A shaman approaches, his name is unknown, his tribe somewhat secret. He kisses me on the cheek and tells me of the prayer of the wind before bowing down to the unknown god.
There is a sacred river in his soul that beckons him towards me. He averts his gaze for fear of the unknown. Eventually his eyes enter my eyes and he is home again.
His brother once told me that he is a witch and a black one at that. I found out for myself that he was just looking for his river. The river ran through me, but did not stop. At the Ocean it disappeared again only to be reborn in the waves and in the deep.
Each soul has its journey. May yours bring you home soon for the celebration has begun.