... try corruption.

... try corruption.

... try corruption.

The eagle soars into turquoise and indigo
catching gold on white tipped feathers
in cadence of wind and stillnesses
singing and swooping with currents and storms
alone, the far-seer, sky dancer.
sun fire dips down to serpentine underworld
and eagle descends on rose and mauve and amber light
to an eyrie for night's long dream
head curved under wings
eagle encircled in sleep
reflecting early kinship
with those scaled and coiled beings
who swallow the sun in their tangled trap
while the lost world waits in darkness and dream;
and in dreamworlds gods and goddesses
beat the pulse of prayer
dancing near smaller fires
drumming toward greater light
creating song from cries of loss
fanning the glowing ember of the heart
praising color:
green of growth, gold of maize
soft rich browns of deer and earth
rainbow prisms of mist and sun
and riotous spring anemonies
tangerine and sienna of autumn's burnt lemon death
after summer's blue heat
and the white quiet in the center
of winter's stillness
and as hope begins to flicker
in the endless dark tunnel of night
eagle dreams stir
and in sleep awaken shadow-winged predator spirits
who dive for us all
into alien elements
fathomless seas of cobalt and black
dive through the surface
along watery crescents of moon's mirrored image
downward liquid spiral journey
and now is the need for eagle's sharp vision:
glimpse of turbulence below
dark shapes massing and twisting
in volcanic force the sun is caught
by serpents jealous and frenzied in battle
surrounding the light;
beak and talons curve
wings pull against the tidal vortex
moving with but not surrendering
to that power
and they strike
for an endless moment hearts stop in their sleep
drums do not beat
as feathers, coils, silver fangs and claws
embrace in the death of our dreams;
and in that moment the sun is freed
and begins to float luminous
toward that thin membrane where sea and sky meet
leaving an image of frozen fury far below
and finally, bursting through
with the fragile sound of silence and color
dawn is borne up on wings of light
life stirs
light stirs us all
and an eagle soars toward the sun
on the sighs of our awakening
Poem by Josie Tamarin
Published in "The Way Of The Shaman" by Michael Harner