Death of a Spiritual Warrior

Hello everyone,

 

In our life we have many teachers, many people who, knowingly or not, change our lives just by their presence, their example  or influence.

 

As I began my spiritual journey, one such person entered my life, and taught me many things. Primarily he was a spiritual warrior.

 

He taught me to embrace who I am, to see myself through everyone I meet.

To embrace my path, and walk in my truth. To stand for what I believe, even if others may not agree and to be authentic.

 

He fought injustice, in his own unique way.

 

This soul brought many truths to everyone he met, his selfless expression of support and faith forever changed my life, even though he may never have really realized it himself.

 

This special person succumbed to his humanness, and recently crossed to the Blue Road of Spirit, to begin the next leg of his journey.

 

If you could find time today, to offer a thought, or prayer for this spiritual warriors' safe passage, it would be greatly appreciated.

 

His name was Dave, and he was my friend.

 

Here is the thought for the day-

 

The Last Warrior

High on bleak, stony rag,

Unmoving, he sits astride

His ragged coated pony.

Only telltale frozen breaths,

Separate them from

The still, winter black boles

Of ancient leafless trees.

The pony, blown and lame,

Stands with lowered head,

Ears flattened to the sound

Of a distant wolf pack.

The man on his back,

All weapons lost,

Ignores the trickling blood

From savage wounds,

Mingling his war paint.

Eyes burning fiercely

He strains to find

The sign he seeks:

Behind, the sound of enemy

Draws ever closer.

At last, faith rewarded,

He sees far below

In the deep valley,

Arriving at the edge

Of the fast flowing river,

The great she bear

With two gamboling cubs:

To fish the racing salmon,

Drawn relentlessly toward

Their age-old spawning ground.

Silently, the wounded brave

Offers his final prayer

To the eternal clan bear;

Totem and guardian

Of his battle slain tribe.

The enemy, exultant,

Are almost upon him,

Yet he looks not behind:

He sees only the Great Spirit,

Surrounding him kindly

In loving, firm embrace.

While the enemy closes in,

He straightens himself;

His voice rings loud and clear,

Echoing across the land

To the distant cloudless sky.

One last defiant war cry

As he spurs on his pony,

And leaps...

Into the world of his ancestors.

W.J. Bruce

 

Namaste,
Marianne Goldweber