Tobacco, the Blood of Arutam
Tobacco, living text written by Arutam's own hand. This sacred leaf emanated from the ultimate touch of the Great Perfection. A Present which lights the lands of our beloved North and South America. Present from the spirits of the water, art learned in dreams by the ancestors and dreams today. I dream in the waterfalls, drinking their nectar, and that gives me a life of meaning. Arutam, your sacred presence is there in all existence. The ages accommodate the flow of your feeling in its Great Perfection. Tsaank, you settle us in this eternal life giver which flows in eternal joy, although His true face is just perfection, a world happens to emanate from that eternally living grace. Tobacco makes us see, and profound are the enchantments of the sorcerer in His Unions.
Tobacco is Arutam's blood, when our body feels it, inevitably it joins in the most recognizable sensation that has caressed it. Authentic because it is the great enchantment of life which sings in memory, overflowing in dark waters, a dark universe which twinkles in our sight the far abandoned memory. The Truth heals in its sacred touch and returns and takes what it owns. Memory of the art of living today. Isn't it worth leaving the reason and mental torture today? Isn't it worth bearing the fuss of the dark spirits resistance, as long as Life takes what it has and step by step floods us in it's sacred peace? This tobacco can help you do.
Maybe let the enchanted water scent, which becomes sleepy in the memory of the deep vast Universe, take you among leaves fading in confidence one last time? Tobacco you whistle, but the evening sounds, and it's not just silver light in my teeth. The notes run us ways to the Spirit, vibrating. Leaf of all times, wise old Master, your light enchants this water raised with wisdom by the wizard, a rich Autumn bath under the stars, wet in blood of the skies, a being looks and cries in chant that lives in the horizons. The lives flow near the river, waters of the peeks slithering in holly mist enchanting our blood in long nights of white dreams, where the times talk to us and, in a last peace, the body remembers who he is while healing itself.
Arutam, your sacred presence is in everything and that memory keeps us alive. Living memory which already doesn't remember but lives, beats, and breathes on the magic enchantment. Filler of glory and joy in an evening which smells of tobacco everywhere. It sounds in the skies, from the green tree tops, the living echo of Tumank among the feathers, my beloved bird Manku, water singing in the echoes of a memory which only in its own great perfection among the feathers gets excited. Concentration which enlightens, makes us share a moment, an age, a glare which decomposed in living music of alive water, bringing us a world in which we settle with peace.
Therefore a body, at last feels self-healing, feels inebriated in everything, a trance which stretches, the shock which inexhaustible flows... Intense happiness of sacred touch, take your palace in he who reads, in he who doesn't give up his heart.