MariJo Moore

I'watched as her long hair fell around her shoulders, blending
in with the midnight, moving to Indian time.

On the long journey the daughter of the sun began to plead
with the people to please let her out but they refused.

The Little Men had told them not to open

the box under any circumstances.

But she begged them and begged them,

saying she was really dying,

so they opened the lid of the box

and out flew a red bird to settle in nearby bushes.

“I have waited a long time,” I told her. There is but one true path
and I want to know the way.

When the people returned to their homes

and opened the box it was empty.

The sun cried and cried for her daughter

until the people danced and sang

causing the sun to smile and shine through her grief.
Because the people let the daughter of the sun

fly out of the box we cannot bring back the ghosts
of our people from Tsvsgind’i

Laying down her work, she motioned for me to follow. She
showed me how to touch the future with fingers of intuition
and glimpse the past with guided dreaming. But I could not
capture the total essence of what the Beloved Woman had said
until I began to walk under the waterfalls inside my own
being. Then I began to weave.

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