Forgive me, my dear Xanga friends, for my lack of response to both writing and commenting on your inspirational thoughts and know that I do keep up with you and browse daily, as time permits, through your photos and stories of insight and inspiration!
I took my first vacation, I mean FIRST REAL VACATION, having returned two weeks ago! I traveled on a Windjammer, beginning in the harbor of Panama City which lead me to the islands, uninhabited, yet followed in dug out canoes by families of the Kuna Indian tribes – so much to share with you all – and my God, the photos are stunning – not because of my photography, but God’s paintbrush was well at work as He dipped all color schemes onto a palate that filled the night air – and the colors were in Kodak during the daytime as the trees, winged birds in flight, water that allowed you to visit fish that blent into the sand…oh my – so much to share. I will be spending time telling the story and sharing the photos of breathtaking scenes, breathtaking crew and the passengers, as well as Captain Casey, and Rusty, his pursor, who guided us through waters that only Captain Casey was aware of the depths and paths that awaited us as we entered new islands daily, and ended in Colone.
As I am so connected emotionally to native Indians – beit our culture, or not, I wish to present to you a bond fire we had lit one eve on an island, and blend in a poem of an Indian who beccons me to his side to listen to great wisdom, as he has sent his stallion to wisp me and fly me to his side…..and from a mountain top, he talks, I listen and question, and from below, cinders float in the air, carried into starlight, – no, this is not a dream state, but a place that overcomes me perhaps once a month and I follow……
Here is my poem, followed by a real photograph I took, with the moon shining upon the Caribbean waters late one eve……
A race ignited
Ignited is my soul
Alfalfa Green – nostrils flare, sweetness in the air
Poppy yellow – inducing tranquility; drama silhouetted with darkness
Lavender Purple – streaking as an arrow, glancing through clouds
He rears in his glory,
Arriving at my door.
Dust clouds whirling
He bows his elegant head, foreleg pointed
A mane to grasp.
A bare back soft, warm, humid
His girth holds my legs.
Photograph: Ron Ikimbal
Eyes closed, I awaken next to his side.
Long gray hair, braided
I wish to speak
I am here to listen. .
Following his gaze into
yet, everything, still I do not understand.
A teathered hand, engraven furrows
Waves across the stars,
Flicker on a windswept journey
A gift bestowed.
A gift to the gods.
one day I’ll fly in the night
a butterfly seeking another cocoon.
I am home-bound
Another dawn awaits. Photograph by Lisa O’Hara, 7-07, Caribbean, Off Portobello
“Bond Fire for the gods”