I listen to the mellow tune of a native flute playing in my room and I connect to a long time ago.
A time when sisters and brothers did not share the same blood but instead were native kinsmen. The were fiercely loyal protectors of Mother Nature and guardians of ancient wisdom, endeavouring to honour the earth’s wild beauty as they lived upon it.
I listen to the sounds of the primal flute pipe her profound tune and I drift away into distant realms. I feel peace and honesty, a deep-rooted respect for ancient tradition and family. I sense a need to protect nature and her timeless bounty.
As I walk upon my present-day land, I feel a deep sorrow. I am ashamed of a race of humans who see themselves superior to Mother Nature and her plans. I am distressed to see them endeavour to manipulate her, to stunt her growth and to tame her wild soul. I see those who try to crush her and bleed her dry of her kindness.
Mother Nature hands to me a natural habitat, food to put upon my plate, air to breathe, water to bathe me and to drink, and shelter to escape her wild temperament.
Are we not a dependent race?
All who hear her presence in the trees can sense her agony.
All who feel connected to her presence, belong to her tribe.
All who seek to heal her must honour her.
I listen to the gentle sound of the native flute playing.
I hear my primal kinsmen calling…
I feel home
~ © Amelia Dashwood 2015