the slight movement of a Santa doll
in the corner of my eye
flickering light as I begin to doze
then a whisper or a sigh

a kitchen ceiling bulb cover
seven years without a peep
decides to loosen and shatter
as I lay fast asleep

heard the voice of a young man....Arthur
when I botched the last name at his stone
'my name is not Stickler, it's Strickler!'
he said in a mild mannered tone

He spoke a second time one year later
during a recording session in my den
clearly said my name...'Thomas'
as he flew left to right
and back again

I notice them when they visit
there-in lay the key
they notice when I notice them
the grateful dead
and me

Spirits are the essence of life. They are what make us who we are. Sometimes, they are more us than we are. When in need, our spirit may reach out and put a hand on our shoulder, reminding us that we are not alone.

Not only is our spirit uniquely ours, but it is also a culmination of who we were before; our ancestors. If you find yourself outside, and drawn in a deep, stable breath, you can feel the footsteps of your ancestors walk right through your heart. Their blood glowing in your veins, they dance in your eyes, and remember their routines through your feet.

We feel the shield of our spirit in moments of flight, and we feel its cold steel in moments of fight.

Spirit we are, and spirit we will be.

Follow the North Star
Until you can reach
The northern lights
There we'll dance
With the spirits of old
And know that we
Found a place
To call home