Sacred feeling

you draw yourself in the Tobacco leaf.

You move the night to make her cry

as wet teardrops in my bowl of mud

Wet tears burning...

Just like the deepest and iciest night,

return in the tepid light and chant,

the deep blackness of your damp lament

turn on the Spirit of the man who breathes you.

 

What a fortune to hold the world in my hand.

Black night, you breathe and whistle twinkling

on the murmuring riverbank.

You drain in the black tears of anaconda,

which my grandparents learned to pick up

and take its content ... to the heart.

Thus, they were able to remember, they could understand…

Just by feeling you,

they were caressed by the breeze of instinct

and the night moaned as the panther's skin

woke up screaming,

letting out the bright tip

of its star silver claws.

 

Oh Arutam!

Your sacred presence dwells in all things,

You are the light, the water, the earth.

Your delightful feeling is the crystal of Perfection

infinitely imbued with his own grace.

That feeling contains everything,

while it beats in our heart

and it screams in its ancestral chant.

A call to life that cries in those who come

as soon as they open their eyes to the world.

You are the union of the three times

in an eternal, perfect and blessed present.

 

You always run,

but while I pray with my Tobacco,

I overflow the channels of your river

making the heavens cry.

Thus, the sorcerer cries over you to show

that Life is within us

waiting for its chance to sprout;

to delight us in its peace, in its perfect bliss;

to heal us.

 

Sacred feeling,

you draw yourself in the Tobacco leaf.

You move the night and you make her cry

as dark teardrops in my bowl of mud.

Moist tears burning...

Just like the deepest and iciest night,

return in the tepid light and your chant,

the deep blackness of your damp lament

turn on the Spirit of the man who breathes in you.

 

Affectionately

Arutam Ruymán