tell you that you too can
effortlessly shape-shift with the imagination only a shaman’s shaman could imagine.
Sometimes I become the Warlock of Odin. I cross the heavens on a broom made from
the ancient world tree. I’m a sycamore fiend; furtive and fleeting. I feel wild and
free. I am the cat in the night. I’m spotted, then black, then suddenly white. When
winter rains come, I’m a thunder loving spider. I weave silver webs as gorgeous as
any brown recluse can conceivably muster. The poor maligned recluse has legendary
powers of persuasion in the Norse lands of Odin but society is superstitious. We are
frequently incorrect, misdirected and misinformed. Ministers of the Machiavellian
say being stung by a recluse or black widow portends the eruption of dark mind
before it hurls into the abyss, however, these rumors are but reflections of a
paranoiac state of being. Fear loves illusion. Misery loves company. The truth is,
feeling isolated and lonely is false entrapment fueled by a passionate repulsion to
the one true God. Loneliness is every where. We only sting ourselves. No soul easily
believes deceit is manipulated by a deformed mind to simply sooth our frightened
mortality. Once in a while truth prevails. You are an Angel of Mercy. Become the
Raven of Odin. Speak your prophetic language loud and clear. When dusk fills in the
void, become the cheetah and run like the wind.

10/03/2012

Posted on 10/03/2012
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