Let the wolves come to me. I will speak with the forest, watching the wind flow between and in the trees : it tells the holy creatures : teach your children to honor nothing that hasn't any life, and to thank the animals for the flesh they have on their plates. Teach them how to make a fire, how to follow the boar's track, to lie down in the warm earth where they slept the night before. To recognize in the buzzard's flight, why he turns at a certain instant in the sky, not because of air flow but because he calls the rain to the mountains. Hearkening the replenishing of the Spirit's source.
My sons can stand at the edge of any cliff, like mountain lions they can climb any steep slope : they never tremble neither in the tempest's cold, nor at the top of any water fall.
They are fearless!
We can speak with wolves. The fox and the snake stop to say hello. The wild boar in the middle of the night watches over us!
My sons have piercing eyes, yet kindness thrives in them.
And it hurts to be real men in a throng among human lies and the innate deceit of all worldly affection. But we know how it is to laugh together! Among our own kind.
They have become awesome men.
They will never bow in front of the world's filth.
If not, they would no longer be my boys, but the social consequential aberration engendered by a devious farce.
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| In our blood is the fierce soul of our Spiritual Ancestry! |
to Sylvain, Emmanuel and Elie!
