The Untoong

Poem By Russ von Ohlhausen

We enter the dance,
my kinsman and I.
We chant with the sacred sounds of the Earth,
we sing the ancient songs of the people.

I come to a place upon the ground
that looks like water but is solid.
I sit upon the Earth and
align my mind with how it feels there.

My spirit takes over and
lays my body upon the ground that is water.
My spirit climbs out of myself and
enters the place that takes me.

I leave my body,
I leave this mind.
I travel in the darkness,
I climb the strands into places I do not know.

I see the souls of all the kinsman of the Earth.
They too have come here to learn and seek god.
Many have long since left the place where we dwell.
There is no ‘time’ here.

I go to the place where god is,
I do what I have come to do here.
I learn what I have come to learn.
I go back to place where my body is.

I see myself there laying upon the ground
My body knows I am near and cries out.

That is the sound that I make,
this ‘Untoong’ that I do,
this ‘Untoong’ that I dance

I return to my body,
I enter my mind.
I am one with myself,
until the Earth calls me again.


Comments about The Untoong

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

2,9 out of 5
11 total ratings

Other poems of OHLHAUSEN

Poets Are Losers

The art of the word yields little fruit when it's first conceived;
It must take root and grow in passionate minds if ever to be received.
A craft much learned of sadness from this world we’re in,
As we suffer right along until our solemn end.

Beautiful Destruction

A rough rain falls on the river running as a
fisher casts over tainted water, and
Black blood burns as the wars are raging and the
soldiers argue who’s hell is hotter.

Envy The Common Man

How I envy the Common Man,

To live in the world that we create.
To drift on the winds with no debate.

Lost In Thought

(A fun little diversion)

I thought I thought a thought,
a thought I thought I thought.


I melt with the snow on the tops of mountains
I babble with the voice of the humble waters
I sip from the lake on the open plains

Edge Of The Dream: Becoming The Creator

In the time before Time, there was the void of nothing that was not known,
for nothing existed to know it.
The Creator was not then the Creator
for nothing was then created.