The Arrival

by Kicking Bear Productions

Title

The Arrival

Artist

Kicking Bear Productions

Medium

Photograph - Photograph

Description

Native American Barry "Kicking Bear" Byers opens up the picture of expressions... wild illuminations of a fish surfacing the water in a galaxy of blue lights wrapped and rippled into a cozmos all our own...

We walk together in beauty; battle-torn and brave. We lean down to lift another who has fallen. A kind gesture to one creates a ripple effect in the deep waters of life; affecting ...... everything " - Kicking Bear Barry Every single picture is sacred to me. Each breath of life is an honor to witness. The background may be within the mind... but up front in the face of our Holy Sunshine... ...I feel grateful and in a kind peace knowing we are unconquered. In tradition of my Long walks... through the many wild adventures...These images are true life reflections which will help tell a very special story. One that may inspire many songs... I want only to share the great beauty of our nature and to reach the heart of you who thinks of peace as more than a way for life. We must overcome the genocide and unfold the walls of war. We are Friends Of Nature; Protecting Wild Things. My heart is happy you have spent time here. Thank you for the love and kindness. You have indeed blessed my life. Let us continue our walk in service of the Greater Good. All Ways peace and Love. ~Bear http://peaceprize.com/ "When Young" Ancient voices shine through Elders eye�s... Brave heart�s continue walking through sacred smoke like feathers falling... Grandfather is watching all prayer filled life; reaching out to heal from whispering skies... The young clouds are still rising... many canoes are found resting along the river bank... We are wearing the scars of ancient teachings and seek in courage our Sacred places... Circle upon circle... A gathering of Nations... Born of Painted Faces. Thunder winds rule endless time where all living things find flight... Song�s flowing into the great mystery; some are sweetly stalling... Hidden near still waters another season of warriors are born... Cedar... fragrant... snow has fallen upon the mountain pine... yellow tails are drifting... a wolf in a lonesome howl... new seeds are planted... Tribal drums.... gourd rattles wail... a brave is singing with flutes... Bone handles locked in deadly stone points.... The cutting knife is edged..... The painted war shield is hung to the lance... Oval beads worn like moss covered trees... Flower maidens fill the weaved baskets with fresh fish... A totem is gifted by way of the pipe... Stolen ponies are shod silent inside a river bed blanket... The white stallion begins to kick about the canyons... Giant round rocks protect the trail... The wall of prayers engraved in stories upon the red stone places.... Willow shafts carved straight with feathered embraces... Moonlight stories fill the heartland... The dawn is damp, the bear grass wet in the dewey breeze... I move closer to the fire catching the flicker of flames romancing spells... An owl of midnight hoots the alarm of death in the cover of maple trees... Fur skins wrap the strong to roam near smoke filled camps... Kind women hand out bear soup by knowing the ways of our turtle shells... Fire lights ebbed glistening coals... Long fights bring gruesome sights... Deer toes rattle in chorus soothed by meadows afar... More Ancient eyes are watching to form songs of lightening in falling stars... Scented Elk medicine leaving sign upon mystic dreams... The rising dove song lingers in tall mountain grass yellow in light... Flinted the chipped stones piled in willow bark...there was once a fever here. The grass corn is harvested with our dancing children in sight... Ancient Robe sleeping in buffalo blankets... Heartlands sewn in sinew.... Her reservation dress weaved in hungry bundles... The ground was cold and some of us shivered... Elders held shoulder high, we're laid gently upon sacred grounds... Tears move to chanting in prayerful sounds... Young True Bloods begin to pound the sacred painted drum... Their journey keeps to traditions...Elders in flight begin to smile... Warriors are watching the Spirit horse "Storm Cloud Rising" stomp and paw... Screaming Eagles unfolding visions in what they saw... The Bear tooth locked to antlers with cubs still in learning... Visions of the lame elk walking the path of ceremonies... Rough rivers flow to teach others the artful ways of healing... Calming affects from the sundance... Holy tobbacco is tied and some is burning... Painted faces in a circle of power... Gifting our hope... lifting our heads ...bending our bow... searching arrows finding a target for peace... Rest us in All Sacredness above... For on the Red Road It is our Native life we love. We of the Painted faces Protecting the wild places. You too are my sacred peace...

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October 6th, 2011

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Viewed 139 Times  -  Last Visitor from Fairfield, CT on 04/25/2024 at 1:13 AM

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