Ritual Journey

Henry Wilson

Sometimes,

it’s an act of gravity,

as the ancestors

the river and I,

all tumble

toward the sea.

For beneath this

politically correct

concrete path

the imprints

of bare feet are

pressed into the land.

Those who went

before me,

down to the sea,

hoped to fill the kete

with fat cockles

and fierce kahawai.

Need drives me also

to follow the flow,

as a fatuous moon

draws spring tides

far up river,

mixing salt

in old wounds.

Above me

the ghost of a forest

drips and sways,

dotted with kereru

too numerous to count,

and faintly now,

the echos

of a full tui orchestra.

No cockles in my kete

instead bulging books

foraged from the library

where sea and river meet.

I turn over pages

hoping to spot

the eel of an idea

a nugget of wisdom

a sense of place.

And its there,

nestled within

respect for the past.

My part in the play

my footprint in sand,

along with the river

shaping this land.

 

A Shared Journey
Sarah Wilson

I will go

I will travel many miles

‘cross oceans

To places unseen

 

I will go

And outgrow

Who I was before

And meet someone new

 

But never will I forget

The warm arms that held me

And the knarled fingers that showed my direction

As we walked together along the river

 

The Friday nights

When we, successful hunter-gatherers

Returned triumphant with books and fish

To sit side by side

In the glow of the open fire

 

Those success grow

I am in lands unchartered

And you are more than you have ever been

Our souls, separate, expand together

 

Our journey

The paths apart but parallel

The  destination is the same

All Journeys Lead to the Light

 

I will go

And grow

And when I reach the Light

Your hand will guide me