One of humanities ancient but nearly forgottn ceremonies and experiences of spiritual conciousness and connection to the Natural World: The First Light Morning (Tobacco) Fire
“The First Light Morning Tobacco Fire has been called, by Ojibwe Elders, “the First Ceremony”. It is the place to start. The beginning of an education in the experience of American Indian sacred Teaching. This simple ceremony is open to all people…everyone…man, woman, child…king, soldier, merchant, bystanders.” …Tobacco Indian
35,000 years ago…a little fire from the ancient life on Pantelleria Island…home of the World Journey Project.
“The First Light Morning Tobacco Fire is both an instrument of higher consciousness and a solid path to independence…think for yourself, build your own relationship with the Sacred. In an age where organized western religions are fading through corruption, institutionalization and politics, Sacred Fire brings you to the center of yourself…your mind, your spirit…encoraging the great powers of taking responsibility for yourself and determining for yourself your own unique gifts in this Life.
2015…a little fire from the ancient life on Pantelleria Island…home of the World Journey Project. Fire and Water. The Home Fire.
Keeper and Protector of the Sacred Morning Tobacco Fire on Pantelleria Island
Right…”Two Moons At the Edge of the Universe”. An early painting from the 1970s of the Sacred Fire experience. From 1975. Rocky Hill Connecticut. Watercolor on paper. Prints of this work are available.
Near the Edge of the Grey World
Sometimes the answer is no
sometimes the answer is hell no
where should you stand when thunder falls?
how far away must you run
before you understand your shadow cannot be overtaken
disguised or ever closed, or ever empty?
When I was awakened
beneath the summer sun
I was all alone
All alone perhaps I wept
All alone I put my foot forward
I started moving
Following the track of the sun
around the earth
resting only with the moon
singing only with the birds
dancing only with the wind
unarmed but not surrendered
free and wild, yet imprisoned by the indifference
of sleeping ghosts and wailing victims
feasting at the long table of their suffering…..
where they count the bullets and list
the insults and name the monsters
who told them hell no
I will sit not so in silence
afraid of my own skin and bones
to see the light in the storm
the peace in the thunder
the safety of the truth
noisy and painful and confusing as it all is
my heart, a regular human heart
is on fire with the sorrows and the outrage
of all my relations, all my ghosts
all my monsters have torn that heart
ripped it into four parts
it was taken by the wind
it was burned in the fire
it was thrown into an ancient river
there my bones were sailing
my shadow actually pointed the way
I sailed north
I looked down
tobacco falling from my fingers
I put everything together again
me and my shadow in the long river
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