Two nights ago I dreamed a song. Not my own song, but a song that is. I had not heard this song for many years, and really did not know all the words, but it came to me. Like surround sound, but much more intense. The words and music became alive as I have never experienced anything. This may sound odd, but I felt as if Earth Mother herself was singing to me. I will copy the words here, but it's very difficult to explain what happened. With each new thought I was there. I heard the lonely cry of the wolf, and felt his spirit. I touched the silver rays of the moon. I felt the grind of the mountain and the rooted strength of the tree. You have probably all heard this song before, but as you read the words envision it all becoming intensely real: Any thoughts on what all this might mean? I have some, but would like some feeback from you all.
The Colors of The Wind
You think I'm an ignorant savage
And you've been so many places
I guess it must be so
But still I cannot see
If the savage one is me
How can there be so much that you don't know?
You don't know ...
You think you own whatever land you land on
The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
But I know every rock and tree and creature
Has a life, has a spirit, has a name
You think the only people who are people
Are the people who look and think like you
But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
You'll learn things you never knew you never knew
Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
Come taste the sunsweet berries of the Earth
Come roll in all the riches all around you
And for once, never wonder what they're worth
The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
The heron and the otter are my friends
And we are all connected to each other
In a circle, in a hoop that never ends
How high will the sycamore grow?
If you cut it down, then you'll never know
And you'll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
For whether we are white or copper skinned
We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
We need to paint with all the colors of the wind
You can own the Earth and still
All you'll own is Earth until
You can paint with all the colors of the wind.
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