Big orange moon.

Always beginning anew, as if nothing ever really occurs in the first place - even though "anew" means "again."
(I don't know about you, but my life is filled with such contradictions.)
As if yesterday never existed.
Maybe it didn't.
(I'm not too sure about the actuality of the present, either - if you must know.)
It's a strange time-line, indeed, when it's shaped by a chimerical sequence of stones, teeth and shells - a necklace for a shaman, who has one foot in this world and another in the mist.
(If he were to wear shoes, what would they be like?)
"Animal, vegetable or mineral?" doesn't even begin to ask the correct question.
Nor does "This or that?"
"Here or there?" Nope.
The real query can't be formulated. Don't even try.
That shaman, he understands - he's dancing under the moon.
His head is filled with things that can't be touched.
What can be touched, ascertained? You must decide for yourself.
Me? I'm doing the watusi with a dreamer of dreams, under a big orange moon.
That moon is smiling, baby.