The soul is not a land-locked entity.

It can grow feathers.

Given a scent trail of tea or rice wine

sweetgrass or rose jam

and the one that has me

can follow the aroma of soil

to where the feast of ancients is still happening in a cathedral of pines.

I do not know the solutions

to this world's great ailments of pain and power run amok

but I do know the way of the feathered soul

and I sit like a watchful child

as mine takes wing

and flies into things

and comes away with greater understanding.

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(c) 2017 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Khanabat / Saif Al-Khayyat and Nora Thiele / explore their collaboration Ahlam Babiliyya

image: "Nani with Leaves - Portland, Oregon" by Douglas Beasley

With thanks to Shaikh Kabir Helminski, a Shaikh of the Mevlevi Order of Sufism, and co-founder and spiritual director of The Threshold Society. A conversation over tea at Boulder’s Dushanbe Teahouse, in part, inspired this poem.

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