Soul Drift
He moves-- silent as the heavy breath of fog that lies thick and dormant around his hooves,
soft as the kiss of of algae-green water along the banks of the bog,
constant as the voice that whispers through his heart-- through the Swamp.
His passage is calm, yet never-ceasing. Hushed, the trees around him breathe with his breath,
sing with his song, and shiver with the rattle of his bones as the cold sets in while the sun sinks,
and he sleeps but dreams in motions too blurred to recall when he wakes,
knowing only that he must continue on.
The voice within him that is not a sound, or a touch, but a presence commands it of him-- and he obeys it.
There is a meaning to his wandering, a calling which he seeks to answer though he knows not it's promise.
And though it is his body that propels him forward, it is his Soul which Drifts through the Mother Swamp,
the Father Swamp, the Brother-Sister-Swamp,
always at one with that Presence, that One which is Never Forgotten and is Always in his Heart.
With every fall of his hoof and every breath he takes, he moves ever closer to the pulse that draws him forward
like the tiny whirlpools formed by fish in the water that suck in the little fly, drowning it until it is devoured.
The Swamp engulfs him in this way and his journey becomes the Soul Drift of one who has answered the Call of the Voice
even before he knew what Words were.
He moves-- silent as the heavy breath of fog that lies thick and dormant around his hooves,
soft as the kiss of of algae-green water along the banks of the bog,
constant as the voice that whispers through his heart-- through the Swamp.
His passage is calm, yet never-ceasing. Hushed, the trees around him breathe with his breath,
sing with his song, and shiver with the rattle of his bones as the cold sets in while the sun sinks,
and he sleeps but dreams in motions too blurred to recall when he wakes,
knowing only that he must continue on.
The voice within him that is not a sound, or a touch, but a presence commands it of him-- and he obeys it.
There is a meaning to his wandering, a calling which he seeks to answer though he knows not it's promise.
And though it is his body that propels him forward, it is his Soul which Drifts through the Mother Swamp,
the Father Swamp, the Brother-Sister-Swamp,
always at one with that Presence, that One which is Never Forgotten and is Always in his Heart.
With every fall of his hoof and every breath he takes, he moves ever closer to the pulse that draws him forward
like the tiny whirlpools formed by fish in the water that suck in the little fly, drowning it until it is devoured.
The Swamp engulfs him in this way and his journey becomes the Soul Drift of one who has answered the Call of the Voice
even before he knew what Words were.
