We fly about on fragile wings that frantically beat,
desperate in our need to gain formation,
to gather together those of likeness and temperament,
never quite understanding there is no direction home,
yet, once begun, we are relentless in our pursuit.

Warriors fighting against shadows and memories,
attempting to regain the knowledge lost
Soaring toward a sun too hot; a moon too dark,
we are left with our tattered self-remnants,
beating our chests profoundly, thrashing relentlessly,
deaf to the sound of the drum guiding our heart;
Blind to the mass of those that came before us
and those that will take flight through our significance.

We claim red as a color, as a soul, as a method to madness,
yet, it has no hue, no tincture of humanity, minimal gratitude.
Redness is not service played by lips on wooden flutes,
nor, pretended truths spoken through Eagle wings and ceremony.
Red is not a color, it is a state of being, becoming lost.

Red is the soul of our living Mother Earth, the source of our creation
Red is the spirit of our living Father, beseeching us to fly higher
Red is the Heart-drum that beats in shamanic rhythm to existence
Red is understanding birth and death are not beginnings nor endings
Red is living the Circle and the mystery contained within our placement
Red is seeking Cleansing for our failures and not salvation from sin
Red is knowing all creatures, all entities have purpose and life
Red is action taken before all the colors blend creating blinded spirits.

Red is and is not a color, it is balance, it is reflected light Before Darkness

~chowilawu~