Forgotten Wisdom of an Elder/Holy Man

The earth is our temple. Every act a prayer.  The seasons are the apostles, the mountains and oceans the disciples of the great spirit, the great mystery that permeates all that exists.  When I look up to the Milky-Way, when I see passing clouds slithering by, I am reminded that this blue firmament is a cathedral, a church.  The alter is the soil, the earth which you tread upon.  Sacredness is recognized in everything, in all of my relations.  Priests are not needed, the air we breathe is a conduit, giving us direct access to the creator.  We celebrate this very moment, forgetting the future and past, recognizing that each day is Sunday.  All life is full of energy and purpose.  Follow your path through the circle, discovering the divine in each passing dawn, absorbing the golden rays of the sun at noon, and celebrating the richness of color at dusk.  The trees stand as statues, saintly reminders of the greatness, the reaching, grasping for something higher and unseen.  In still waters, we bathe, a baptism along banks of cattail and flying dragonfly.  The moth's flight zigzags through silver beams of moonlight shooting ever upward to the outskirts of the spirit world, where we will one day most surely rest.  Our ancestor's voices whisper in the wind.  They try to awaken us by thunder, dazzle us by lightning.  In the forest, in the Black Hills, go to the holy mound, raise up your arms, and touch the glittering stars.  Each star a spirit, each planet and galaxy kindred.  The earth yearns to be your mother again, she is alive and generous.  Each day, kneel upon her and thank the great spirit for your human form, for no one is luckier than you, to have the honor to walk upon the sacred ground as a human!