In the North Rock Lands, many Centuries past, our tribe took to Journey the Land during turning blossom season, when days grew to cast shadows stretch to lengthen Light of day.

The Clearing Ritual set many of us vital in Life to find relationship with the truest nature within Oneself. A small group would start out together, never staying together to long. As One found truth by the rushing rivers, Another followed the Bird's Song, some found deepest reflection in snow covered Mountains.

I parted ways when a whispering of tribal drum drew my ear to solitary call. I followed the haunted chant of a weary Wisdom, a Voice that broke in wailing acceptance, painful experience, and croaked from dark dirt of Life.

I continued instinctively not care for danger, for I knew this Voice knew me. It resonated its pitch right in the pit of my stomach, hungry to know.

I found myself walking up a dry dusty hill topped in plateau. There I saw in close distance a Man sitting, feather necklace, fair hair, and leathered skin. As I neared, he paused midair and placed his wood flute to his tired lips.

It was the Song of Welcome, I knew it well. I reached my last step next to him. He stopped and faintly uttered words beneath his breath. I asked what say he. He did not turn but looked straight into the air before him to repeat,

"It's not easy to please me
As I am my own worst enemy"

Taken aback I replied,

"In a World full of Foes
Who needs another one of those."

He wailed into the setting Sun, growing small and still. Then he turned and looked right at me, silently awaiting. I stumbled out words pertaining to Truth, searching, seeking the Wisdom of things.
A body heaving grunt, deflated his stature. He smiled slowly, cracked lips, rose even slower to face me, eye to eye.
Spoke words I took home with me, never to forget,

"Lack not in Motivation
Just not the kind that belittles your Vision
Lack not in Discipline
Just not the kind that leads your mind inside a Prison
Lack not in Passion
Just leave for Death, the Deadly kind
Lack not in Laughter
Just not the kind that pleasures from pain of Others
Lack not in Love
Put not Self in the Center, nor direct with selfish motive, for that be a kind of Boomerang, like backwards travel, the black of white, a dungeon, a death trap.
Just know this, There is no "I" in LOVE.
If you break apart from the Circle, in service to Self, you will die alone in the mirror of EV(I)L."

I returned the Clearing strong in Truth, and danced the Winged Clan dance, three sips deep of the Sacred Fruit. I lost my former claim of Self and chanted in the mists of the New, Clearing Cleared to be Honored as White Horse with Eagle Eye. That is the name I am called by my Tribe.