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Nat Lipstadt Jul 2020
1               thank you
—-   =     —————
X              I love you

Teach: Solve For X

X is 1, thank you =  I love you

if you are lucky, lucky to be adjudged trustworthy,
someone’s ******* inside insights freely given,
unexpected with no disclaimer, no red stop sign,
“danger ahead,” after all, you inquired sincerely

you caught out breathless, the big data absorption
rate is exceeded, but you understand this tidal wave,
formed thousands of miles away, you and your silly
notions of ‘learning from love,’ aye, were the trigger!

you understand this gale force long in the forming,
the unleashing a cleansing, a self-tallying evaluation,
a crooked trail of struggle, optimism, recovery, both
a reliving and a relieving, and an entree to relief living

and you, fancy shaman, you wordysmith, understand,
you’ve been appointed a trustee of someone’s heart,
can only best muster is an ineloquent encompassing
“thank you,”^
acknowledging a bond you’ve granted, a bond accepted

and overwhelmed by this Rubicon crossing invitation,
you can’t yet blather, pry, think small, just acknowledge
this gunshot across the bow landed squarely tween eyes,
sensing, hoping that this simple response was pitch perfect

minutes later, you receive a summary judgment, to wit
an entirely unexpected
“I love you,”
a declarative, simple equation, understanding that it’s
a spontaneous gush, with no judgment, no risk, pure
acceptance is purely sufficient, that it comes with an
overwhelmingly baked-in affection for,
you, fool,
for just being there, for asking, for learning,  eyes tearing, if
you, fool,
have love within you, then you should give it, give it,
give it

3:53 PM
Tue. Jul 21
Twenty Twenty
^ the actual response was:
gonna absorb it
gonna sleep on it
gonna write on it,
then we will talk about it...
and most importantly,
thank you
A Jung Lim Jun 2020
For someone
it can be a noise

Drum beats
tremble with space
metals split
the bunch of leather beats

A typhoon of disorder

Staying wrapped
in the middle of a striking hurricane
Feeling the sound
shouting to me

My heart beats
It absorbs those beats
It shakes my head
touching my spirit

This music long ago
came from shamans

When the music was
a human ceremony

Mysterious rhythms

What are those numbers
in the elastic organic rhythms?
What are those symbols
of the perception of the world?

Followed long roads
and formed through time
passing from people to people
with their own body rhythms

Their clouds
Their rains
Their thunders
Their earth

Transformed in the
orchestra of percussion

And the story of their nature
descends to me

I hear my ancestors
their messages

I meet them
and now I play

Their and our rhythms
of the Korean percussion
Michael R Burch Feb 2020
for Thomas Raine Crowe

...These nights bring dreams of Cherokee shamans
whose names are bright verbs and impacted dark nouns,
whose memories are indictments of my pallid flesh...
and I hear, as from a great distance,
the cries tortured from their guileless lips, proclaiming
the nature of my mutation.

NOTE: My “mutation” is that my family appears to contain English, Scottish, German and Cherokee blood, meaning that my ancestors were probably at war with each other. Did my English ancestors force my Cherokee ancestors to walk the Trail of Tears?
The Dybbuk Nov 2019
The whiskey bottle is empty,
But I find the cap on the floor,
and give it away.
Somewhere, my closest family
sleeps, and I live
for the first time all week.
Ask whoever you want,
they'll tell you the truth;
the hymns of ancient people's
resonate in your ears,
and dead ancestors will look on
Still, I am the medicine man in these parts.
But that was another life,
one of silent contemplation of the infinite.
StoryTallinn Feb 2019
Indigenous knowledge and unwritten tradition
Ritual dances and pagan gods
She speaks to the deads
Heals the deepest wound
Whispers to the reindeers

But one day people with skins, the colour of snow, came
Untouched by her wisdom
Nothing she could do to stop them
The land was soiled
Purity went away
I heard of a shamaness
who cures dogma
lays off documents
on the coast
of her ******,
swings her liberty torch!
and puts on a red cloth.
Her *******, like
fragile animals
Eyes like poison wells
across the
grand brows
and her smell wrapped
in a burnt sleep
ten thousand years.
She cures dogma!

I smoke too much
I dream of an explosion of the silver forests and
I want to fall as beautifully as the ballads tell,
I have held my breath and now I'm entering the coast of her ******...

- Samar Charulingah Godfrey
calvin schafer May 2018
we suckle the **** of the "civilized" world
thats designed for your comfort and your ease.
but we are all blind, hit stop and rewind.
its the shaman that really sees.
umbilical chord to the material world
designed for fleeting satisfaction.
chasing for tomorrow, life that's full of sorrow.
fooled by capitalist distraction.
turn our backs on nature, killing for the dollar. eat some of nature's candy so you can hear the mother hollar. dog eat dog, no more running with the pack. shaman saying he could change the world with the fungus in his sack.
PhoenixPoet Mar 2018
I create a dream and then lose myself into it.

My whole self.

I create the biggest most soothing dream that I could ever imagine; all of my wants and all of my current needs I put into it.

I invest all of my life energies into the dream and then I crush it.

I really mean that I crush it.

It gets scattered into millions of pieces of stardust and meteorites sprinkled among the mountains and dales of the galaxies and beyond.

Nothing fails as nothing is started. I am nothing. I become nothing and I stay as nothing until a new dream appears and the process is repeated once again. It expands and shrinks as it blinks back at me.

"It is all a big joke August."

I can hear the voices of the gods.

It is all the mystical nature of it all.
I am the Phoenix
Selcæiös Feb 2018
She who cannot hex, cannot heal.
She who cannot curse, cannot cure.

She’s a sweet little thing;
a Moonflower’s paradigm
enjoying sweet isolation & silent slumber by day,
waking up to start her magick escapades
after society’s bedtime

Self-disciplined & at times
knavishly upping the ante
But I can guarantee you
It’s always revealed in the end
the intent she directs at you is
never anything, besides good.

and unannounced observers
you may catch her dancing around the kitchen at 3am,
maybe writing her Galdr spell-songs,
maybe causing mischief
with Hermes or Laverna, (as usual)
maybe testing her gifts this Völva has bound to her mane
Because for her, that’s a way better vessel than any pendant on a chain

And remember: When she dances,
if she shakes her hair, her power is twice obtained.

So if you’re hooked on schadenfreude,
Cease and desist; Please knock that **** off.
Because, at the very least,
you’ll be returned with what you’ve caused.

But if someone’s harming you
or you’re being hurt, but confused
whether the root of tormenting
brews with a What or a Who

Go ahead, take a deep breath
Dolour will be overcame
your Spirit’s to be momentarily reclaimed
the Völva’s arrived
and her prowess resides with
cures and curses alike.

**She who cannot hex, cannot heal
She who cannot curse, cannot cure.
remake of the original so don't think I'm pullin some dumb **** just reposting written art
Selcæiös Feb 2018
The Name's Selcæiös N.V. Witega

The N.V.'ll only **** you if you're a curious cat.

   Your Tech-Age Völva
Onliest Healer
Avant-garde Seeress
& Upping the Ante
Once under my Wing
--a Sui Generis sorta catalyst

   But take note,
I'm only here for your healing
---and occasionally to quench the thirst
for all types of Second Sight
weaving, seething, and
any and all other appealing witchy hype

   And this niche in the Craft
Contingently consecrates
--you know. when it rains, it pours--
the Superseding of Spirit;

   Under the Utopia of Unorthodox Psychotomimetic Wonders
enthralled by your scintillating mishap to wander
Gracefully falling face-first into
     The Empath's Curse
in other words, to come to terms with Sonder

   Dyed in the wool
lies the
Fluorescent & Incanting Sparks
of the
outre wanders

   To me though,
It's vividly violent & evincing
Capitulated roars,
Sequestered howls,

   Once Upon a Time
the proud growls morphed
to crying whines
   'Carpe Omnis Scintilla'
In Perpetuum,
to no avail.

  Your Sui Generis Hedge-Rider
Call me Selaecios N.V.
or Selcaeia, if you like
the sting of serpentine strides

  I'll proudly continue to
uphold this chaotically labile path
as it's my Labyrinthine Rite

  Taking under Wing
Protecting & Defending
Fellow Humans & Spirits alike.
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