Mystic V

This is my website from my heart and soul.


Learn how to withhold judgment
Learn to listen
Get in touch with your own inner self
Look at life with joy
Don't ever cry over something that cannot cry over you.

Cheewa James
The first peace, which is the most important, is that which comes within the souls of people when they realize their relationship, their oneness with the universe and all its powers, and when they realize that at the center of the universe dwells the Great Spirit, and that this center is really everywhere, it is within each of us."

Black Elk


What's Important to You

A Native American and his friend were in downtown New York 
City, walking near Times Square in Manhattan. It was during 
the noon lunch hour and the streets were filled with people. 
Cars were honking their horns, taxicabs were squealing 
around corners, sirens were wailing, and the sounds of the 
city were almost deafening. Suddenly, the Native American 
said, "I hear a cricket." 

His friend said, "What? You must be crazy. You couldn't 
possibly hear a cricket in all of this noise!" 

"No, I'm sure of it," the Native American said, "I heard 
a cricket." 

"That's crazy," said the friend. 

The Native American listened carefully for a moment, and 
then walked across the street to a big cement planter where 
some shrubs were growing. He looked into the bushes, beneath 
the branches, and sure enough, he located a small cricket. 
His friend was utterly amazed. 

"That's incredible," said his friend. "You must have
super-human ears!"

"No," answered the Native American. "My ears are no different from yours. It all
depends on what you're listening for."

"But that can't be," said the friend. "I could never hear a cricket in this noise."

"Yes, it's true," came the reply. "It depends on what is really important to you.
Here, let me show you.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a few coins, and discreetly dropped them on the sidewalk.
And then, with the noise of the crowded street still blaring in their ears, they noticed every
head within twenty feet turn and look to see if the money that tinkled on the pavement was theirs.

"See what I mean," asked the Native American.

"It all depends on what's important to you."

   { Author Unknown }



Young Lapota asked his Grandfather why life had to be so difficult sometimes.
This was the old man's reply......

"In life there is,
Sadness as well as joy,
Losing as well as winning,
Falling as well as standing,
Hunger as well as plenty,
Bad as well as good.

I do not say this to make you despair,
but to teach you reality.
To teach you that life is a journey,
Sometimes walked in light,
Sometimes in shadow.

You did not ask to be born,
But you are here.
You have weakness
as well as strengths.
You have both,
Because in life there is two of everything.

Within you is the will to win,
As well as the willingness to lose.
The heart to feel compassion,
As well as the smallness to be arrogant.
Within you is the way to face life,
As well as the fear to turn away from it

Life can give you strength.
It can come from facing the storms of life,
From knowing loss,
Feeling sadness and heart ache,
From falling into the depths of grief.

You must stand up in the storm.
You must face the wind,
The cold, and the darkness.

When the storm blows hard,
You must stand firmly.
For it is not trying to knock you down,
It is really trying to teach you how to be strong


Being strong means taking
one more step toward the top of the hill,
No matter how weary you may be.
It means letting the tears flow through grief.
It means to keep looking for the answer,
While the darkness of despair is all around you.

It means to cling to hope,
For one more heart beat,
For one more sunrise.
Each step no matter how difficult,
Is one more step closer,
To the top of the hill.


To keep hope alive
one more heart beat at a time
leads to the light of the next sunrise
and the promise of a new day.
The weakest step,
Towards the top of the hill
Towards the sunrise,
Towards hope,
Is stronger than the fiercest storm.

Grandfather says this,...........

Author Unknown

The Cry

He stands alone at the top of the hill
And sings his mournful cry,
His mate and cubs are missing
He's not certain why.

He had been out hunting
Was gone for only a day,
And hurried back with empty jaws
So scarce now was their prey.

He wasn't gone long
Eager to get home,
But the den was cold and empty
And he sensed something was wrong.

The smell of man was everywhere
With footprints in the dirt,
And blood shed from his family
He knew they had been hurt.

He sat and waited day by day
With hopes they would return,
There wasn't much he could do
Except quietly sit and yearn.

Why would man come all this way
To hunt and shoot them down,
To interrupt their quiet lives
When no harm had been done?

Their territory plainly marked
And not once did they stray,
For they would rather starve to death
Than to get in man's way.

The smell of chickens, cows and sheep
Were so tempting at times,
But instincts warned not to hunt them
Or they would lose their lives.

And so they lived a quiet life
Existing on small game,
Careful it was only wildlife
And nothing man had tamed.

So he could find no reason
For the blood shed on that day,
So peacefully they lived here
So far out of man's way.

Maybe they'd be coming back
His cubbies and his mate,
Wolves are mated once for life
So he would sit and wait.

That was many moons ago
And they have not come back,
But he will not stop hoping
For the reunion of his pack.

He now knows men are murderers
But still does not know why,
And every night he climbs his hill
And sings his mournful cry.

By Karen Evans


Silent Paws

Silent paws trotting
on a well beaten trail,
alone in the wilderness,
so young and so frail.

Little yips go unanswered,
the moon is now his guide,
looking for ones just like him,
or have all of them just died?

He sniffs the dampened ground
and senses man everywhere,
the silence is deafening
no howls in the air.

Oh why did he venture
so far from his den,
while his pack fell silent
at the hands of men?

His stomach is growling
but the hunger heíll endure,
his pack family is out there
itís their blood he smells for sure.

He stops in his tracks
and raises his head up high,
the terror overwhelms him
as he lets out another cry.

But still thereís no answer
he canít understand why,
heíll follow their trail
or he surely will die.

For days now heís traveled
his spirit and body gone weak,
he lies down in white clover
no more energy left to speak.

Soon the soul hovers
over this tiny, frail pup,
whose future now will be guarded
as his soul travels up.

What right does man have
to take life from a living thing,
that has no way to voice its defense
against a human being?

The wolf is a symbol,
a brother, a friend.
itís time now for action
before his existence comes to an end.

By Gerri K. McCann