It sorrows me that we seldom honor one another.

It disheartens me that we do not honor our own lives.

We have the power to change the way the river flows, my sister sisters dear,

but we have accepted the rules of others foul damnation to guide our destiny.

Our mother mourns her children,

Our mother laments her home,

Our mother looks to the east, west, north, south,

in the last gasping heartbeats of creation's purpose.

White, red, yellow, black.

She waits for their resolved perception.

She adores the wisdom of the yellow,

blesses the balance of the red,

she hears the black sing of love and strength,

she looks to the white for power and understanding.

"My Children," she says,

great tears of blood running down the eroded caverns of her parched earth body,

"if my time is here, your end is near,

my death is your damnation."

And so we honor the earth,

we honor one another,

we honor our own lives,

we change the

way the

river

flows.