In the Arms of Sorrow

in Blockchain Poets2 months ago

There is a path at the end of my road that leads to a forest, and a tree that is sacred to me. For eight years I've walked that path with respect, singing to the trees, bringing herbs in offering.

The land belongs to the local Indian Band. Last week, the gate was closed, and a sign placed there, saying anyone entering the land must have permission, or they were trespassing.

I wrote to the local Indian Band respectfully requesting permission, and received a reply today. Though they noted my integrity for asking, they said they are not giving permission to non-band members at this time.

And my heart broke.

I understand that it is their land, not mine, though I live less than half a mile away. I understand that their land has been stolen by settlers, and I have no right to what little they have left. I understand that they have been shut out, their culture trampled upon, their people killed. They have been shown generations of disrespect and worse.

But not by me.

I am a child of the forest. I am a daughter of the earth. I have hugged that sacred tree, have talked to the owls that live there. Now, I can no longer share that path, that forest, with my own children.

We are not welcome.

It is one more restriction in a world of them, and I am tired of crying over lost freedoms. I am tired of the powers that be telling me "No, you can't do this. No, you can't do that."

As the tears flow like an unstoppable tide, another poem emerges...



child-water-h-02.jpg


In the Arms of Sorrow


I ask, and the answer is no.
Another door closes.
Another limitation imposed.

I sit, and the tears flow.
Anger tries to rise.
Resentment waits inside.

I breathe acceptance,
For I know that anger
And resentment
Only hurt myself,
Yet it is hard, this path.
This time.

Sorrow is my constant companion.
It slumbers in sunshine,
Strong when clouds cloak the light.
I can chase it away with stories,
But when the last page is turned
Or the credits roll,
Sorrow returns to hold me.

This too shall pass,
I remind myself
Again, and again, and again.
For surely time will heal this wound,
Surely the shifting of the world
Will bring about more beauty.

Until then, I sit with sorrow.
I count my blessings.
I cradle myself in the arms of faith.

Original poem by Katrina Ariel


Whatever happens, keep singing your song!
Peace @Katrina-Ariel / @LeiaTalon


All photos mine.


Books and music by Katrina Ariel


Author bio: Katrina Ariel is an old-soul rebel, musician, mama bear to twins, and author of Yoga for Dragon Riders (non-fiction) and Wild Horse Heart (romance). She’s also written two books as Leia Talon: Shelta's Songbook and Falling Through the Weaving. Visit her website at www.KatrinaAriel.com


Falling Through the Weaving

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That's heartbreaking. I, also, can understand their position, but also wrestle over another "wrong" making a "right," so to speak. My hope is that they are merely "taking a step back" to assess/reassess a current issue and, within a short period of time, will come back around. That would be nice.

Thank you for the kind comment. I don't think I'll be able to walk that land again anytime soon. I understand the position, but it doesn't make the grief any less. I guess I was lucky to use that land as long as I did. I'm grateful for my friends with ranches who allow me to walk there.

Again, I appreciate your compassion, and you taking the time to read.

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Not the greatest poem for me to read at this point in my life (though it was marvelous in its sculpture), it hits on several levels. I am not sure what to say about the locals but I get it. I hear there are several places being locked down these days where I could barely get into - only because I know certain families as I am not a member of certain bands and tribes. But with what Trump did with the pipeline, I expect more things like that will happen with sovereigns. Good on 'em for protecting the land, but seeing as to how you do no harm, not sure it was in their best interest to ban you and the kiddos too. Maybe attend an upcoming pow-wow or celebration of theirs that is open to the public and perhaps speak with a few of the elders? Maybe if they see your interest is beyond just personal, and that you want to learn more about them, they might give you a back door. Much love my dear. 😘🤗

Aw, I'm sorry if it made you sad and brought stuff up. I was overcome with grief this morning. I don't blame the local band for their choice. Not at all. And perhaps if I made some connections that gate would be open to me.

The hardest hit was hearing "You can't come here anymore" after all the other restrictions. I'm mourning my freedom, as a whole. And a tree I love very much.

At least I have friends with land. I have to drive around the lake to get there, but I still have places to roam and trees to visit. Counting my blessings. Resting in faith. Thank you for seeing me. Much love back. 💖

Gorgeous poem. I'm so sorry to hear this story - it must be devastating. I can understand both sides I guess, and their feelings of mistrust, but it's sad they didn't listen to your plea or perhaps meet to talk to you so you could be in the forest.

Thanks, love. I think they're putting up boundaries and anticipating summer, which often means wildfires. I understand, it's still sad, but time has helped heal the grief. So glad I have friends with ranches nearby, and land I have permission to walk. Sending hugs!

hugs back. As long as you have some nature to walk ❤️🍄

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This too shall pass,
I remind myself
Again, and again, and again.
For surely time will heal this wound,
Surely the shifting of the world
Will bring about more beauty.

Yes! It's really tough to believe sometimes, but even the ugliest moments in life often bring about much more beauty in their wake.
This is a beautiful poem, great work!

It can be hard in the low points, but yes, without sorrow, joy wouldn't be as bright. We wouldn't know how precious happiness is without the times in between. And time has indeed helped ease the grief. Thank you for reading my poem and for the kind comment.