Monuments of Stone

I am a better man for having picked up The Bow.
I did not state I am a better man than those that did not pick up The Bow;

But I am.

It is not the places I went, nor anything I did.
Simply, I am a better man for those I met, I have known, having picked up;

The Bow.

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Nature Designed Earthen Homes

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Long before J.R.R. Tolkien told of Hobbit’s abodes of which Peter Jackson captured The Dragon Gold, The Ancestors of Blood and Bone learned from Nature, built earthen homes.

Now all the fashion, now all the rave, from grotesque modernism, the simple earthen abode we must save.

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Brother Deer This Morning Uncommon

I prefer to spend my time, energy, with Nature wherever, whenever I can, to see and learn whatever I can; much more fruitful than wasting my life as a democrat, republican dare even say a government man.

This time of year Brother Deer, his symbolism on raging-roid Testosterone. Many will die this year on the roads that painful slow lingering death, with humans spectacle-gawking or cursing with their breath. To blame ‘The Horned Ones’ is man not at his best for Brother Deer risks death to fulfill his quest.

Many a times on my Mountain Forest Roads, line of cars behind me lights flashing a hundred horns do blow, man to his urban slave job hurried to go. This morning on a small access road at the foot of the mountain, that way I did go, Brother Buck, put on a puzzlingly queer show as if there was something he wanted me to know.

When I turned on to his road on the steep embankment, proud he stood, red flashes his eyes did glow, “venture on gray bearded man but be cautious, go ever so slow” he said. Five miles per hour I proceeded to go, kilometers conversion look it up for I do not know. I spied a shadow out of the corner of my eye, Brother Buck ran aside me forty yards if not ten more. A bit before the Iron Horse path, Brother Buck looked at me, as white lightning with a wink and a snort, off he tore, cut in front of me disappearing in Pan’s Wooded Glen.

This Brother Deer with me did not risk death, he had a message to tell me before he fulfilled his quest with a score, this I am quite sure however, what the message was I am yet stumped, still quite unsure.

Tales of The ‘Magic’ Buck, Ancestral Spirituality.
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Here we sit, Brother Dog and me, on the hill across your mist covered valley

I know what it is to desire what was, that desire for what cannot be had. Mist covered wandering bares a soul so sad. You think in The Mist, lost, is where you want to be. Too long I have lived, too much I have seen of man and misery, others you might fool, a fool ne’er count me be.

Your walk, you have traveled this far, in this aspect I have great respect for thee, mere mortals would have quit after having seen what you have seen, naming it a nightmare when the horrid dream seemed your reality.

I cannot help you from The Mist however, Nature does allow me this lil’ assist, to give you hope that you are near the edge. Stay true to self and Nature too, then, soon you will find yourself on your hill with Brother Dog sitting right next to you.

Here we sit, Brother Dog and me, on the hill across your mist covered valley, watching with eyes of the raven, waiting, always waiting, for you to make it thru!

I am your Mórríghan, Great Queen, Phantom Queen, when you Honour me.

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