The Lightning Man.

In life we beat out our time; knees bent, singing and dancing.
In death our spirit, reappears in human, plant and animal form, recycled; reborn.
In telling our stories; we move through the days and walk in the past.
We push up mountains and invoke the rain.
We cut our bodies; dress in leaves, oil and paper bark,
We paint our bones red with ochre returning to the womb from which we sprang.
Nothing has changed...all is as it should be.