Everything that is

is alive.

On the steep river bank

there’s a voice that speaks.

I’ve seen the master of that voice,

he bowed to me,

I spoke with him,

he answers all my questions.

Everything that is

is alive.

little gray bird,

little blue breast,

sings in a hollow bough,

she calls her spirit dances

sings hes shaman songs.

woodpecker on a  tree

that’s his drum

he’s got a drumming nose

and the tree shakes,

cries out  like a drum

when the ax bites its side;


all these things answer

my call.

Everything that is

is alive.


the lantern walks around,

the walls of this house have tongues,

even this bowl has it’s own true home,

the hides asleep in their bags

were up talking all night

antlers on the graves

rise and circle the mounds

while the dead themselves get up

and go to visit the living ones *



Chuckee  tribe of Siberia shaman poem freely adapted by David Cloutier

from: The way of a Shaman By Michael Harner

Be Sociable, Share!