He prays towards Sirius
at dusk.
Draped in strips of colored cloth,
Spartan in fashion,
hanging with bright feathers
and bones of reptiles.
He is calling on the universe,
on that which lies
above and below.
Sometimes long dead elder gods,
or ancestral spirits;
he coaxes them down
from the astral plane.
A small stone cup,
made of a rare mineral,
holds a vile smelling tincture.
This he drinks
and he chants,
old, archaic language.
With soft words of invocation,
he calls the stars and planets
down from their place in the heavens.
Heartbeats
become the pulse
of a thousand suns.
Blood flowing in the body,
is the river of time,
the history of all creation;
locked into the DNA
and translated
by beings that do not exist,
as we know existence.
The firing of synapses
becomes communication
between far flung galaxies.
Radiation speaking through dark matter,
faster than light,
all received by this well tuned
human antennae.
He shuffles in his prayer seat,
eyes open
and deposits sacred herbs upon the fire.
His eyes have changed from the brown eyes
of an elderly islander,
to a splendid cosmic blue.
From a leather bag,
he withdraws a pipe
and some rough cut tobacco,
Pushing a long eagle feather from his face
before lighting it.
The smoke slides from his lips,
in solid forms that resemble dragons,
before being caught by the night air.
He looks across the fire at me,
those piercing blue eyes
laying bare my soul.
I feel exposed,
like a naked child
standing before the ocean.
Alone.
Afraid.
I know he sees all of me.
And then he speaks,
in perfect English;
” I have counselled with the others
and they have agreed that this
is too important to remain hidden.”
He pauses for a second,
blowing out a ring of smoke
and capturing my eyes with his gaze.
“Listen carefully.
This is what you must do,
if you are going to save this world.”
DR – 2016
