Sunday, July 31, 2011

Men & Women....What A Combination!

Male and female. Has there, is there, will there ever be anything more polar opposite of each other? Yet, at the same time, anything more compatible? Weird how that works. Or is supposed to work. The perfect balance, created by two becoming one. Neither inferior or superior. Together all that is becomes again all that ever was, ever could be. The advent of organized religion has been the catalyst for the destruction of that union. Simply my opinion. Doesn’t mean I'm wrong. Doesn’t mean I'm right. Just my opinion.

Where are the Grandmas who were able to teach women how to be women? Today we have Grandmas at 30. What could a 30 year old teach a 15 year old? She is still a child herself. It takes years, decades of life to learn wisdom and how to pass on that wisdom. In my travels I see many families. Some good, some bad, some absolutely pointless. Together to torture each other relentlessly. Surely, there must be more to life than that? So many settle for what they can get. Not waiting for the one who takes their breath away. Impatiently turning to the first who takes them away from their perceived horrible life only to enter into another version of the same damn thing.

What kicks me in the left one is women have forgotten how much power they wield. We look to our Mother, the Earth and the example she sets. All exists become of her compassion, generosity and love. With no prejudice or discrimination, our Mother provides for all. Never asking, never bullying. Her power is there. No explanation need be given. The obvious is blatantly apparent. Women are a microcosm of her. Each home, each marriage, each family a branch of the Tree of Life, sustained by each woman. She who gives life to us all.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe that is the problem. So many see so little, when the obvious is glaring. Women give life. Not just physical life but emotional life, spiritual life. Not aggressively, with force or abuse. Simply there, no question need be asked. Her power is all encompassing, giving life to her world. Her home, her family, her man. Without her, their world, all that is, wouldn’t exist. Yet I listen as so many say the most horrible of things about their home, even with the man who provides them all they need in the same room with them. Incredulously I watch, listen. Stupefied I see the beauty that surrounds them they are so blind to.

In all fairness, some women should be telling their man how bad things are. Men after all are simplistic creatures. To keep a man happy is the easiest of tasks. Feed us, have sex with us, be our friend. Do that and we will break ourselves in pieces to make you happy. Comes down to it, men are basically big dogs. Some women married poodles. Some chihuahua, some pit bulls. A few unlucky ones have found themselves a coy-dog. Nothing but a coyote pretending to be something else. A predator posing as a house pet. If that’s what you are living with, time to trade it in for a new model. Any man, and I repeat any man, who consciously, willing, hurts a woman, for any reason, deserves to have a hole stomped in him. There is never an excuse to physically or emotionally hurt a woman. That does not prove how much of a man you are. It proves exactly the opposite. Look deeply into the nearest mirror, and feel shame. Know shame, see shame, because you are shame. You disgust every real man who sees you.

I could go on for pages about the bad ones. God knows there are enough of them out there. Everyone does, so I'm going to go in a different direction. If you have a good man, who provides for you, your family, hang on with everything you have. He is giving you a home, food on the table, clothes for your children. He is a man who knows how to be a man. Gets out and gets it done. If the best you can do is bitch at him about how terrible life is, you may want to sit back and reevaluate things. Remember one thing, if you don’t want him, I promise one of your sisters does. She sees what he does for you. She is well aware of how good a man he is and is biding her time, waiting for the moment. She will take him, and the only one to blame is yourself. Find a good man, treat him like shit, run him off and then pat yourself on the back for a job well done. Seems something is a smidge bit off with that picture.

Many women were raised in these types of families. The circle perpetuating itself. Now you find yourself married to a lump on the couch who wont work if you gift wrapped a job and handed it to him. You may want to see about showing him the door. Its his job to provide. To ensure you have what you need, what your children need. Anyone working at any company doesn’t do their job, they get fired. If the best he can do is hurt you, take from you, feed off of you, well, fire his ass. Then go find a real man, a pit bull who doesn’t apologize for being a man. One who understands his responsibility and jumps out of bed everyday to meet it. Then do your job as a woman. Not because you feel like you have to. Because you want to. Together, working as one, creating again all that is. Amazing.

Remember, you are in complete control. As a woman, you have all the power. With great power comes great responsibility. Wield that power wisely. Look to our Mother to guide you. She will teach you all you need to know. Then, see the beauty that is all around you. Speak of that beauty to him. Let that man know you appreciate and are grateful to him for all he does for you. I promise, you live this way, the beauty will constantly replenish itself. Your world is in your hand. If you keep painting it with an ugly brush, it will remain ugly. Remember when you first saw each other? Remember the first time you looked into each others eyes? That warm rush that came over you? That feeling that took the breath from you, left you gasping for air? Remember the fist time you shared yourself with each other, and the moments afterward? Do you remember what love felt like? Do you remember all she was willing to give? All he was willing to do? Find that again. As a woman, you have the power to recreate that love again. Make that love live again. Like our Mother, with quiet strength. Compassionately, gently, determined. Love is in your hands. Allow love to blossom, to fill your life again with beauty. With a man who understand what it means to be a man. Not some 40 year old boy who spends his days playing video games and nights getting drunk with his buddies only to use you as an orifice or a punching bag. That’s the fool you throw out the door. Put his crap on the porch and tell him don’t come back until you grow the hell up. All is in the hands of a woman. All is created or destroyed by a woman. With all that power, what world have you created?

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Dust Off Your Fairy Wings!

Well, let the twinkie fest begin. As I suspected, it wouldn’t be long before the idiots, dumb asses and flying ass monkeys stepped up to prove, with no question, exactly how lost they really are. The chosen few, in their minds at least, who swear they know it all and want to puke all they know in everyone’s faces. Are we having fun yet? We're about to.

For five years I lived with the White and the Black. I did so honorably, never once selling out or putting on the Indian Show. Folks would ask me all the time, “are you going to wear your indian clothes?”. I'm dressed, ain’t I? Got clothes on, and I'm Native. No, they want feathers and leather, woo wooing around a bon fire. They want some celestial wisdom from the great beyond imparted upon them.

I admit I pissed off a whole lot of folks in the five years I spent doing what I was asked, not what I assumed. I never gave credibility to the twisted half baked delusions some brought to me. White folks who couldn’t find their collective asses if they used both hands and a road map. If true spiritual understanding jumped up and bit them in the ass they wouldn’t recognize it. I was never afraid to call bullshit when I smelled it. Relentless, merciless with those who insisted on attempting to infect me with their bliss bunny delusions. I wasn’t sent there to hold anyone's hand. I was sent as the foot in the ass. I didn’t have the answers, only questions. All I could do was point the direction. It was up to each individual to find their way to the truth. That box of answers. As it was up to each individual to open that box, and deal with what was inside. Many times I told many people, I will assist you, but I will not help you.

For whatever reason. Grandfather has removed the protection that was with those two Sacred Animals. Nothing these penis chopping man haters in white robes and twig tiaras will ever do will get it back. The last time I was with them the Ancestors closed the door. Now some looney tunes is hanging robes and ties everywhere. No direction, no understanding of why, what the colors mean, the numbers. Making the place look like some whacked out Christmas tree. That flying ass monkey is even hanging the color I was given responsibility for. All I can figure is she really misses me. I must have gotten real good to her if she is hanging my colors. I would say thank you but I'm on the effen floor, laughing until it hurts. I would love to see these fools try taking your twisted version out to the Relatives who actually know. Go ahead, I double dog dare you. There is a reason why none of the real Elders and Medicine People, like the ones who came when it was being done right, will have anything to do with you idjits. No traditional Elder or Medicine Person, who truly is, will support their pixie dust sniffing orgy of insanity. Now, they want to “honor the Black Buffalo and reign in the Year of the Woman”. Really? Every year is the year of the woman. The Sacred Feminine never left. Some forgot it and this twisted Amazonian ideology ain’t it.

Let me let you in on a little secret. Something a few dipshits cant seem to get their over inflated egos around. You don’t want to be messing with the Black Buffalo. The White, now he gets your attention. There is a reason the Black is off to the side, acknowledged but not focused on. She is the nail in the coffin. She heralds in the end. She is destruction, devastation, eradication. Some want to do a happy dance for her? Put on funny hats and sing stupid songs? There are faster ways to commit slow suicide.

Some will call me bitter, resentful. Go ahead. You are missing the point. I WANT YOU TO. Pull the pin on that hand grenade. Wait, wait, wait. Let me move OK, now, go right ahead. I'm far enough away and yes, I am laughing my ass off. Five years you wouldn’t listen. Five years Elders and Medicine People from many Nations tried to tell you. Five years, all and more right at the tips of your fingers. But, like petulant self centered children on Christmas, all some could do was trash it, denigrate it. I didn’t want that color. That’s not the one I wanted. Fine. Have it your way. Good luck with are so going to need it.

As I have many friends remaining in the area, I am kept up to date on what is taking place with these two Sacred Animals. The following was sent to me this morning, 7/27/2011:

Dear Ones,
Peaceburgh is so fortunate to be a thriving Community of Unity with
increasing occassions for transformational events that promote unity, joy
and expanding consciousness of our muli-dimensional Being and divine

I am so moved to share this next event with you: the 4th birthday of the
Sacred Black Buffalo, "Thunder" who is the female counterpart to
"Lightning," the Sacred White (male) Buffalo. See details on the attached

The event will be at Nemacolin Resort, Farmington, PA 15437, at the Millioke
Meadows (near the golf course), from 10a-5p.

It will also be a time of celebrating the return of the sacred feminine and
the year of healing for women, as we honor this sacred animal with song,
dance, drum and creating prayer ties.

Children are welcome.

Bringing your own water and snacks is suggested.

Hope to see you there!

In joy and unity,

Now, I haven't corrected the spelling or grammar. The language of the “invitation” says everything. I have met the person who wrote this and I can say with no hesitation, this creature epitomizes a blissed out love and light spewing crystal twinkie. Talking to her left me needing a shower to get the pixie dust off. White people messing with things they have no understanding of. Power their feeble minds could never comprehend. There isn’t a Native person among them. Everything I fought against, protected those two Sacred Animals from, brought to bear from the local community of wack-a-loons. Dust of your fairy wings! Its chanting time! I don’t want to be in the same zip code with these fools when they start opening those doors. Can you imagine whats just waiting to come through from the other side? The power that was with the White Buffalo is no longer there. When the powers that think they are evicted any and all First Nations representatives and culture, that power jumped to Texas. Did anyone not make the connection? Within days of their actions, that little calf was born. Do I need to get my crayons? Now, the lets play Indians want to open the door on what the Black Buffalo represents. Flip the switch on the medicine she carries. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that is why Grandfather removed everything. Go ahead fools, rewire that nuclear bomb. When it goes off, look for the nearest mirror to find someone to blame.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

Is You Is or Is You Aint?

Without ego or arrogance, I have to say I do enjoy this life. Its a hard way to go, not one I would wish on a single relative. To watch as the Ancestors do what they do. To witness healing, awakening, understanding in those who willingly set aside their preconceived opinions and let go. Those who realize they don’t know, submit, and open themselves to truth. Because that is exactly what this is. Submission. Giving in to what you don’t have the questions for, much less the answers. Understanding you don’t know, but are willing to learn.

How do you tell whats real from whats made up in someones head? With no frame of reference, no experience, how does someone know that what they are seeing is real, or absolute bullshit? Title is one. If the fool walking through the door, before they even say hello, vomits their title, there is the first red flag. Those who are don’t have to tell you. Maybe someone else will pull you aside and whisper to you. After you have spent three hours drinking coffee with someone, laughing, cutting up and having a great conversation. Then you find out that was so and so. This has happened to me several times, in many places. I once sat with an Elder, somewhere between 70 and 90. Relaxed and composed, we laughed over coffee, sharing stories of the urban confused. Things we each had seen, experienced, by those who didn’t have a clue and wouldn’t know what to do with one if you wrapped it in fancy paper and gave it to them on Christmas. I later learned, through someone else, I had just spent three hours with one of the most powerful medicine people in Indian Country. And he never said a word about it. It was just me and Grandpa, hanging out, shooting the bull over coffee.

Say some fool walks into your home, or where ever you may be. Full of themselves, and all they know. Next thing they are breaking out a shell, filling it with white sage. Got so much smoke going you would swear they were fogging mosquitoes. Out comes the turkey fan, and they begin chanting some nonsensical whatever. Singing Bill Miller or Rita Coolidge as a ceremony song. Putting on a big display, showing everyone in the zip code just how special they are. How much of that do you think is real?

Maybe a full blood comes to see you. Straight off the rez, raised in traditions and culture. Knows the songs, how to put things together. Up in everyone’s face, telling you how it is, how it should be, and why it is that way. Bullying everyone into submission, forcing all to adhere to their understanding. They are from the rez. They know all there is to know and all must bow before them. Demanding money, demanding to be recognized. They too have titles, and they use those titles like a bat, smashing everyone in the face with it. How much of that do you think is real?

To put this into perspective is very simple. Most of us have been or still are drinkers. Hang out in bars and clubs, looking for a good time or a quiet beer. At some point some fool will show up, all pomp and circumstance. Loud mouthed, boisterous, calling attention to themselves. Forcing every person in the place to acknowledge their existence. Everyone must see how special they are. Everyone must accept they are better than everyone else and what a privilege it is to be in the same room with them. Breathing the air they have used to sustain themselves. What a blessing to gaze upon their divine countenance. Then, there is the other guy. Some notice him, most don’t. He is usually alone, off by himself. Not really saying much, sipping a beer, taking in the show. Anyone who has an ounce of sense knows that’s the guy you leave the hell alone. He doesn’t have to jump up and down, acting like an ass, calling attention to himself. Yet, everyone knows. No one really gets close to him. If they have to pass by him, they keep their distance.

This is the way of a true medicine person. They walk in, sit down and ask for a cup of coffee. Maybe they fire up a smoke, and simply start having a conversation. They aren’t breaking out the feathers and dew-dads. Simply hanging out. The entire time they are carrying on a conversation about not much of anything with you, they are also speaking with those they walk with. Those Ancestors and Beings who hold the true power. Watching you, listening to you, peeling you apart like an onion. When you finally open that door, just a crack, that’s what they have been waiting for. Sometimes it takes an hour, sometimes a couple of days. Eventually you will reveal where you are wounded. From out of nowhere they ask one question, make one statement. A spiritual grenade thrown with perfect accuracy, instantly blowing everything to hell. You're left sitting there, speechless. Now, the healing begins. All the person did was come in and have a cup of coffee. Because the person is only a person. Its what travels with them. What you cant see.

True medicine people don’t put on a show. They don’t seek patients, the patients come to them. Because they know it isn’t them. The true power lies with those who have chosen them. There is no flash of lightning and crash of thunder. In a whisper they come, tearing off the mask, bringing what you need. Quietly, with no hint they are even there. Maybe a chill comes over you. Maybe a scent fills the room. All the while, that medicine person is sitting there, chatting about nothing, drinking coffee, smoking a cigarette. And your life will never be the same again.

The fool who blew in, demanding all recognize and acknowledge their deified presence? Best to shake their hand, give them a smile and walk the hell away. That fool is going to get someone hurt. Look for the one in the corner. The Grandma, the Grandpa, not calling attention to themselves. Quietly, they are simply there. They wont come to you. You have to go to them. Maybe invite them to come see you. Some will, most wont. Most stay where they are, patiently waiting on those willing to admit they don’t know.

Some travel, going here and there. Called to those who cant get to who they need to see. Those who see and don’t fall for the three ring Indian circus show. Traveling among the relatives. Never asking for anything. Maybe a meal, a cup of coffee. Giving of themselves with no expectations of return. What little they have they give, without having to be asked. Understanding, as much as any two legged can, they are simply a person. A person living with an immense responsibility. Humbled by that responsibility. Their reward is witnessing the healing given to those they were sent to. Listen to the whisper relatives. The whisper.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

I didnt raise you to be a little bastard.........

It is always with the deepest appreciation and absolute humility I go where ever I am sent. A hard life, yes, but so rewarding. I have the opportunity to visit and spend time with so many. Sometimes a few days, sometimes longer. Always gives me the warm and fuzzies when I hear from folks after I have left and they share with me what the relatives continue to do for them. These old ones who drive me around like a car, park me in someones' life. Get out and start healing. It certainly isn’t me. I'm just a person like anyone else. Nowhere close to being that enlightened or intelligent. Hell of a life I tell you. I get to witness so much beauty. Some damn ugly in the process, but even that they turn into something that heals.

I had a family not too long ago I visited with. They are quite wealthy and live an extremely comfortable life. Unlike what the majority of us live today. Living paycheck to paycheck trying to bring two ends of a rope together to meet in the middle and the rope is simply too damn short. Seems we'll never get a knot tied in it. These folks however didn't have those concerns. Much more than they needed, and they were aware of it. Good people, who understand it isn’t what you have, its what you give away. All except that evil self centered little bastard of a son they have.

Seventeen years old and knows it all already. He probably should get a job quick with all that knowing before he forgets some of it. Has everything he could ever want, whenever he could want it. Doesn’t even have to ask most times as his parents love him deeply, and want to give him the best they possibly can. Like any of us, with or without money. We want our children to have what we didn’t and we work our asses off trying to give it to them. Sometimes, as in this case, that’s the worst thing we can do. For some, they appreciate what we do for them. Its that appreciation that keeps us wanting to do more. Conversely, its those insolent, self indulgent petulant little shits who think they are entitled that give us a different feeling. The ones who feel we are their servants. They don’t need to work. They don’t need to pay bills, help out with the groceries. Absolutely nothing wrong with them physically. They are healthy, intelligent, capable. They know how to hustle, how to make a buck. Just don’t want to get off their lazy asses because someone is going to give it them. After all, the world owes them.

This young man was exactly like this. Had it all handed to him and believed it was supposed to be that way. He was born into this world to be served by everyone else, starting with his parents. No respect for anything. No respect for women. The gift that is woman. The power, the awe that is woman. Watching him push his girlfriend around, ordering her like she was a dog. It wouldn’t be long before he was raising his hands to her, beating her. She wasn’t a person to him. Not an individual with thoughts and feelings. She was something to be used, abused and taken advantage of him.

His folks and I talked, and they finally came to a conclusion. They had tried everything already, to no avail. The Ancestors told me what to tell them, I gave them what had been given to me. It was their choice to do it, and they did. It was hard for them, hurt them deeply. They understood what they had to do was out of love, even though their son didn’t. One afternoon they called him from his room, letting him know they were going for a ride. Of course he whined and cried, but they weren’t taking no for an answer. “Get your ass in the car and shut your mouth.” You can picture the look on his face when they walked outside and his brand new Escalade they had just bought him, was idling in the driveway and ready to go. Into his car they went, Dad driving much to the sons surprise, Mom in the passengers seat, him in the back. He had never ridden in the back of his car before. Hell, the only time he used the back of the car was to get high, drunk, or take advantage of a young girl.

They drove their son to the local Goodwill. Inside they picked out a complete outfit for him. Shoes, t-shirt and pants. They found an old pillow and an old blanket. All the while they didn’t say a word to him. He walked around that Goodwill, nose stuck up so high its a good thing it wasn’t raining or he would have drowned. Sour, ugly expression on his face. Nasty, biting expletives vomited out of his disrespectful mouth. The things this child said to his parents would make someones skin crawl. His folks ignored him, continuing with their shopping. Can you imagine? Super rich white folks, foul mouthed wretched child beside them, in a Goodwill? Damn and then some.

When they had found all they needed they headed back to the car. Their son demanded the keys but this time Dad wasn’t taking his shit. In no uncertain terms he told that boy to shut his damn mouth and get in the back. Something about his tone and facial expression let that boy know he best not argue. From the Goodwill they drove to the seediest, most run down part of the city they could find. Dilapidated buildings, hookers and crackheads on the corners. Cars up on blocks, homeless passed out where they could find a spot. They pulled over, and got out. They then had their son remove all his new fancy, pretty clothes they had paid for and handed him what they had bought him at the Goodwill. They handed him the blanket and pillow. His father told him, “Welcome to your new life. Tomorrow you turn eighteen. I have spent your entire life giving you everything I could and you don’t appreciate a damn bit of it. You're ugly, you’re rude. The things you say to your mother are revolting. The way you behave, treat other people, treat your girlfriend, is disgusting. This is not the boy I raised. I got you to eighteen, now you're your own. When you can grow up, learn humility, respect and honor, the door will be open. Its your home son, but its my damn house”. Then they got in his car and drove away.

It took about three weeks for that boy to find his way home. He doesn’t behave like the spoiled rotten little bastard he used to. He is respectful to women, to his mother and father. He appreciates all he has and goes out of his way to share, to do for others. No one really knows what happened to him on those streets. He doesn’t talk about it and when its mentioned he hangs his head, wont look at you. Whatever happened, it was ugly. It hurt, as much as it hurt his parents to do it. One thing is for sure, it got his attention. Seeing many of the kids I see today, I'm thinking this, or a similar version of it, might need to be done for them too.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Idiots, and The Confused Who Follow Them

I agree some of the things I write are scathing commentary on the state of affairs for the urban confused. Sometimes, this is what it takes to get some folks attention. I have actually had some individuals get screaming pissed at me because I refuse to recognize and/or address them as “insert title here”. What they missed, the point they will never get, is the instant they demanded to be recognized as anything other than person, the chance of them ever fulfilling that role or title is instantly negated. Their ego nullified any shadow of humility. They will never be anything more than a hollow empty shell, more dangerous than they, or those around them, can begin to realize. There is no difference between fools like this and any other bully. Using there self perceived idea of how special they are to push everyone else around.

Speaking with a friend not long ago, the question was raised about protection. He had enough sense to understand the spirit isn’t a game, and unless directed should never be played with. He was asking how one was able to interact with these entities, and if there were charms and protective litany used. My response was no. In my understanding, to those who have been given the responsibility to carry these things, they are also given all the protection they could ever need. Cal it a perk of the job, so to speak. For those few who been chosen to be Elders, Medicine People, Healers, Interpreters, with that responsibility came entities that protect them. Some are animal form, some are human form, some have never been anything other than spirit form. They know these protectors intimately. They know their names. Names never spoken outside of ceremony. The fools out there who think they are? Who have assumed they are? No protection at all.

Understand something, 90% of what exists in the Spirit World will not hurt you. They are there to help, to guide, to teach. On your behalf they work. The 10% that can hurt you, and will hurt you, are not interested in you. You do not effect the balance of life. Simply living your life, and that’s a good thing. Its those who have been asked to carry responsibility, and the immensely arrogant who think they have, these are who they are interested in. Especially the immensely arrogant. Those who have been chosen they mess with, they terrorize, but those few are well guarded. Its the dipshits that are on the menu.

Theses things that some are playing with? Pouring water, carrying a pipe, a drum, a staff. Absolutely no clue what they are dealing with. Look at it as a telephone. Out there punching numbers, no clue who or what will pick up the other end. There are things out there, very nasty things, just waiting. It isnt multiple universes. Its parallel realities. Untold, immeasurable. There are things in those realities. Terrifying things. Horrifying things. These things feed on idiots. Manipulate them, assure them they are all they think they are. Then the fool, with zero knowledge or understanding, zips on down to the local powwow and buys something they shouldn’t have. Because they want it so bad. Exactly what those entities were waiting for. Can you say lunch?

True Elders, medicine people, never bully. They don’t have to. There is no need to demand recognition. Hell, in absolute honesty, they would prefer not to have recognition. They can walk into a room of 1000 people and sit down. Instantly every person in the place knows. It emanates from them. They don’t have to say a word. Just be. True medicine people don’t go looking for patients. The patients look for them. Unknown even unto themselves, no explanation needed or given. A quiet strength, simply there. I have heard it referred to as being a hollow bone. I like to refer to it as being a meat puppet. These chosen few, their lives no longer theirs to live. In service to every relative. On the clock, 24/7. Always suffering. Always grateful to suffer. It isnt that they wanted it. They accepted it. Usually kicking and screaming. The fools who want it? Demand it? They will never see it. These are the ones who have no comprehension of what it really is, and never will.

Many times I have heard, I'm training under so and so to become such and such. Really? Do something for me, will you? Stop reading this, go to the nearest mirror, look deeply into your own eyes and repeat after me: I am a dumb ass. Another fine example, even more absurd, is how they were trained by such and such a tribe, made a medicine person or pipe carrier or some stupid shit. Now they are out here to teach the remainder of us unenlightened souls. If you are following one of these deluded flying ass monkeys, please repeat the above exercise, then punch yourself in the face. Not only are you a dumb ass, you're an idiot. Do you not realize these fools are a walking nuclear bomb? In your desire to fill that empty hollow space, with anything, you are not only jeopardizing yourself, you are also risking the lives of your family, everyone you know and love. You have now put their very souls at risk, all to soothe that desperate aching need. Fools like that will, and do, get people killed. There are thousands just like them, and there have been thousands before. They come and go, leaving only destruction and devastation in their wake. Creating more confusion, more misinformation. Giving rise to the next batch of walking wounded and those entities feeding their delusions of grandeur are lining up like kitties to the milk bowl.

All of this is everyone’s individual choice. There is a reason the real Medicine People don’t interfere. If someone is stupid enough to put their head in the lions mouth its their own damn fault when it gets bit off. Someone plays with the medicine and someone else gets killed for it, they are responsible. Besides, it wouldn’t make a difference anyway. Nothing anyone could say or do will deter those whose ego is all encompassing. Those whose lack of self esteem and confidence is so lacking they assume the persona of something they have no understanding of. Nor is there any help for those who willing choose to follow them. You want to listen to the idiocy spewed forth by chief Fluffy Ass or Grandmother Squishy Shorts? Go right ahead. Your choice. Your decision. But what happens next is your fault. No one is going to save you. No one is going to stop you. Oh, they will feel bad for you. They will have pity for you. But not one true medicine person will interfere. Go ahead, put that penny in the funny looking thing in the wall. When you get knocked backwards ten feet on you ass, go find that mirror again.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Native Wisdom...or Some Twisted Version of It

Good morning kiddies. Welcome to mister hawks neighborhood. Today’s lesson? The urban confused. Blissed out crystal twinkie members of the love and light brigade. Idjits who couldn’t find a traditional understanding if it were their ass and they used both hands and a road map. Those to lazy or so egotistical going to where tradition is crosses their minds only as a commodity. But they know. They have all the answers and cannot wait to vomit their interpretations all over everyone they meet. Traveling, meeting many of these full blown wack-a-loons, some of what they come up with staggers the mind. Mostly I just look at them, wondering if they really believe the crap coming out of their mouths and how they hell they came up with it.

Individuals like that you cant talk to. They know it all already. Every time, without fail, what they prove is how much they don’t know. Blinded by their own ignorance, content in their paint by numbers hallucinations. Not long ago I was attempting to have a conversation with one of these patience testing self deluded. Exasperated, I had them contact a very traditional Grandmother. Within seconds that Grandma was so pissed off, she impolitely listened to this dumb ass, hung up the phone and promptly called me. The gist of the conversation was if I ever, ever let that fool call her again she wouldnt speak to me for the rest of my life. Talking with a 90 year old grandma, raised in the traditions, knows the traditions backwards, forwards and sideways, and this fool is telling her all she knows. That Grandma was thinking, (she told me after ripping me a new one), if you know so much, what the hell are you calling me for?

They are everywhere. They want it, so bad. Starving for something, anything. Desperately seeking a direction. Any direction, to add definition, some substance to their lives. Understanding the church has been lying to them for years. Coming to that hollow empty place within themselves. Needing, craving, an all encompassing hunger to fill the abyss that is their soul. These fools show up at traditional places, ceremonies and gatherings. The first thing they do is walk up to an Elder and spew forth their made up name. Usually some mystically stereotypical hollywood interpretation. Next comes all the wisdom granted unto them from the great beyond. Instantly one of two things happen. The real Elders, who could have helped these fools had they had the sense to shut the hell up, turn their backs and walk away. How could they help some one who knows it all already? The other scenario is the predator. The second these goofballs started talking the first thing they heard was ch-ching!

Understand something. No one can teach anyone how to be spiritual. There are no apprentices, no acolytes. No one studies under someone for “x” number of years and becomes whatever. Doesn’t work that way. Never has, never will. Usually the fools who are doing this are being instructed by those with just enough knowledge to run a game. Or those so full of themselves if they were to walk onto a rez, into a traditional gathering, the Elders would verbally stomp them into hamburger. These fools don’t dare show themselves around real traditional people. Instantly they are shown to be the charlatans they are. Their goes their standing in their “indian club”. The only way to learn this is from the other side. If the other side chooses to teach you. The Elders are there as advice and counsel, because they have already live through it. Too many spend too much time telling the spiritual all about the human. Preconceived opinions and ideas about what everything is. Imaginations making up the most outlandish of bullshit, then spreading that manure everywhere they go. The only thing they are fertilizing is another crop of useless weeds.

The excuses they come up with to defend their hallucinations is nothing short of incredible. Stupendous feats of mental gymnastics. Defending their ignorance tooth and nail. Making absurd statements like, “spirituality isn’t only on the rez.” Um, where they hell do they think it began? Out here, in urban society? Some things did. Reiki, Wicca, witchcraft. That horseshit started out here. Traditional First Nations understanding? No, you have to go to it. Where it is. To find traditional understanding, you have to go to the traditions. They aren’t coming to you. Much like learning a language. You can go almost anywhere to learn a language. But to know the language, the nuances and texture, you must go to the language. To where the language has always been. To where it lives. To those who know it, live it, have retained it for generations. Otherwise what you are learning is some bastardized bullshit version created to sooth some deluded fools ego of being special.

Of course, there are those who do come out here. The vast majority of them, 99% of them, are coming out here because of the fools. They are all to well aware of the needy, and are coming to fulfill those needs. What they are bringing holds no substance and has zero value or basis in truth. Having grown up in the traditions they know just enough to run the game, and those out here are simply too damn stupid to know its happening. Leave the rez, become a god. Someone portrays themselves as Jesus or Napoleon or Hitler and they get locked up. A full blood makes up an organization, hangs a title on themselves like headman or medicine man, and folks line up. While they are patting you on the back and imparting wisdom with as much substance as a hollow chocolate bunny the other hand is firmly planted on your wallet. After they have taken everything they can, they leave. Then those who have been jacked either never return to the spiritual way of life or worse yet take the illusions they were shown and try teaching them to everyone else. And some folks wonder why most traditional people think urban mix bloods are idiots. Do I need to get the crayons?

Also, I'm am not even vaguely interested in the defense of those things I mentioned above. Yeah, yeah, yeah you are tapping into the universal energy of all reality to provide healing love and light. Excuse me, I need to vomit. If these fools met a real healer, saw real power, the majority would run home screaming. Yet they will defend the delusion with blood. Argue to the point of frothing at the mouth. Reiki began in 1922 and is an adapted version of Buddhism. The key word being adapted. Revised and reformed to fit whatever the hell it is today. Much like the christian bible. A Judaic text translated into English under Puritan influence. How close to the original do you think that is? Gerald Gardner popularized Wicca in the 1950's and look at it today. Witchcraft, as many of you Puritan descendants know would have gotten someone hung. Typically witches, or those accused of being a witch were practitioners of folk medicines and remedies. Most were seen as a threat to the religious fanatic. Murdered because heaven forbid someone didn’t follow someone else's interpretation of what they initially had no freaking understanding of in the first place.

For those who truly want to understand, to learn, the first step is “I don’t know”.. Those three little words scare the crap out of some people. God forbid they should ever admit they are simply children and like all children, need to be instructed. Sometimes harshly, sometimes gently. Go to where the traditions are. Not that local indian group down the street run by chief fluffy ass. They know as much as you do, if not less. Guaranteed most of what they are doing is made up in their minds, or were taught to them by someone who made it up or by a predator who worked them over like a well used mule. When you get there, sit down and shut the hell up. Let the traditions teach you. That Elder, by themselves not saying anything to anyone, usually with a smirk on their face? Yeah, that’s who you should be listening to. The one who has everyone gathered around them, practically bowing before them with their collective noses shoved so far up his/her ass they will never get the stain off? Walk away. You are about to be bent over the table. Simple rule of thumb. If the title enters the room before they do, they are full of shit. Real healers, medicine people will never tell you they are. You will only learn they are from others. Who usually speak of them in hushed tones with an undercurrent of awe. People who get what they do is a burden and carries a heavy price tag. Those who understand what was given was given for the People, not the person. You cant buy it because they give it away. Not until you listen to the silence will you begin to hear. Or keep listening to the idiots. Keep feeding their ego, helping them convince themselves of how special they are. Now who is the dumb ass?

Sunday, July 17, 2011

Respect of the Sacred Feminine

Years before, I began on this journey, going places. Meeting folks, learning. Many Elders and medicine people. Real people, of the First Nations, who learned what they know not from books, movies or others with no cultural knowledge. Individuals who learned from their grandparents, who learned from theirs, long before the European invasion. Many ceremonies, some as a participant, some as a supporter. Closing the door on my responsibility as Guardian is allowing me to retrace some of those steps, visiting again some of the people and places, and the impressions I left behind. One impression seems universal, and and in my mind, incomprehensible. Prevalent practically everywhere I have been and I am clueless as to how it became “truth”. Because nothing could be further from it.

“Hawks in town, lock up your daughters!”. Excuse me, what? How did I manage to paint myself with the brush of a womanizer? Visiting friends now, the reference was made humorously. I got the joke immediately, and certainly took no offense. Pondering on the insinuation drew more questions than answers. Where is this coming from? What did I do that would have left the impression? Talking with my friends, one possibility was revealed.

Where ever I go, who ever I am visiting, I tend to disappear for extended periods of time. The assumption was made I was out chasing, and capturing, the local women. No, I was getting away. I have spent the majority of my life alone. I actually prefer it. I need it. Too much time around groups of people, large or small, begins to grate on my nerves. I need silence, no interference between me and the other side. Honestly I'm not a big fan of people in general. I can only watch for so long as the predators feed off the relatives. The relatives letting it happen. All I can think is what a dumb ass. Cant they see what is happening? I noticed some do, and let it happen anyway. So desperate to believe in something they fall for anything. But it isn’t my place to interfere. Not my place to put my nose where it doesn’t belong. If they are foolish enough, or desperate enough, to allow it to happen, it isn’t up to me to call attention to it. Besides, if I did, they would defend the predator and attack me. Add to this stew of prey and imbecilic, I can only tolerate twinkies, bliss bunnies, the urban confused and members of the love and light brigade for so long. Someone is either trying to hug me, convert me, share their celestial wisdom on my unenlightened person or teach me how to be what I am. I have to get away. Somewhere, anywhere, where their voices like nails on a chalkboard I no longer hear. Or snap and tell them exactly what I think. Somehow that behavior has been interpreted as me hunting two legged deer.

Then of course there are the fire breathing femi-nazis. We certainly cannot forget them. Women who believe the matriarchal system is a sword, wielded against any penis possessing entity. The confused interpretation men are subservient to them, must bow before them. They are God itself manifested in the purest of absolute power and woe unto those who do not postulate before them, immediately begging forgiveness for their very existence. How utterly absurd. I bow before no man, or woman for that matter. I do not tolerate lightly bullies, of either gender. Simply put, I am no ones bitch. The idea, in my mind at least, has always been mutual respect. A balance between the male and the female.

A woman’s strength is subtle, passive. A mans strength is obvious, aggressive. Only a union of the two provides beneficial results. The response to strength in a purely offensive capacity is typically defiance, dissent. The response to strength in a purely defensive capacity is aggression, dominance. Neither work. Only together, balanced. Protection provided, yet the willingness to stomp a hole in the first s.o.b. who threatens. Women were consulted on all matters with this understanding. No war, no battle, was fought without that consultation. Not to seek permission, but opinion. After all, it is their sons, their brothers and husbands who may die. Men will seek to always dominant each other. Its genetic and we know no other way. Application of the feminine, the gentle, the compassionate, applies reigns to our otherwise destructive tendencies. Conversely, feminizing everything turns boys into women with a dick. Useless, mamby pamby wus boys who cower at the first steely glance.

I've said it before, and it bears repeating. Men are about useless. We have two functions, to provide and to propagate. Gives us enough time, we will screw that up too. If not for the guidance and strength of women, we would happily kill and destroy everything we come into contact with. If we cant eat it or have sex with it, we would just as soon kill it. Want proof, look no further than the world today. Men in charge, eradicating everything. Somehow, a few thousand years ago, women were convinced they are inferior to men. Women are subservient to men. Bullshit. Flip that around and it makes a lot more sense. From what I understand, every living this on this planet begins life as female. Everything. It is only through a genetic defect men exist. Our insides fell outside. Leave it to men to rule the world and kiss the world goodbye. Women can, and do, maintain all that is. Nature has shown, repetitively, the female can reproduce without the male. Parthenogenesis exists in smaller mammals. How long would it take the human species, the female, to evolve into this capability?

This in no way entitles women to create an amazonian society. What is so wrong with being a woman? Too often I see woman, whose best attempt at success is being masculine. Why in all that is sacred would a woman want to be a man? I understand why I man would want to be a woman. Compassionate, nurturing, loving, quiet strength. Strength far superior to anything a man could accomplish. Beauty, all that is beauty, coalescing in one being. However, these two understandings must work in conjunction with each other. Neither in front, neither behind. Two who become one, bringing the power of all creation into existence. Is there anything more beautiful than the absolute pure love between a man and a woman? I submit, not.

With all this said, I can only hope it sheds some light on my deep, awe struck admiration and respect of women. I cant say I wasn’t a skirt chaser, I would be lying. Those days are gone, left in the past with many other bad habits. I gave up the one night stands, the meaningless physical relationships. I understand, in order to be seen as honorable, one must behave honorably. To earn respect, one must be respectful. I get along very well with the Grandmothers of many Nations. Anyone with any experience in First Nations culture knows the Grandmas are always watching. If for one second I were to behave in any way suggestive of looking for the first snag, rest assured those Grandmothers would kick my ass. Hopefully, this dispels the rumors I have a problem with women, I don’t. I should, considering everything I have experienced at the hands of women. Admittedly, women can often be the most vindictive evil creatures on the planet. Yet, at the same time, there is no comparison to the beauty, in every aspect, they regularly achieve and project. Hopefully the rumors subside I have no respect for women. Quite the contrary, I have nothing but. I am clueless how you do it. I know I do not, could never be, a woman. I believe, if a man could could become the shadow of what a woman is he will have achieved greatness. The best I can do is be a man. Guess that’s going to have to be enough.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Details of a Few Others

Seems I'm getting my chops busted because I didn’t do what I was told to. Well, I did, sort of. Not what They had in mind, though. Details They said. Details. Damn. Fine then. Details it shall be. Or at least some, eh?

A brother from another mother in Uniontown, PA says I could walk into a room of 1000 women. 999 perfectly sane, intelligent, warm and loving. The 1, bat shit insane, narcissistic and self involved? Yep, she's the one for me! No doubt, there is nothing wrong with me that several years on intense psycho therapy wouldn’t cure! Actually, probably wouldn’t help at all. I'd wind up a case study, and the therapist would need a therapist when all is said and done. Nothing like watching a mental health professional lose it. Yes, I have a twisted sense of humor.

I previously highlighted some of my earlier involvements. Now a bit deeper. “D” was my first wife. Why I married her I still have no explanation for. Loneliness? Rebound from a previous long standing relationship? Possible. Plausible. Probable. Certainly inexcusable. Not having a clue as to what love was, I confused the physical with the emotional. Sex was love, and love was sex. What a dumb ass. At the time I was drinking enough to kill most people. I had developed my addiction to alcohol into an art form by then. I am also well aware I was a bastard to be around. Sober was a myth, and not one that held any truth for me. If I wasn’t drunk I was hung over, working on my next drunk. I must have been a walking nightmare to live with. However, she was no angel either. When I learned she was pregnant, from the guy next door, I walked. Seems she had difficulty keeping her pants on. I still remember the meeting I was called to after our divorce. Sitting around the table at a local bar were 7 close friends, guys I was in the military with. I was out of the military by then, “D” was still serving. At our apartment we would have insane all night parties. I would drink myself into a stupor then pass out. Whoever happened to be there, she would have sex with. All 7 had, at one time or another, some several times, been at those parties. Each of the 7, including many whose identities are still unknown, had slept with my wife. While I was passed out in the other room. The memories of what happened after they divulged this information are still fuzzy.

A few years later I met and moved in with the woman who would give birth to my children. That was a nightmare from jump. I tried to do the honorable thing when she told me she was pregnant. In all honesty she was supposed to be just another one night stand. I had grown up without a father, or a mother. I didn’t want my children to know how that felt. At the time it sounded like a good idea. Yes, alcohol influenced. Several years of that insanity, add a daughter, and the obvious became apparent. There wasn’t a chance in hell that relationship was going to work. Add to it I had an affair and the end result was a foregone conclusion.

By then I had enough of women. I decided, in my alcohol induced stupidity, every woman would pay. Pay dearly for the pain they had caused me. At no time did I realize I had done it to myself. I was not prepared to admit the fault lay with me. I was to blame. So I burned through them. Dating 5 at a time, with three rules. 1) You are not the only one. 2) Never forget where the door is. 3) Never, ever, tell me you love me. The worlds biggest asshole, huh? Oh yeah, to a whole new degree. I had them passing each other in the halls. Six weeks later I would dump all of them, and find 5 more. That stupidity ended with wife number two. I thought I had found “the one”. Still no concept of love, an emotional cripple. Our marriage was doomed from the start. “S” and I are friends now, and we talk occasionally. We really tore it up together and had some wild ass years. When I refused to be put on a shelf, taken down and occasionally dusted off, then replaced, I revolted. Considering the fact, which I learned after the divorce, she was drunk when she took her vows, I'm thinking she wasn’t that serious at the time. Maybe it was just fear, but I still find it insulting she had to get drunk to marry me. Huh, imagine how she must have felt when she sobered up.

About the time of our eventual divorce, I was waking up to the blood that flows through these veins. The Ancestors were calling and They weren’t taking no for an answer. I met “A” then, and what a mistake that has turned out to be. Three years together, most not bad. I simply reached a point where I was done. There was nothing more to give. It wasn’t in me, it wasn’t there. She could not accept that, and ever since has done everything possible to make my life a living hell. Even after I was there for her, when we weren’t together. There to support her daughter and granddaughter. Hell, I even bought her a car. Paid bills. Fixed things. Now, she tells people I'm a fake, a wannabe plastic medicine man. Even went so far as to try to trace my genealogy to show the world how white I am. Now that’s demented. And she wonders why I left. “A” is a mix blood, like myself. She is very caught up in the idea of what she, and many like her think a matriarchal society is. The belief is the women were in charge, and men must bow before them and submit. Very, very confused.

Years passed from then on where I remained single, and mostly celibate. By then I swore I would go gay if it weren’t for the sex. Then its just two men having a rational conversation. But me gay is hilarious. Never happen. I love women. Always will. Which of course is what gets me into most of the trouble I've been in. I am an idiot.

“T” was my next nightmare in waiting. I met her at my first Sundance. She was heading for the cook shack, walking away from me. Long legs and dark hair all the way down. She turned and hit me with those cat green eyes and I was done. Stupefied. We spent time after the dance, but there were commitments I had made, promises I had to keep. We agreed if Grandfather wanted us together, a way would be provided. Four years later in Ogallala, there she was. It was like those four years had never passed. We spent that summer together, and she came east with me. Her job was canceled, no home, no money, no options. Come east with me I said and work with me and the buffalo. That lasted three months. I was living in a small apartment then, but that wasn’t good enough. I was delivering pizza to make a few extra bucks to get to Sundance and to send money to help those who needed. “T” wanted a bigger place, so we found a house in the middle of nowhere, an hour and a half from where I was working. Now I'm driving three hours a night, plus delivering, just to give her the place she wanted. Wasn’t enough, and neither was I. I came home one night, after weeks of her crap, to find she had left. Neither hi, bye or kiss my ass. Just gone. I found out later from various sources, it depended on who you were which story she told. I was fake. I was crazy. My medication made me mean. With her being friends with some very powerful people in Indian Country, she still makes my life miserable.

Now we are at “B”. Oh my god what an amazingly stupid mistake that was. Out of loneliness, I agreed to a physical relationship only. Six weeks later, possession began to show its ugly face. After I learned she had accused me of have a threesome with two Elder Grandmothers, she had to go. I'm not going into detail of her insanity, but safe to say crazy doesn’t cover it. Not crazy as in, oh she's crazy. No, crazy as “in we the jury find the defendant”, (thank you Chris Titus). When I finally rid myself of that creature I breathed a sigh of relief. Relief that lasted momentarily. Seems she contacted AIM, told them I was abusing women in ceremony, using ceremony to get laid and pretending to be a medicine man. Immediately every woman around she could influence jumped on the “lets kill hawk” wagon. Internet threads were started and I am still maligned. Still accused of doing things I would die before even considering.

Enter “S” number two. A bible thumping jesus freak sky pilot. I told you I am a sick man. My thought was this could be a prefect union. Religion and spirituality, together with the two Sacred Animals. What the hell was I thinking? Obviously I wasn’t. Religion is some serious stuff, and to the die hard, nothing is humorous. In spirituality, everything is humorous, especially die hard religion. A year later, that crashed and burned. She believes she is the Great Goddess of the Celestial Beyond here to shed light and wisdom on us mere mortals. Being white she needed an avenue into the First Nations. I was that avenue. Her thought was I would conform. Submit to her interpretation of what I should be. She would be in control and I would be the Indian in the cupboard. When I wouldn’t behave, she tried the oldest trick in the book. She took the car, sex and money, which I never asked for yet she insisted on giving. The thought was I would capitulate, crawl back on my knees and beg forgiveness. Promising to always be a good boy. Hah. Imagine her surprise to show up with all her crap on the porch. Now, she has taken over representation of two Sacred Animals, mimicking everything she watched me do. The enclosure looks like a christmas tree. Ties and flags of all colors hanging everywhere. No point or understanding to numbers of and position. Not a drop of native blood in her, but now teaching and displaying First Nations culture. And its all my fault.

We are now up to now. I'm alone again, on my own. Probably safer for everyone. The point to all of this? You figure it out. Learn what love really is. Do not get involved out of boredom, loneliness or lust. Get to know each other, deeply. There are many you can live with. There is only one you cant live without. Find them, know them, and allow true love, absolute true love, to envelope you both for however long your journey through this reality is. Its much easier to settle than to wait. But settling will come back to bite you in the ass. Patience, trust, and respect. You walk beside each other, neither in front or behind. One takes the lead now and again, but the two always return to together. Wait for that unity. Look for that unity. When it finds you, live that unity. Or do the same stupid crap I did and prepare yourself for hell on earth.

Thursday, July 14, 2011

Me, Myself and a Few Others

Lots of stuff coming at me this morning. Memories of places traveled, people I have known. I have been so many places, seen so much, seems a limitless pool of experiences I can draw from. Taking Superdog out for his morning romp gives me a chance to spend a few moments each day with Them. Giving Them the opportunity to tell me what to tell you. I've been on a tear these last few days, painting furiously some of the incongruities so blatantly apparent to me. Now, They ask I share some of me. Things that are painful to remember, yet cathartic to write. Is that the point? Am I continuing to heal, as some of this works its way out? Leaching from my soul bits and pieces of the pain I live with daily. Maybe. Maybe I don’t have long left on this rock, and what I have experienced will help someone in some way. Maybe I think too highly of myself, and what I really need to do is shut the hell up. But where is the fun in that?

Well, we're off. On a journey that helped to shape me into the lovable, socially acceptable member of society I am today. OK, stop laughing. I know, that was hilarious. Me, socially acceptable. That hurts to even think about. A very dear friend once called me a teddy bear...with teeth. I always liked that. Seemed at the time, and still does, quite appropriate. Back to the topic at hand, what made me, me?

Everything has a beginning, and I am no different. After meeting some blood relatives, in this case an Aunt, I learned I was born in the back seat of a car. And promptly dropped on to the concrete. Seems my journey through this life was defined breath one. Out I came. Down I went. Welcome to pain, fool. This has been the journey since. One of absolute pain, yet so much beauty.

The first five years were spent with dear old mom. Well, that’s euphemistic if ever a statement could be. Between prostitution, drugs, bikers and god knows what else, lets call it interesting. The continuous dropping off at doctors or wherever she could find. As in left there, only to find my way home. Eventually mom got it right. Two weeks spent in an second story apt. with a few of my siblings, from 6 to infant, alone. No food, no one to care for us. Mom gone for good. Dad in Viet Nam. Guess someone eventually found us and into the system we went. Yeah me! Not.

It goes without saying I have issues with emotions. Especially love. Now there was an emotion I lacked any concept of. After years of wading through the pedophiles and monsters of foster care, I found myself in a home with a wonderful Elder woman. She was as close to a mom as I could have ever known, if I had let it happen. By then I was so screwed up, there wasn’t a chance in hell. God knows she tried. This is also the time I got involved with my first serious relationship. First loves, you never forget them. Although I'm sure she would love to forget me. Spent several years on and off with her, looking for that elusive emotion. As wrecked as I was, I wrecked everything we could have had.

By this time I had developed a serious alcohol problem that would define my life for the next 25 years. By 16, I was blacking out. If there was a drug, I was taking it. In the process of attempting slow suicide, I burned through women as fast as I could meet them. Looking for love, acceptance. Except I didn’t accept me, didn’t love me, so how could anyone else? I married, twice. I divorced, twice. I fathered two children, both from the same woman thank god. Didn’t raise them, their mother made sure of that. Now they are grown, and having been raised with the stories of me from their mom, well, they don’t want anything to do with their dad. My daughter continues to send me some ugly emails, but I understand her lashing out, even if she doesn’t.

Somehow, some way, I found myself here. Doing what I do, for everyone else. In service to all the Relatives. Weird, huh? I did eventually find love, otherwise I never could do this. I met her in Great Bridge, Virginia while I was staying with my sister for a few months. And I never saw it coming. The first time she kissed me, I hit my knees. Not figuratively, not metaphorically. Literally dropped. She walked into a room and I melted. I couldn’t breathe when she wasn’t there, beside me. With her, every love song, every poem, every painting made sense. Her touch burned, embers on my skin. Her smile more beautiful than all the stars in the sky, seen in the cool desert night. I looked into her eyes and have been lost ever since. Three months I was given with her. Then, she left. Having just come out of a nasty marriage, one she had entered into while still a teenager, she was in no way prepared to do anything serious. She was working through the process of discovering who she was. That knowledge and understanding did nothing to ease the pain as my soul was stripped from my body. Her departure, even to this day, causes me the greatest pain I have ever known. Although I understand I could not do what I do without having learned that lesson, that is a lesson I would have much preferred not learning. That is pain no words can describe.

Much, much more has happened since then, but those are stories for another day. This is simply an over view of some of the highlights that make me such an interesting character. Why I do some of what I do. Although what I do is the polar opposite of what these experiences usually create in a person. I am happy to meet the acquaintance of all reading these words. Maybe what I have lived through will help, in some small way. I've said many times before, in order to understand something, you have to have lived it. And boy howdy have I lived it. In spades.

Please, no comments about how I will find love again. Please. Why am I writing this? Hell, I don’t know. They told me to, and I've learned, albeit painfully, to do what they tell me to. I really don’t need my ass kicked by Them...again. Maybe this provides some credibility to the man behind the mask. I've lived life. Not imagined it, not read in books or watched in movies. Dined with kings and paupers. Drank with rock stars and miners. How long I have left is anyone’s guess. There are volumes haphazardly strewn about the recesses of my mind. I guess I have a story to tell. I presume some are interested in listening. Tune in next time, to the next exciting episode of me, my life and the characters I have shared it with. My only suggestion is hang on tight, its been one hell of a ride.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Elitist Ignorance

OK, so here is one that has been driving me buggy for years. My friend and I touched on it briefly, and I've spoken to a few other folks over the years about it. Never went into any real detail. My point of contention? The over-seers of the educational system. The elite over educated with more initials after their name than the alphabet, gazing precipitously down their noses at those of us without the mental capacity to comprehend their very existence, let alone have a conversation of any substance. Absolutely chock full of their own supposed superiority, and privileged are we they deign to cast a glance upon. My first impulse is to punch them in their smarmy face, but I'm an adult and I cant do that anymore.

Many are familiar with the absolute incredible array of misinformation fed to our children in modern day educational facilities. The crap that is taught, simply with reference to First Nations culture, is mind boggling. I read some of this collected horseshit and I'm not sure if my reaction should be one of physical sickness, disbelief or humor. I understand “to the victor goes the luxury of writing history” but at least a shadow of truth, some reference to actual occurrences, you think would be included. Add to this garbage can of misinformation the overwhelming lack of any historical knowledge by as many, if not more, of our younger up and coming. Lies perpetuating lies perpetuating lies. It appears each generation is worse than the last. “Whats wrong with this country?” is a question I often hear. Duh. What do you think the end result is going to be, has to be, with generation after generation lying to each other?

By now most should have realized the information processed and fed is completely inaccurate. Columbus was never in this country. He certainly wasn’t a great man. Washington is not the father of my country. I choose not to deify a man who attained his rank through rape and murder. Andrew Jackson is, without a doubt, one of the most hated men in Indian Country, right alongside George Armstrong “mister ego” Custer. Yes, the Lakota stomped his arrogant ass. Yes, the Lakota took the American flag, in battle, and to this day, as far as I understand, have never given it back. Abraham Lincoln, at the time he signed the Emancipation Proclamation, also condemned 38 Dakota warriors to the gallows. There is good and bad, and both sides should be shown. Not painted over to make it appear the Americans were simply doing what they had to in order to create a civilized world for “good christian men and women” out of a harsh, hostile environment ruled over by ignorant savages and heathens. What perspective do you think this teaches of First Nations People? Anyone descended from these men and countless others just like them should be ashamed. Anyone perpetuating this racist nonsense should be ashamed. You have nothing to be proud of.

One point of interest that simple annoys the hell out of me is the continued representation that, until colonization and the coming of the superior race, indigenous peoples were ignorant savages with zero comprehension of construction techniques or social skills. Continuously depicting indigenous peoples as animals, many times less than animals. If it were not for the coming of the conqueror we would have never been saved. Elitist arrogance of the nth degree. Simply defies all logic. How, if we were so uncivilized, have we managed to survive for eons, much longer than academia accredits? Based on that logic, this continent and many others would have been barren of all human life long before those proclaiming Manifest Destiny ever got here.

Another thorn just as annoying, indigenous people didn’t have the wheel. Really? And this crap is to this day being taught in some of the most prestigious schools. No one ever kicked a rock and watched how it rolled? No one ever looked to the sky and saw the sun was round? Legends refer to the circle and things of circular form. According to accepted and taught presumption we were much to ignorant to figure out how to use it. Disregard something as evident as Mayan mathematics. No, we were simply dumb asses, the penultimate Gomer. Well golly! How absolutely arrogant and utterly dismissive of a people older than imagination. Tantamount to saying to your grandfather, hell your great grandfather, didn’t know a damn thing. You have all the answers, and they should bow before you, build an altar and pay homage to your superior intellect. Its a good thing you were born or they would never have survived to be...your freaking grandparents! Petulant children who assume they know it all already.

Here is an argument that makes a little more sense. What indigenous societies didn’t have was the axle. Why? Because they figured out it was unnecessary. Think about this. Acquire a stone, circular and of significant size and weight. Flint napping was and still is a skill possessed by the most if not all indigenous people. How hard is it to apply that skill to a larger surface? Like a rock weighing a ton or two? Make it round, then cut down a tree. Yes, indigenous people knew how to fell trees. They also knew how to adze and plane, creating a flat surface. Burn an indentation into that flat surface, deep enough to create a socket for the two ton stone you just made into a ball. Now you have a flat surface sitting on a ball. Now you are able to put stuff, like other huge rocks, on this flat surface. With ropes. Yes, indigenous people made ropes. With this apparatus and a few people, you can drag the load anywhere. The concept is used today in pens. A uni-ball. Able to turn, roll and spin in every direction. What would an axle be needed for? From World Mysteries I quote,

“One of the strangest mysteries in archeology was discovered in the Diquis Delta of Costa Rica. Since the 1930s, hundreds of stone balls have been documented, ranging in size from a few centimeters to over two meters in diameter. Some weigh 16 tons. Almost all of them are made of granodiorite, a hard, igneous stone. These objects are monolithic sculptures made by human hands.”

Try it. Place a Popsicle stick on a marble. Do you see? Do you see? If ever there was a statement that illuminates the depth of total arrogance expressed by the overly educated and self absorbed, “they didn’t have the wheel” does so perfectly. In vibrant color and deafening in scope.

Here is another one. "How did they get the lines so perfectly straight with no computers?" Lasers, dipshit. But indigenous societies didn't have lasers. Really? What is a laser? In its most basic terms, a laser is a beam of light reflected from a mirrored surface. Ever hold a piece of glass to the sun? Notice that little beam of light? The same one many of us used to cook ants. Do I really need to go into explicit detail? One huge difference between society then and society now? We didn't weaponize every damn thing. The goal wasn't to kill the adversary. The goal was to shame him. Easy to die. Much harder to live humiliated. Counting coup.

Continuing to spoon feed the young erroneous misinformation only ensures the following generations will be just as confused, just as stereotypical, just as intolerant. What response do you think this engenders when they learn the truth? I know I was pissed off. I have spoken to many young people, and their reaction is always the same as mine when they discover everything they were educated about holds as much water as a sieve. Invariably, the reaction to having been lied to their entire scholastic life leaves them feeling betrayed. Admit the mistakes, teach the mistakes and maybe, just maybe, the next generation wont make the same mistakes.

Any ability to effect change must always begin at the beginning. A hole is the only thing I am aware of that starts at the top. And it works its way down. Isn’t it about time we stopped digging holes, and started at the beginning. From the children, and teach them the truth. Both sides of the equation, not simply the one that makes a few appear superior to the many. Give indigenous peoples the credit they so richly deserve for accomplishments they achieved. Recognize the many contributions made, by societies that existed long before the Doctrine of Discovery. If it weren’t for indigenous culture, and their monumental accomplishments, self proclaimed “advanced society” wouldn’t exist.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Collective individuality

Living outside of society gives me, I would like to think at least, a very unique perspective. I see what appears to escape most. Or, I'm just a crazy person. I see this collection of walking dead inspiring only despair. Heartbreaking. I could sell tickets to this circus, but who would buy them? I watch as unity is achieved under everything from sexual proclivity to hatred. But collective individuality? Let your mind gnaw on that one for a second. Collective individuality. Huh. Most are so dead inside the only thing that inspires life is anger. Or perversion. And there are some seriously twisted freaks out there. Which pisses off more people everyday. What a vicious ugly little circle. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t perpetuated purposely?

Where are the great writers today? The painters, philosophers, artists? Show the first sign of creativity and someone is drugging you into submission. Conformed into a massive ingot under the all powerful hammer of one. I'm amazed we aren’t all wearing jumpsuits of a single color by now, in the exact same house, driving the same non-nondescript vehicle. Then again, looking at some of the suburbs, yes, they all look the same. Majority of vehicles? Yes, they are beginning to appear the same too.

I'm thinking somebody long long ago tending their sheep high on the mountain, looked about themselves and said,.”how do I get these sheep together?” Build a fence, they concluded and all will be in one place. Eventually, someone else saw that principle worked, and applied it to humanity. And it worked too. Looking around they could see people, individuals, joined together by nothing more than their imaginations. Reaching conclusions and understandings collectively, yet individually. Except there is no control under that philosophy. Time to build a fence.

I believe that fence began with religion. Collecting all under the one interpretation. Others then saw the power wielded by those who controlled and decided they wanted authority of their own. They came up with a different version. Same ideology, slightly different packaging. Now everyone is one. Now the sheep are in the fence, all controlled by a few and there is peace in the world. Ha, like that is even possible. I swear these fools are trying to shove 10 pounds of jello in a 2 pound can. They have 9 pounds in it. Its that last persnickety pound that keeps driving them nuts.

From religion came science. Because there are those who just know. Ancient man, with his fear of the unknown, devised many ways to explain the mysteries of the dark. The sounds and stirring unexplainable when the lights went out. Dismiss the knowledge he possessed of every creature for a 200 mile radius. His observed understanding of their habits and interactions with everything else. When the sun went down, based on fear, he had to come up with imaginary explanations. Plausible, yes. Also absolute bullshit. But it sounds good on paper. Maybe, just maybe, ancient man had it right all along.

Science is simply a continuation of beating the populace into submission. Continuing right up to this very moment. Every day those who know explain how there is only one. One interpretation of God. A supreme entity. One way of living as a society superior to all the others. Non conformity is unacceptable. Dare to voice a consideration of another way and be immediately labeled as mentally ill. Everything has been defined to its essence. Even the vast universe, reality itself, brought under the mighty hammer of one.

Billions upon billions of galaxies, with billions upon billions of planets. But we are the only ones. There is only one planet that has sentient beings. Gazing onto the vastness of the night sky, we are as good as it gets. That's terrifying. Disregarding every scrap of evidence we uncover, buried under 4 billion years of existence. Dismissing indigenous understandings as the rantings of an ignorant people afraid of the dark. That takes arrogance. A level of pretentious egotism unachievable by most. Are we really that brain dead?

Because, as we are instructed every day, science has the facts. This is how it is. Convincing the masses that all is only one. This that we know is based upon what we have been told we know by those who insist they know. Plausible, but bullshit. How utterly boring. How amazingly arrogant. Seems it was better as an idea, an unknowing, and occasionally one would step out and exclaim revelation!, sharing an insight never before perceived. Try that today and watch what happens. We have become a collection of soulless unimaginative walking corpses. The only difference between us and the dead is a pulse. A continuation of the flat earth sun revolves around the earth theory.

To think this is the only reality is absurd. Ancient man knew it. Every indigenous society understood it. Not one God. A great mystery, a great unknown. Something to imagine, something to ponder and mentally gnaw on. Opening the conscious to the possibility of unlimited possibilities. Collective individuality. Imagining the unimaginable.

What is out there? What is in here? What is the meaning of life? Is this all there is? Are we simply meat puppets, existing on this plane for a period of time, only to expire and rot? Is our existence defined simply by accumulation? Or is there something more to this? Life, this existence, is a zero sum game. Death exists to give meaning to life. Anything other than achieving comprehension of the unknown is frivolous and self destructive. Use your head for something besides a hat rack. There is an amazing apparatus inside that protective shell of bone. The vast majority uses 10%. That’s 90% untapped. Laying there, decaying under the weight of all that is known. Or maybe I'm just nuts and have spent way too much time alone. I'm an individual, among the collective. Plenty of room if you care to join me.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

Bridging Comprehension

Many I come into contact with feel the need to qualify who or what I am. My response of being simply another person, like every other person on this spinning blue rock desperately hanging on for dear life, yet paradoxically anticipating getting off, falls inadequately on their expectant countenance. As though I would say I am something, or someone. Want to see your credibility go straight out the window? Start a sentence, or finish one for that matter, with “I am...” Instantly a lack of humility is revealed. If the question were on the test of life, you would have failed. A title, a position, shows an elevation above the rest, which is exactly the opposite of what the understanding should be.

Therefore, with no attempt to elevate, I am simply a man who has had a profound spiritual experience and is attempting to live with the burden, the responsibility of it. Make no mistake, this is a burden. Anyone who sees this as cool is an idiot, with zero capabilities of comprehending the immensity of responsibility. Required is an individuals very existence. Their life is no longer theirs to live. Sacrifice and suffering become the norm, and only after considerable time is beauty found in the sacrifice. A depth of realization is reached, profound in its simple complexity.

Yesterday I was honored to have this discussion with a family, deeply rooted in Catholicism. Not of the intolerance pretentious variety, but those intelligent, with minds open to concepts not previously revealed or explored. I enjoy conversations like those, where individuals of distinct philosophies can share relevant experiences and learn from each other. Much more enlightening and enjoyable, versus those with individuals whose beliefs are so rigid their intolerance has become palpable. People of the latter variety invariably wind up the equivalent of squeaky toys suffering the repercussions of my acerbic wit and biting sarcasm.

As is want to do so, the question came up. Not in a context of recrimination, but one of honest curiosity, a desire to comprehend. My answer is this: They are the storm. Like the thunderstorm, They come, lashing winds and rains, clearing away the debris and detritus of someones life. With crash and flashing light they garner attention, demanding to be seen. Intimidating, awe inspiring They rage, often initiating fear. Then They pass, the sun returns, and new life begins. They are the Ancestors I walk with, chosen not by me but by Themselves. Incalculable of age, entities retaining knowledge and wisdom far beyond mere human comprehension. I simply happen to be the conduit they use to do what they do. I go where They instruct, then They do what needs done. I don't do anything. I cant do anything. I have no magic powers. My crystal ball is in the shop...permanently. All I can be is human, and I usually screw that up at least once a week.

They are also a mirror. Reflecting back to the unwary gazing within whatever baggage or issue buried deeply within. Trauma deeply concealed, pain that has altered the very path of life. Giving the individual the opportunity to recognize the damage held onto for so long, the strength to endure the emotional upheaval of revelation, finally the euphoria of healing. How could this responsibility not be a burden? It is the contradiction of blessing and curse, appreciation and anathema.

The intention behind conversations such as these, with individuals possessing tolerance and comprehension, is to bridge our philosophies. To put into context what is understood, from their point of view. What, in their pantheon of spiritual entities, in this case Saints and Angels, would be comparable to those Ancestors I walk with? Their conclusion was Michael, the Arch Angel. With utter intolerance for absurdity and no compassion for irreverence. Revealing his presence to a chosen few, to rectify whatever folly they may have knowingly, or unknowing, open themselves to. With heavy hand of immediate decision, woe unto those who dare.

This is no way to insinuate I perceive myself as a manifestation of that entity, or any other. There are no delusions of grandeur. Simply parallels in context. Similar to hundreds of others, unknown to the majority. Men and women whose lives were and are lived in service to everything and everyone else. Lives willingly given, neither accolade or recompense expected. Living with the burden of responsibility of being plucked from the herd, usually kicking and screaming, eventually acquiescence, concluding in observance of healing bestowed. Is there, could there possibly be, a more beautiful way to live?

Saturday, July 9, 2011


I've said it before, and it bears repeating. If this ain’t the end of the world, it will do until it gets here. Good gawd and pass the gravy. I'm in a a small town for now, just outside of Watertown, NY. Not much of anything here. A few shops, some gas stations, used car lots. Like the rez, but with a self sustaining economy. Oh, and mosquitoes. Lots and lots of mosquitoes. Who ever had the brilliant idea to build anything in a mosquito infested swamp was a genius. Must have been, because it worked. Who could have imagined someone would look at swamp land, say to themselves, "I'll build a town here, people will come, and I will get rich". Wait, isn’t there a joke that goes something like that? Must be me.

I have realized for a good while now, this Nation is screwed. Majestically screwed. Yesterday evening brought it home with a donkey punch. I make my cigarettes, because, lets face it, I'm a chain smoking fool. Not like I give a crap. With my health problems, I'm convinced something will kill me long before my smoking does. Not that my smoking is helping the situation, I realize that. I've convinced myself its irrelevant. We all create out own delusions. Anyhow, I ran out of cigarette tubes yesterday, and went looking for a box. Holy bend me over the coffee table batman!

After three local stores, cigarette tubes were located. Not to bad really, a buck more than what I'm used to paying in some other states. Out of curiosity, I asked about tobacco prices. $25.00 for the exact same bag - size, quantity, quality, - I had purchased days ago in southwest Pennsylvania for $10.00. $47.00 for a tin of tobacco I used to buy, not three years ago, for $5.00. $47.00?! Are you kidding me? Like the lady said, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Un freaking believable. Someone please explain to me how something that was one price, can suddenly in three years time, be 10 times as much? When I had the audacity to be stupefied at the price, the cashier says, absolutely straight faced, “well, that’s New York for you”. As though that was a perfectly plausible explanation. I'm still waiting for the punch line.

You want to hear the funniest two words in the American Language.? United Sates. Think about that for one second and you are on the floor. United. States. Really? Come on, really? What about this collection of ragtag misguided soul stripping conglomeration is “united”? Well, there is one thing. United together by a few, to subjugate the many. Welcome to indentured servitude. So, how is life as a slave? While the many wave their little flags and exclaim America! The greatest country on earth! Really? Isn’t that called “Stockholm syndrome”?

I do not apologize for my cynicism, nor do I ask your forgiveness for my sarcasm. The patients are running the asylum, and not only is it known, its encouraged! Only in this country we're fair about it. We let each lunatic have their chance every four years or so. Absolutely supported by the masses, and then looked on as, "this time it will be different." Is that not the quintessential definition of insanity? Maybe you and I are reading different version of the dictionary. I fully believe the Stars and Stripes should be retired and the Jolly Roger put in its place. Arrgh! Here be pirates I tell ya!

For all intents and purposes, I live outside society. Oh, I mingle with the masses, but I certainly am not part of the system. The view I have is one of absolute absurdity. The friend I am visiting likens this to “They Live”. There are monsters living among us, with subliminal messages everywhere. Until you don the ray bans, you cannot see them. The monsters look exactly like everyone else, but they are, without a doubt, monsters. We co-habitate with them, eventually birthing more monsters. And the monsters are in control, don’t doubt it for one second.

This is a Nation of emasculated men and entitled women. 40 year old little boys and little girls. Men so disgusted with themselves the only way they can feel like a man is when they are killing each other. Men with so little understanding of what it means to be a man, they lead others just like them into wars to kill. Packaging genocide as liberation, or the insatiable lust for natural resources. In reality its men, addicted to killing. The new designer drug, immensely addictive. Worse than any drug known to any society. Adrenaline. Power. The feeling of superiority. Blood lust. A drug insatiable, unquenchable. The women of this Nation, finally understanding they are the superior species, shoving that understanding down the throat of every man they encounter. Assisting in the creation of mindless murderers by feminizing every masculine tendency. Up in the face of the perceived enemy, daring them to retaliate. And they are retaliating. Not against those who denigrate them. No, that would be wrong. Instead, lets start a war with any other society and murder the lot of them. Finally, release. Civilized, aren’t we?

Here is the depressing part. There is a way out of this all consuming conflagration we have ignited. The soul crushing aspect of the entire equation. There is no lock on the door. No bars of steel. Hell, there aren’t even doors! The elite few have convinced the masses to lock themselves in a cage created in the mind. Happily trading self respect for 500 channels. However, this rant, my point, is mute.

Not one individual is going to do a damn thing. Oh, I may have raised someones ire, but it isn’t like anything is actually going to change. The monsters know it, as I'm sure they are reading this. Laughing themselves into fits of agony, while those with the real power slip back into their stupor. The food is poison, the air toxic. Forget about the water. That which is every living thing on this planet. Go on back to bitching about what no one has the balls to change. Reattach that chain to your neck, return to the cottons fields of the imagination, and contemplate not the compassion of your masters. They don’t have any.

Excuse me now while I light my cigarette, manufactured by the elite for pennies and sold at 10 times its value. I now return you to the next exciting episode of the most sublime comedy ever, laughingly entitled, “America, the Greatest Country on Earth!”

Thursday, July 7, 2011


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.