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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required DRUM CIRCLE FEBRUARY 16, 2018 Tonight we talked to the earth with our drums, our pulsating prayers a rhythm and blues, a galloping growl, an angry lament, a wretched outpouring at the new Hunger Moon, at the latest mass shooting, at a winter of despair in an amoral era of high-tech and hate! The Yoruba wail and the Lakota chant, the bells on the drums and the tattooed dancer joined with the chorus of tired social workers and special-ed teachers, jet engine mechanics, and the mysterious ascetic in the black turtle neck whose shock of white hair was a bright moral beacon in a room of the sad, of the angry, and the mad seeking forgiveness and shelter in the Gaian Intelligence that is host to our souls and mothers our wounds when our arts and our sciences can no longer explain the meaningless violence, the one-upmanship, and the perpetually disagreeable political declarations at the center of our lives! “Call Me!” She said, and the drummers grew louder! “I said CALL ME!” she said, and we all realized that she didn’t want praise or some fervent demonstration through a ritual of worship, but the heart of our hearts, the essence of our lives, perhaps a promise to our mother to stop behaving this way and to bathe in her waters, build circles of stone, light our fires in the middle, and then….. drum softly with conviction and dance with our neighbors, reveling in the knowledge that all we can discern is a gift from beyond, a pulsating, breathing, nurturing anomaly sacred, somehow, created only for us!
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