I have really enjoyed the recent flurry of activity I experienced here as we thought together about the word power, and all the tendrils wrapped inside of it, and sundry connected things. I will be away for about a week and think I may not have access to Internet service without going to some extreme lengths. In thinking about all of the feedback I’ve received, and what to leave this site with for the week, I was reminded of the passage quoted below from the book Return of the Bird Tribes that I read close to twenty years ago. This scene smacked me upside the heart when I first read it, and I’ve never forgotten it. I think it is a beautiful description of authentic power:
I remember the day when I walked across the open prairie with my head held high and my feathers blowing in the wind. The soldiers saw only my silhouette against the sky. I walked slowly toward them, arms extended from my side, palms facing them in a gesture of peace. I watched the waves of love emanate forth from my hands, as powerful as the love I first expressed before and after Golgotha.
The soldiers shot me dead.
I knew they would.
But their children have been brought up on my teachings, have loved my spirit and have understood enough of my creative principles to sail to the moon. Could I have taught them another way, when their bullets flew and my feathers blew in the breeze that day? Could I have spoken more plainly than through the example of my deeds?
I have died a million deaths and lived as many lives to teach the warrior tribes what they would not learn in any other way. In the end, I am the victor, because the warrior tribes are changing, fundamentally, while I am rising again and again, leading them and their kind ever onward toward their destiny among the midnight stars.
And here is an old post that dates back to March, but has a winter theme. Everything moves in circles. This post precedes the arrival of many who have shared with me here of light, so I hope you enjoy…