I can almost see your footprints in the snow. I can almost hear our winter wonderland packing beneath each footfall. We walk, sometimes silently and sometimes telling great stories; sometimes apart and sometimes nestled in a warm embrace. We can share a quiet introspection or laugh loudly with the words that echo in the snow, either is fine with souls who have set forth on some great journey and who honor that journey in each and every step.
I can almost see you standing on the ridge. Along the journey there have been moments where you were unsure and I’ve led the way. There have been times when uncertainty rankled my mind, and you pointed out the trail that lay before us. Together we have made it here, to this ridge. You gaze out to eternity as I marvel at your strength, your power, and the love you shine through every pore of your existence.
I can almost hear the chants of those dancing around a Great Fire, and see us sitting before its glow. I see your face, beautiful in the orange flicker of the Fire. I feel your hand in mine as your head falls on my shoulder. I kiss your crown, feeling the warmth of the fire radiate from your skin.
A Chief came before us like a shadow before the fire. He smiled as he handed you a pipe, mentioning for us both to smoke it. As we did, he touched our face lightly and though in front of the fire it was as if the fire was reflected in his eyes. His smile warmed us and we exhaled, the smoke uniting in the night before offering itself up to the sky. He took the pipe from us, bowed in our presence, and vanished into the darkness just beyond the fire.
Suddenly, we appeared as two ice sculptures carved through many winters of many lifetimes together. The Great Fire warmed us, and in its spring our melting formed one puddle on the Earth. The chants of our Elders intensified as the crackling of the Fire grew louder, our puddle vibrated with the energy of gratitude and the blessings being bestowed. The dark canvas of the night, painted in the dim orange of the Fire, now revealed many Elders holding hands and bowing their heads in honor.
The Chief who had shared the pipe spoke in a language unfamiliar but easily understood. He shared a story of two cardinals who had to fly into many strong winds, through many lifetimes, to finally land on the same branch. Their journey had them question the branch, but their perch held strong. What was destined could not be avoided, and what was happening was surely destined. When they flew in directions sometimes different and sometimes the same, it was the branch that would always hold firm upon their return. The branch was offered by the Tree of Love, and it would be the home they returned to for the rest of their lives.
The Chief paused, and bent to the Earth. There, he drew an ∞ on the ground before the fire. He then mentioned it was his time to leave us.
The Elders turned to go, and the chants subsided as the Fire grew dim. In the silence we could hear the wolves howling in the distance as the stars revealed themselves in the darkness. We held each other, still warm from the night, knowing that while nothing was different everything had changed. Love always present was given its due and in that sprouting a new Tree of Love was planted by our meeting, fed by the songs of our Elders, warmed by the Fire of our souls and watered by the melting of our winter.
I give thanks for the visions I am granted, and for the ability to describe them with my words. I give thanks for the muse that inspires me daily, who lights my Great Fire, and who points me in the direction of my path when I feel I’ve lost it. Such love, born in Spirit and thus so inspired, can only honored and cherished.
Peace.
