Survival

Visions. I tell you, if I had a dime for every person I have met who desperately desire a vision. I can only look at them incredulously, wondering what the hell is wrong with them? Really? You want your consciousness to dissipate, much like the ocean receding from the shore moments before the tsunami? Because that’s about what a vision is. A tsunami of realization all at once, and it can be just as destructive. So many have told me, “I want to know my purpose. Why I'm here.” My response has always been to shut the hell up before someone, or something, hears you. The second you discover the answer to that question, your life is over. Once you know your purpose you will never do anything else. You cant. Best to remain among the masses, enjoying what few days you may have. Once you see the wizard, you can never un-see him. Whats so wrong with simply enjoying the gift of life? Must there be some purpose to every ones existence? Inst life, in and of itself, enough? Always more, more, more. I wonder what is takes for some to understand less, less, less.

I have been sharing some of my “visitations” with you. Rest assured, every time “they” come, it is terrifying. I always arouse, knowing an event has unfolded that will dramatically alter my existence. I don’t always know the details, rarely comprehend the meaning. I do, however, get the understanding that my life, up to that point, just ended. There is a time before these events, and the time after them. Returning to before is never an option.

Some time ago, I had passed through Pennsylvania on my way to somewhere else. I stopped at an ex girlfriends place for some much needed off the road time. I slept on the couch, as any intimacy between us had faded long ago. As I drifted off one evening, just before sleep yet not awake, here “they” come again. Once more I found myself at the Tree of Life. Except this time was to be much, much worse.

“They” showed me entering the dance circle, a hot summers day. The dancers were already around the outside edge, the dance already begun. As I entered through the south gate (yeah, I know!), I walk directly to the elderly man leading this dance. “I've come to learn the ways of a wicasa wakan”, I said to him. Even in this half sleep, certainly awake, I am appalled at such a thing coming out of my mouth. I would never, ever say something like that to anyone at anytime while conscious. I would sooner poke my eyes out with a dull pencil, repetitively, than to ever say such a thing. But I did. This Elder looked at me, the only words from his lips, “huh”. He motioned to the dancers, all of whom immediately fell upon me and held me to the ground. With no hesitation I was pierced in the back and hung in the tree. For four days I hung there, the relatives who were at that dance bringing tobacco to the tree, crying. Torrents of tears streaming down the faces of relatives as they looked at me, hanging there like fresh meat. The fourth day, around noon, the butterfly’s came. In moments I was covered with them, this orange butterfly tattooed upon my left arm. Immediately following them came the dragonfly’s. Hundreds upon hundreds of dragonflies, all black and white, landing on the ropes holding me in the tree. The dragonflies cut the ropes, the butterfly’s gently eased me to the ground.

How's that for a vision? How would you like to see something like that, then live with it? Some fools are thinking, yeah! Sounds cool! Alright, bring it on! I have only one thing to say to you. Idiot. Not for one second are you comprehending the immensity of the responsibility of having something of that magnitude stuck in your head. I certainly didn’t, and I kept that one to myself for several years. Rarely and only to a very, very select few, did I speak of it. The fourth year I danced, to a man who I then thought of as a brother, did I make the mistake of telling these details.

Sitting around the kitchen table, of the man who would lead that years Sundance, this “friend” and I were bullshitting with him. Not really getting into anything heavy. Just casual conversation. My “friend” says, in the middle of the conversation, “tell him about that vision you had”. Oh son of a bitch. Oh shit. And you just know that Leaders eyes began to twinkle just a bit, his posture straightened just a bit, his interested peaked more than a bit. “Vision, huh? Tell me about it”. Hells bells. Like the dumb ass I can be, I did. I do take some comfort in knowing I was reluctant to do so.

That year I hung in the Tree of Life. On the second day of the dance, in the middle of the afternoon. Pierced thru the chest and back at the same time, assistants dragged me as high in the tree as they could. I since found it quite interesting that, before my toes left the ground, the back piercings broke immediately. Although they were quite deep, but we will get to that in a moment. Up into the sky I went. I felt every tug on the ropes as they pulled. My heels lifting, my toes scratching furiously for some purchase on the sweet soft earth. Each tug sending lightning bolts of raw unadulterated pain explosively through my entire body. Off the ground now, and out of my body. But I could not break.

Like the vision, I hung there. Relatives, crying. Seasoned Sundancers watching, dancing hard for me, their hearts breaking. The leader leaving the dance circle, only to return moments later with a coup stick. So high I was in the tree, as high as they could get me. The leader tapping me with the coup stick, desperately trying to get me to break. The men holding the ropes straining under the pressure. I was informed later by one of my brothers, I was getting heavier and heavier the longer I hung there. For 20 minutes, I would not come down. All 250 pounds of me, hanging on two twigs. Later they would call it the pinata round. I was the pinata.

As I hung there, facing west, all I remember is pain. They, whoever they are, say when your reach a certain level of pain, you pass out. They lied. Through that fog of agony I eventually saw a hand extending from the sky. That hand grabbed the ropes attached to the pegs that were buried to the muscle in my chest and with one fierce tug, ripped me free. Seems my “friend”, who had told the Sundance Leaders about my vision before I did, thought it would be funny as hell to pierce me as deep as he could. I learned later he laughed about it, telling everyone they could, “just call him the butcher”. Personally, I didn’t find it very damn funny.

20 minutes I swung in that tree, only to be released only by Grandfather. When the pegs broke free, they didn’t fly upwards as would be expected. No, they flew straight out of my chest, directly in front of me. Over the dance arbor, into the west. Crashing to our mother, into my brothers arms. I lay there, a mantra of “I'm done” falling from my lips. Eventually I was brought to me feet, escorted to my chair, the other dancers coming with incredulous expressions as to what I had just gone through, many in tears.

What did “I'm done” mean? I'm only a man, I have no idea. There is no way I could interpret what had happened. Following protocol, I did exactly what I was supposed to. I brought that to the Sundance Leader. What does this mean I asked him? Am I done with the dance? Am I done with the day? How am I done? His instructions were I was done with the dance. My response was of relief. The next round I danced out of the circle. You can imagine my bewilderment later when I heard my relatives, those who had come to pray for the dancers, even others dancers, telling each other I had quit. I looked down at these giant holes in my chest, the muscle exposed. I had just completed the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. Yet, all anyone seemed to have seen was I quit? Excuse me, what the hell? Later, the Sundance Leader denied every saying to me my dance for that year was over. I was informed I had a weak mind, I was a weak man. I've never been back.

This I guess is the point of this mornings rant. That we are so quick to jump on the negative train. Whether it is attacking one of our own, or someone who we perceive, however slight, is attacking us. Why then, cant we harness that same potential for reprisal into a vehicle for revision? Revising this way of life, so what we do is done for the good of each. Taking this passion we all have, that burns so deeply in us, and channel that passion, that fire into unity. Bringing us all together, as one force, in one direction, channeling our passion, to create a better world for us all. So quick to anger, and so quick to destroy each other. We are like a pack of curs, fighting each other over scraps, yet willing to defend the pack with our lives. When all we have to do is leave this depression of destruction and devastation. When we top the rise we will see stretched out before us a bounty never ending. Yet we will never top that rise alone. Only together, working with each other, in unison. Until then, we will continue to exist in the poverty of our delusions. A crater created for us, by those determined to see us never succeed. Amongst each other we will continue to rant and rage. Instantly we will assault any who dare enter. Yet in our hands we hold the keys to our freedom. Together, as one. It is the only way we will survive.