Where the Spirits Go

I might not ever truly understand the power of this place.

But maybe the damselflies do.

I like to think that there is a language being spoken between all of the natural world, and I have had the extreme misfortune of being born into that world a human. We might be the species that seems to have lost its way and forgotten how to communicate with the rest of our fellow earth. We grew a few extra brain cells and ego took over, leaving us alone and lonely in this crowded place we call home. What’s worse is that we miss out on the celebrations and the drama all around us. How many fish are swimming near my toes, and how close is the nearest chipmunk? What did each most recently eat? True, these are just biological truths, which I can easily know, but there is a deeper meaning. A back and forth and a trust that each one plays its part. The fish and the chipmunk hardly interact, but each knows its role. And here we are, sitting on our royal throne above it all. Why?

What if I’d rather swim with the fish? What if I fancy a tree climb? What if I hear the whispers of the wind sweep through my eardrums when I hold my breath?

Tawacunchukdah (Spirit Lake / Devil’s Lake), Baraboo, Wisconsin
June 2018