02 December Smoke · 2 of 6
Cool water trickles from fingertipsThe earth awakens with a gentle humWe kneel to honor the ancestorWe pay homage to those who paved the wayAlthough we announce ourselvesThis is not an introduction
Palm oil the color of blood, of powerPools in clay anticipating the flame’s embraceThe sacred lamp holds in the centerKissed by the rain and warmed by the sunIt stands rooted in the soft earthThe air begins to vibrate
Seasoned hands weave asé from the drumsPlaying rhythms created before the elders had eldersThe confidence of repetition guides their handsThe ground pulses with the heels of devoted feetCircling the flames inviting embers into the danceWe lift our voices to invite the divine downBecoming empty vessels hoping to be filledA shriek is heard, a body fallsThey’ve arrived.
We move with vigorPerfectly in tune with the flow of energyInexplicable tears wet our facesBut no sorrow is feltThey are the blessings we prayed for