DISTRICT V ~ The APPRENTICE at WESTERN WELLSPRING

Midway upon the journey of our life, I found myself within a forest dark…
~ Dante Alighieri

At first blush, Apprentice is without voice for the Colony forbade story-telling 
to preserve only a futuristic trans-human narration under Dome
so, in the Western Valley, the place upon which he stumbled 
an old World, really, where the Soul initiated is one of the bird song.

From above and within, I monitored this allegory, the apprentice having once 
lost the straightforward pathway, now holding World as a circle of observations, memories, contemplations—no longer on the desert slope falling into the abyss
the art of the wild and free, always a mystery awaiting the wild indigenous one.

Having found his own road out of the dark woods, Apprentice stumbled upon a World, Peoples of art not boundaries, an ironic immigration of wonderings and movements
I watched as he planted the seeds carried in his leather poach from an Avalon Wilderness of long ago, and like he they slept rough resting in an air Canary could endure.

With a fire in his mind warming the song map of World, he travelled once more, across a space to catch trout, by hand, from the stream, by the wild ocean, sine qua non 
his ebony of empty space, with the rose painting free will and moral responsibility
of Conscious Self who then enjoins Earth and World without false gods.

Onto Cave Wall with a charred stick he scratches the start of his story, his voice
enacted in the art of hieroglyphs, a telling of People, who had journeyed there
of what it is like to walk, consciously on Turtle Island on the fabric of collective unconscious
a pan-cultural canvas, around grounding hubs of gravity, creativity, diversity and curiosity.

And his river of speech trembled as he captured his voice, beseeched by the beauty of Earth taken for treasures only by his eyes and his ears and served in the Wellspring arpeggio to survive to gift forward his sustenance—setting more seeds to later pluck the harvest of crimson apple mysteries. 

Of dark Western musings, resisters of Colony and the remaining Indigenous survivors, discover, remember, enjoin Earth’s fauna, of Lynx, Black Bear and Great Moose
replenishing the flora out of colonized decay, a deep pathology into a synthesis of imagery, of held emotions eluding vibrations, earth’s bounty in colour, tasting a salty brine like no other.

~ namastĂ©, Leah J. đź•Š

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