Sacred feeling
you draw yourself in the Tobacco leaf.
You move the night to make her cry
as wet teardrops in my bowl of mud
Wet tears burning...
Just like the deepest and iciest night,
return in the tepid light and chant,
the deep blackness of your damp lament
turn on the Spirit of the man who breathes you.
What a fortune to hold the world in my hand.
Black night, you breathe and whistle twinkling
on the murmuring riverbank.
You drain in the black tears of anaconda,
which my grandparents learned to pick up
and take its content ... to the heart.
Thus, they were able to remember, they could understand…
Just by feeling you,
they were caressed by the breeze of instinct
and the night moaned as the panther's skin
woke up screaming,
letting out the bright tip
of its star silver claws.
Oh Arutam!
Your sacred presence dwells in all things,
You are the light, the water, the earth.
Your delightful feeling is the crystal of Perfection
infinitely imbued with his own grace.
That feeling contains everything,
while it beats in our heart
and it screams in its ancestral chant.
A call to life that cries in those who come
as soon as they open their eyes to the world.
You are the union of the three times
in an eternal, perfect and blessed present.
You always run,
but while I pray with my Tobacco,
I overflow the channels of your river
making the heavens cry.
Thus, the sorcerer cries over you to show
that Life is within us
waiting for its chance to sprout;
to delight us in its peace, in its perfect bliss;
to heal us.
Sacred feeling,
you draw yourself in the Tobacco leaf.
You move the night and you make her cry
as dark teardrops in my bowl of mud.
Moist tears burning...
Just like the deepest and iciest night,
return in the tepid light and your chant,
the deep blackness of your damp lament
turn on the Spirit of the man who breathes in you.
Affectionately
Arutam Ruymán
