Welcome Home

"When the earth is ravaged and the animals are dying, a new tribe of people shall come unto the earth from many colors, classes, creeds, and who by their actions and deeds shall make the earth green again. They will be known as the warriors of the Rainbow" - Old Native American prophecy (I believe Cree)  
 
 
 
He was bathing in the creek  
of Four Quarters Farm, an interfaith;  
Wiccanesque farm, located mid-southern  
Pennsylvania. It was the end of Gaian Mind,  
a music/arts festival/neo-shamanic rite. The bath  
felt so good that he hadn't noticed that he was not  
alone, and that this was the first time in his life  
that he had been nude in public. He had a flash of panic,  
but recognized it as neurosis. Things had already started  
to change.  
 
It was three or four hours from there  
to the National Rainbow Gathering being held  
in West Virginia. As he arrived, and passed the rows  
of cars, and magic carpets, he knew from the greetings  
of "Welcome Home", and "Lovin' youuuuu" that this was  
more than the groovy party he imagined it to be.  
 
By the second day, he knew the ropes and expectancies  
by heart, and never before beamed so bright. It was a common  
state here, normally referred to as being "blissed-out", and he had  
never seen it done before so responsibly. No money, and no footprints.  
Miles deep in national forests a completely self sufficient city pops up  
mid summer simply to reconnect and say a prayer for peace.  
He would in two days learn how hearty a prayer can be.  
 
The next day he covered as much camp as possible.  
First to traders row, watching the crafters wrap  
totems, and the jugglers toss spells. Off through  
Krishna Camp, past Yoga Camp and 23 Skidoo, Granola  
Funk and the Pirate Elf too. He pitched in at the  
Lovin' Ovens, cutting wood, and admired the molded  
earth mounds that fed the multitudes. These makeshift  
tools of life would disappear a few weeks after the  
last person left. The forests speak appreciation  
and repays in folds, when they are treated right.  
 
The next day started with a silence that the earth  
seldom hears. He had known that the annual prayer  
started at dawn on the fourth of July, but until  
he awoke to it he hadn't felt the electricity that  
the air can have when sincerity is carried on every  
wind. He walked around camp exchanging helium producing  
nods of recognition to all he passed, then collected with  
the rest at center circle.  
 
Quiet, filled with the intent that changes altitudes, the  
children enter the circle, wearing the masks made from the  
bark of the local trees. The prayer concludes with the simple  
thought of peace erupting like a new universe, as every droplet  
that refracts the lights' spectrum, is reborn and shouts as loud  
as life to the sky. He has never felt so welcomed home.