Feather

FEATHER

Calm enters the sick room
A warm shaft of light
Pierces the clouds

They know they can trust her

The medicine woman
Her drum
Her rattle

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on October 28, 2012, in Poetry, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 9 Comments.

  1. This is mysteriously soothing!

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  2. I know several Navajo medicine women, but I have never heard them drum. This is interesting and vital in that it goes to a place I have never actually been.

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  3. I love this. I don’t know why. I think it’s the contrast between the lack of soothingness (hmm…not sure that’s a word) of our modern sanitized medical model, and this calmly painted picture of trust. I have been feeling poorly today. I would welcome the medicine woman with her drum & rattle.

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    • I am sure you can find her if you look within, and that she will be happy to heal you. I certainly send you some healing thoughts and trust you will be feeling better soon.

      Like

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