The Kachina Series

To Kachina

Under pink and red sunsets

In dry desert evenings

I travel with you

In mid-day upon rocky mountains

I climb with you

In morning meditation

Upon lush green meadows

Where golden sunlight pours

I rise with you

Under the stars of dark blue heaven

I rest with you

Wherever my mind travels

You are with me

Wherever my heart travels

It takes with me you

The Ceremony

On an early spring morning
when the sky is saffron yellow
and streaks against the red spiced clay
When the wood smells damp and fresh
and the horses graze quietly together
The Kachina’s hands silently will raise
the sun
The ground now has a heartbeat
The ceremony has begun

Sweetgrass

I am life
Sweetgrass
Sweetgrass is life
I am
Life sweet
Grass is life
I am life
Sweetgrass is life
You are life
Sweetgrass is life

Kachinas Live

We’re the Kachinas, and we live. We’re here to tell our stories. We are depicted as dolls or worn as masks, but we are living and breathing. We roam the land and circle the sky; we swim the waterways and dwell atop the cliffs.  We’ve gathered here to tell you of our adventures of the greatness in all. Some of us speak in an unfamiliar tongue and some speak only in visions. We speak to you. We speak to all, including rocks, bugs and plants. Once you understand our world, you’ll understand that Kachina walks all paths. We travel with the legends and the loners. We give hope to the lost and guidance to all, those rich and poor in heart and soul. Kachina is alive.

The Season of Silver

It’s my feet

they hear the call from the Black Mountains

There’s a great light drifting down from the sky

or a star’s corona that I move toward

In the Season of Silver

I walk past a herd of wild horses

In the distance

the flat tar roofs of Santa Fe

Carrion birds soar near the pueblo

(Those little mouths

hungry for abundance)

Fourwing saltbush scratch against the fabric of my cargo jeans

The creosote under my parched boots

For a while, I just roam

It’s my feet

they want to walk the edge of the Black Mountains

Triangles breach the horizon

Kachinas in regalia   

step out upon the land

They dance on the crest of the Black Mountains

In the Season of Silver