The Warrior

The shaman stands a warrior, bandana on his head.
Knowing just what’s needed, no words are to be said.

His drum now does his talking, a beat that echoes voice.
Hide stretched taut with sinew, red stag pelt of choice.

Air quite thick and smudge filled, pungent from the sage.
Gratitude placed in abundance, tobacco off the gauge.

Ground is splashed with water, holy from the well.
Sacred space is granted, healing awaits the bell.

Body draped in blanket, turned to face the altar.
Sprit guide and panther, strain upon the halter.

Feathers from the condor quiver, soar round wounded being.
Sifting life from death, bad energy gone a-fleeing.

Persistent blocks and leakages, require needle and the thread.
Plus deft touch of a surgeon, bringing addict off the med.

Cock pheasant and rabbit paw, grace wand of shining gleam.
The shake and shake of rattle, brings patient back from dream.

Chief rises proud completed, hand gripped upon his staff.
A crook of finest heritage, adorned with peacock laugh.

His shield of sun and swallows, of pink and purple flowers.
The essence that of which, just heighten all his powers.

These skills of his fine tuned, to that of soul intention.
All fuel to the fire of his, too many tools to mention.

By Simon Blackler
Copyright © Simon Blackler 2020

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Shamanic Practice