The Flaming

Artist Ben Griffith

By Barbara Sanders, LCSW

Thundering music flares Electrifying the paint horse’s body Challenging her muscles to Churn, burn, gallop, sailing westward Flying through sacred lands of Natives and immigrants,

Birds, animals, plants, water, andMother Earth.

Initially, the woman was a passenger Enthralled with the mare's magnificent power Soaring over land, rivers, and sand. Then, horse and woman began to merge Whirling into one being,

Powerful thighs racing towardThe setting sun,Immense strength, energy, passion.

Music reverberates, a cacophony of sound, The woman is lying on the flushed earth Rooted to the underworld Deep within the forest. Crackling, pops and swooshes Of heat flow by and then, She witnesses the fire She is becoming the fire She is the fire Sparkling, rippling, Prickling and plundering, gobbling up Every morsel of dryness possible

Flaming, burning, crinkling, torching skin,Bits of bone, wafting with the

Wondrous wind, lifting ashes aloft Floating, swirling up, up, up Into the atmosphere, Moving from living body to air, rising Higher and higher Into the sky, red, dark heat.

Fire clearing away debris, brush,Beasts, limbs, leaves, trunks of trees,

Crispy blood sacrifices of bones and beaks, Claws toasted, roasted Wiping away all sin, all ego All of life that lived Before The Flaming.

After the fire blew itself out,The horse emerged, then lay down onThe charred forest floor, her journey

Complete as she pushes her foal from her womb, Forward into life Full of majesty and light Unscarred by the forest's fever. Mother licking baby, soft and sweet The foal comes to life, breathing in Clear air, damp smells of birth Opening her eyes to a new world of Peace, pain and delight Joyfully flexing unused muscles, And flawless, fresh skin. With her mother’s help

She stands for the very first time.