The voices of the Grandfathers call to me, their words rolling with echoes of long ago. Some quiet and gentle, others thunderous and mighty, each singing his own song, each sharing his own wisdom.
They speak of times and ages so long past that memory is lost. We have no basket in which to hold these ideas, these pictures, these waves and winds and concepts and fires and burnings from before the age of time, when the firmament frothed, the elements rolled, the waters boiled with mysteries and magic all their own.
They speak of the time the People came. We are One Family, they say, remembering the impetuous youngsters so full of self-knowing and bravado, walking their own road in their own way, come to explore a new way of being, of learning, of dancing, of wisdom.
Speak on, Grandfathers. Although I cannot always grasp the pictures and meanings of your language, I can sense the beauty, I can feel the prayers and dreams and power you extend even yet to your younger brothers and sisters, never giving up, never giving up.
Speak on, Grandfathers. I am listening and I will do my best to share your stories, those of they who walked before, to serve as best I can. You honor me with your presence and I am humbled by your spirit.
From the stars, to the stars, your words reach far and further. Speak on, Grandfathers, speak on.
(C) 2012 Mary Batson, FrontPorchRambles.com
All rights reserved, especially the one to keep a special rock in my pocket.