Today another funeral. Sunday at Jackson Square, a few ashes scattered. The bone hard reality of our source and matter graphically understood. Thunderbird calls to mind. Dressed like a tourist, little white cotton tennis shoes and white ankle socks. Heart as black as night, and determined to complete my silent task in broad daylight. No one the wiser.
Wednesday at the beach, words and tabacco to Wakan Tanka, in honor. Sandpiper, Crane, Dragonfly, Spirit Visitors and Silas all in attendance. I knew this would be the roster, the place. The time was unclear, but the rhythm was right. Chant and peace smoke as offerings and a quiet goodbye...
He said Te Amo for you, but I heard you in my heart. He did not know that you spoke through him. And I will never ever tell him so.
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