Bothers and sisters, Yuletide or Winter Solstice is about love and giving and thus I with the help of Mja Principe created a video of a poem. This poem has a history. A dear friend and brother of mine were in a serious coma after an accident on a mountain where he and his bike fell down a cliff. I wrote this poem, did Shamanic Shamanic prayer over it, and asked people to put their healing wishes into it. He healed and other people also were healed through this gesture. I give all the credit to the Great Spirit for that. Hear the words of my poem and may it bring healing to everyone that needs it. You are welcome to share the poem. Healing and Blessings Allen Wolfie Simpson and Mja Principe. Thanks to Mja Principe for her video skills.
Listen…. can you hear that…. that sound… yes it is the beating of your heart. Right now over eight billion people share that sound. Each rub-dub beat a little different. We always look at how different we are as human being, we look at each other’s Lees voort “Can you hear the heartbeat?”
To our forefathers, the Gauls, Goths, Celts and Vikings it was a different world two thousand years ago. And I do mean forefathers. Whether your surname is Simpson, Smith, Van Der Merwe or Fritz you have European ancestry. Especially if you are a whit-skinned person. Before we go ahead with our Christmas Story, bear in mind that this essay is for everyone of every creed and colour. As you continue reading you will understand that. Lees voort “Christmas Story”
I am the Mother Earth, your God. Even if you do not believe in me, I call you my child. I am the earth you walk on, the air you breathe, the water you drink. You cannot leave me because I am your home. I provide the animals you eat, the fruits you harvest. I demand your respect. Every animal you hurt, every plant you hurt with your stupidity is a slap in my face, yet I allow you to live. I could poison all your rivers with my lava, I could smite you with poison rain in the blink of an eye, but I love you. Lees voort “The Earth speaks”
Ek hoor toe ‘n wyle terug dat mens kan registreer om ge’ordain’ te word as ‘n priester op die internet, dit net nadat ek in ‘n paar T.V. reekse daaroor episodes gesien het. Toe gaan loop ek rond in die kuber ruimte en vind uit dat ja, ek kan ‘n priester word en dis ‘n wettige sertifikaat in vele lande. Lees voort “Priester Wolfie”
The night sun rests in the lap of a bear, dreaming in the northern sky. A half-moon, I shine above the legs. I come forth from the edge of heaven. I climb to the deepest pit of the sky and rest awhile above cooling rocks, above houses in the cities and people who sleep warm nights on the roofs under a half-moon, dreaming. Oh, I am weak and feeble at the sight of my children sleeping. Oh, I am weak with wonder to see my dark wife dreaming, her hair unbraided and perfumed, falling across her eyes and in her red, red mouth and around her firm, brown shoulders. I am weak and feeble, gliding in cloudless dark. Forgetful of the teeth and tongues of snakes, I rest above my homeland dreaming. Lees voort “I am a half-moon in the night”
Mine is a heart of carnelian, crimson as murder on a holy day. Mine is a heart of cornel, the gnarled roots of a dogwood and the bursting of flowers. I am the broken wax seal on my lover’s letters. I am the phoenix, the fiery sun, consuming and resuming myself. I pace the halls of the underworld. I knock on the doors of death. I wander into the fields to stare at the sun and lie in the grass, ripe as a fig. The souls of the gods are with me. They hum like flies in my ears. I am .1. I will what I will. Mine is a heart of carnelian, blood red as the crest of a phoenix.
The Egyptian book of the dead