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Syowen Spirit Cry Poem

  • Kenneth Cohen
  • Jan 1, 2003
  • 1 min read

The cry is an obsidian blade That pierces this reality. It cuts open a window Into the dream time.

My suffering is unavoidable; I must release the pain of separation-- of speaking instead of singing. I must release the pain of limitation. I must release even my self. I cry, and the Creator pities me.

I have shed my human form; I have entered the Bear Robe. I look at you but cannot see you Unless you have prayed yourself into existence.


 
 
 

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