Create a world drawing from our resistance, put us far away from our nature. We can't define ourselves basing on the “I" games, while taking photos and laughing in ignorance the tomorrow. The tendency pushes us towards the failure, in a self-condemnation that burns and etches the beast. A warrior would react with character and strength, arising the battle every upcoming sunrises.
The beast submitted under the shade's designs, doesn't have a moment nor nook to rest in peace. The bliss that runs throughout his veins is ignored, putting down after other purposes service, being consumed. It's the coherence and natural evidence observation, the one wich moves away the palace windows curtains.
Drop by drop, we sign on the asphalt that breaks our knees and waist. Drop by drop we leave drawn with red ink, a map of the route which showed how the beast was tried to be submitted. And I said tried, because it has been extremely difficult don't incline and don't break myself. Among tears and wet skin, I have protected the sky's feeling. I look and wish to feel, blinking from Arutam's Crystal.
It's the rest of the day, the one that sheds Great Spirit's blood and his shining bliss in the horizon. The beast's heart drinks looking alone, being more sky and its miracle, than someone remembering was lived. Skies' feeling, you fill with blood the heart of the one who observes over the cold stone in a mountain nook, there where the trees lulling and the old holes whispers are the temple that lights the blissful flame. The beast’s look is the window of power.
Either it be day or night, feeling soaks existence, entranced by its own bliss. And it spills into every corner, inside and outside of each one of us. Its secret is kept in peace, in the heart of the trees. Those trunks are the strength felt by the lively caress that howls between the sharp fangs of the beast. In the living fortresses that guard the most valuable treasure, I rest.
The night has always been but, this morning, next to the trees, I can reflect. They have always been, though never the same, and have survived our generations and their pain. In cold lands where so much human blood soaked the earth; where so much pain I learnt to carry. They are still keeping the same treasure, sharing with me the same blessing. They aren’t friends whom I grab as I break down. They are a source of inspiration and an example of living that make rivers flow. I know that in their forests, the instinct of each being survives, and right there it sleeps in peace, during the days and nights.
The presence of the Uwishin (Shaman) emanates from the trees, his older brothers. Just like them, he accompanies his fellow men, without directing his branches to anyone, with a dark mixture of will and need. Without twisting in longing, he remains drinking the glowing crystal of Arutam, and it is his holy company that outlives time. In his heartbeat, he is not disturbed by the sentimental swings of those around him. But he is there; His presence is the memory of the Spirit, and someday everyone will need to remember.
The beast was prowling among the trees, and she knew that the shadow wanted to hunt her. It had wanted to bend her for years, but she knew that only owed allegiance to the One. Arutam lives in the jungle, his strength there is everything. The beast rested in the trance of his song, feeling his presence tremble, while seeing how the shadow hurts the man taken by his blind clumsiness.
The night soaked in its blissful feeling, deepens me through the white dreams where the wisdom of my grandparents shines. Its presence whispers warm in my bones, illuminated beyond time, in places where I know and others yet to know. This ceremony protects me, making time, the beauty of the wind in the leaves.
Arutam Ruymán
