The currency has bought our spirit-dreams
In the propitious hour of tree and sky
the seer stands naked under the stars.
The talisman has taken off, carpet-like,
to another magic world, energized
by ethnic fuel.
The eagle and the river have no power.
The tongue of ancestors is cut,
their shroud of speech having vanished.
The
kumao lives, ancient blight
of the forest world.
He will show to us a Tingguian blanket,
false in weave and vibrations.
The earth trembles under our feet,
trees shake from north to south.
Madness fills the wounded woods.
Our feet cannot receive the signals
from the earth until we weave
ourselves a blanket, or else retrieve
another one from an olden grave.
Sap begins to flow from tumored trees.
Shadows from the nethers
march on us with blades.
Shall we clothe ourselves again
with the rainbow,
turn guardian stones into weapons?
Our bloody hair strands and our tears
and gashes from the blackened skin
shall form the threads
of a final tapestry.#
Tingguian - indigenous people in Abra
**for Lilette Fatima Raquel who showed us how to humbly weave the people's dreams. paalam.
