A desert god doesn't
know how to hunt seal or walrus, or fish under the sign of the Pisces.
He is not skilled in controlling sled-dogs, or navigating over trackless
snow. This god can walk on water. Here, in winter, so can everyone
else. When he points his finger to admonish, it blackens and falls
off. When he opens his mouth to judge, his tongue freezes to ">nothing
but empty sky." His priests may pray for the fallen, but "the
shaman’s faith in his magic words was so enormous
that he actually believed they had the power to stop the bleeding
from a wound."
will happen to the shaman's helping spirits when the animal
familiars are no more?
a young angakok be trained when entrances to the
Otherworld have vanished
with the frost?
warming of the earth Monotheism's victory over Psyche?
is a soul without Sila's breathy voice? Or Nulijajuk, the
Sea Mother who controls wind, weather, and windowless time?
have seen a beautiful woman
the North Sea.
waters were her hair
And in her glance turned toward the beaches
A bird whistled
waves thunder so hoarsely
hair has fallen out...
Nunam-shua, " wears
a coat that reaches to her knees, from which we
know the polar lobe is part of an essential mechanism for
development because, as you might guess, when embryologists see
such a discrete blob of cytoplasm, they have an irresistible
urge to snip it off. It's hanging there by a tiny stalk of membrane,
so it's fairly easy to do…and the embryos survive and continue
to divide. Unfortunately, they've lost some crucial information.
Their anterior-posterior axis is undefined, and among the structures
that fail to form hang
living miniatures of all manners of land animals." Will
she drown in the great puddle to come? And will the innua, "the
genius or thinking spirit of the object or spot," be
silenced for another 10 million years?
night, the White Bear appears and asks, “When
will you arrive?” Whales, in their cold depths,
"When will you arrive?" These are the
falling stars I saw long ago on a mountaintop, when Aqsaarniit,
Northern Lights, hung before my youthful eyes like a scroll. In
those days, I dreamed of roads to
exotic places. Now, on the threshold of old
age, I dream of half-open doors and the darkness within.