Spirit Corral

Spirit Corral

The spirits could be heard beckoning gently,

Thought at first only winter's soft breath on winter grasses,

Yet upon closer examination the sound found more distant,

Murmured suggestions originating from another plane.

Spirits somehow corralled in this wooden circle of intensity,

The mundane relic of Western past bypassed by many masses,

Typical highway speeds to get "there" most persistent,

Getting off the beaten path is hindering, a thorough bane.

Still, here it sits, in aged grace awaiting patiently,

Awaiting to push individuals up the ramp to convey lessons as time passes,

The branding of things learned, earned, spurned, relearned existent,

Hinges to gates of forgotten methods coping with bygone paradigms inane.

Sensing ghosts of cowpokes, I queried the empty space insistently,

Applying all senses, nostrils testing the air for coffee with molasses,

Putting my whole being into another place, in this place present and nonexistent,

An attempt to connect from the soul, heartfelt and nary a feign.

Then the connection, and oh how They sang and yodeled loudly,

Seeing me as part of the universal herd and needing time's classes,

Driving my awareness into the corral, realizing past experiences are not extant,

But alive and vibrant, part of us today, forgotten, yes, but relevant as rain.

Modernity has stepped beyond the reality of this old corral in this ancient valley,

But part of us is still roam  the corral, providing insight today through age's glasses,

Hinting to never forget that time and experience are relative and past yet relevant,

Growth through experience, expansion through insight, transcendence through pain.

The Spirit in the corral; the us of past, present, and future,

All exist still.  

Exit the ethnocentric speedway. 

Spirit Corral