Of Tigers and Feathers – Day 76

I’ve always loved the song “Colors of the Wind”. Today I fell in love with it a little bit more when I realized that, like so many other things, it could be extrapolated further.

Or I could be stretching. I’ve been known to do that. But I’ll stretch regardless. Yoga, after all, is good for the soul.

Sometimes when I fall in love, there’s that immediate need to tie things down, to possess, to be certain of each and every single inch and moment. There’s the desire to melt into the other person, to meld, to create something new that was never before.
Sometimes, when I fall in love, I forget that the object of my affection has their own agenda, their needs, edges that might not align with mine.

I forget, that when someone says “love”, they might not mean the same thing I do.
I forget, that when I expect, when I tighten my hold, the only person I end up hurting is myself.

Sing me a song, a lullaby, a dirge.
Remind me to slow my dizzying spin through space, pause, and listen.
Remind me, that the condensed water of a soul can keep a man alive.

I’ll wander the paths of you, hidden and sunlit. If my bare feet should pick up thorns and sharp stones, then I’ll hear your spirit and know.
I’ll taste the wine-ripe fruits of you, tart and frost-sweet. If I should remain unsatiated, then I’ll reach within my own spirit and know.

Even should tomorrow be fire and earthquakes, thunder and sweeping tides,
I curl within my eyrie, secure and warm.
Even should tomorrow be filled with birdsong and a cornucopia of delights,
I only need enough to feather my nest and leave the rest for you.

Remind me, not to count the worth of what I receive, but to weight them in joy.
Remind me, not to measure the tears I’ve wept, but to raise those Fated scissors.

I’ll climb the sycamore, perch in the branches, and let the eagle tell me of where he’s been.
Places far away. Winds filled with the scents of adventure. Everything sprawling under his wings, beauty and terror blurred until he chooses to focus.
I’ll beg him to teach me his secrets, of how to arrow in on my prey and soar above everything else.

Remind me, that my circle does not break simply because a link has fallen away.
Remind me, that I am loved by more than I could ever imagine.

I’ll curl up with the wolves, nestle in their warmth, and let them tell me of the moon.
The ebb, the flow, the haunting call of the nature within and without. The howl that is loneliness, a declaration of self, a warcry, a summons of my brothers and a song to Spirit.
I’ll beg them to teach me how to run as a pack, how to bow to Alpha, how to become Alpha when the old one falls under sharp hooves, how to play with the pups, and how to howl so that my tribe may find me.

Remind me, that the land dies when it is owned and lives when it is seen for what it is.
Remind me, that there are more colors in the wind than we can know, more songs in us than we could ever imagine.

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