Blue Bead Mountain

I felt the divine wind like the breath of the great spirit, tasted the dusty indanthrene pollen of summer, smelled the fresh fragrance of spruce from the far off sacred mountains.  The mists of first dawn radiated and reflected prisms of majestic light in the holy valley.  I followed the coyote pup through the four worlds of creation, under the indigo shadow of Blue Bead Mountain.  I came upon a magnificent island that floated upon the cobalt surface of seas that merged and blended into glittering waves and foamy froth.  It was here that I brought her black beads and crushed abalone shells, amongst clouds that glowed  almighty cerulean turquoise.  In this first world, I glanced upon changing woman, her eyes an endless void of chaos, stars, constellations, destruction, and birth.  In the second world, I became a beautiful eagle soaring gracefully above ancient gray wolves with luminous effervescent eyes that followed twisting pathways through rocky canyons.  In the third world, a sparkling river flowed through a rainbow existence, its sacred ephemeral waters pure and crystalline.  In the shallows, I caught my reflection upon the amorphous mirror-like surface, the youthful innocent faces of two mythic twins.  In the fourth world, I cast my volcanic obsidian stones against towering cliffs that rose up infinitely into the midday sun.  It was here that I picked blue flowers and the yellow pollen of corn and danced until daybreak at the night chant ceremony.  Kneeling, weeping and touching the earth, we knew once again as if awaking from a dream, this was our mountain, this was our scared land, we were home.