Monday, January 17, 2011

The stick is lit. Smoke takes to the air like a runner after the gunshot, but only for a moment does it run. With a sudden yawn, the smoke relaxes and begins to gently twist and turn. A floating spiral, on an upward path.

Scented smoke carries my thoughts, my memories, my spirit with it. I feel lifted, unburdened by physical things. My spirit calls out to my ancestors and to my God. Wings of grey take me to weightlessness. I am free. No pain, no sorrow. I am light.

I bend and arch in the currents. Smiling as I float in this newfound space. Twisting, turning as I soar. My heart beats out a soft drum. It is an empty space as is my soul. I breathe deep; the smoke brings to me words from heavenly voices.

Warm air wraps around my body, across my skin and through my bones. Delicate webs weave me a staircase to follow. Exotic scent beckons to me. Grey wings pull my spirit higher. I feel peace. I am one with the elements of air, earth, water, fire.

A line of smoke rises and splits into two lines forming a pair of wings. They take flight and ramble in time as they play. Circling, twirling, weaving through memories.

The wings begin to fade, the scent lingers. I’m not ready. Take me with you, let me fly some more. The smoke moves as if in slow motion, not waving farewell but giving me a smile. Even when I can’t see it, the scent is there and I will be at peace. I know I am not alone.

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