The Mind of Clown Boy........

Change Your Own Damn Oil!

2011-12-18T10:45:00.002-06:00

Anyone else ever realize something and then realize everyone else already knows that? Somehow you managed to go through your whole life, oblivious to what appears obvious. Happens to me all the time. My presumption is, because I have been alone most of my life, with little to no, mostly no, parental or maternal guidance, I missed out on a whole lot of things most folks simply take for granted. With no elders to instruct or grandparents with the wisdom of years to share, I have been left to my own devices, trying to make sense of things apparently known to the rest of my cognitive species. Makes me wonder how I have made it to almost 50. Then I look around me and realize I'm not the only one. There are many more exactly like myself. Millions of us, clueless, bumbling through this existence, zero guidance offered or even available. I'm amazed we haven’t blown up the factory yet.

My mind being what it is, I simply cant just leave something alone. If something makes no sense, you can guarantee I will regurgitate it until it does. Or at least make sense to me. Never could simply accept anything. So what if it quacks like a duck, walks like a duck? Doesn’t mean its a duck. Might be a platypus. Rest assured, I will reach deep into that fount of unknowing and drag it to the surface, all wet and wiggling, and shake it and poke it until I'm damn sure its a duck. Or a platypus. I have this annoying tendency to use my head for something besides a hat rack. I admit, thinking for myself has landed me in the soup more than once. But I feel so much better about myself when I do. Yes, that was heavy sarcasm.

So here is one that has been slapping around in my cranium for a few decades. I've heard it numerous times, from thousands of sources, and it hasn’t added up. A medicine person, or a holy person, will never tell you they are. Will never admit to it. Okay, why? The common answer given is humility. The prevailing understanding that to hang a title on oneself immediately nullifies the position. Okay, that makes sense. Sort of. However, isn’t that redundant? If an individual is chosen to live such a responsibility, wouldn’t they first have to prove they are a humble person? How could an arrogant, self involved individual be tapped to fulfill such a demanding role? Granted, this makes the assumption that a) there is something more than what can be physically quantified and b) that something has a vested interest. Therefore, if that something does exist, and does have an interest, would that something not look for those who could live a humble existence, not interested in fame, fortune, titles and notoriety? Yes, there are many, especially today, who claim to be. However, even a cursory glance proves they are completely full of shit. Their claims are nothing more than delusions of grandeur; usually attempts at being what they wish they were, due mostly to lack of confidence and self esteem.

When you think about it, something doesn’t add up. Why wouldn’t someone admit to it, if they were? Not referring to those who think they are, but the real ones. It seems such a beautiful way to be. Granted, they aren’t broadcasting it to the high heavens, but if asked, why not smile a beatific smile and nod, exuding a knowing instantly perceived as true? A life spent in service to all of existence, giving completely of themselves, a life of total self sacrifice and altruism? Why are the real ones so damn surly? Whats with the cranky, go away you're annoying me attitude? Having traveled extensively, I have had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting a few real ones. By and large, they're assholes. Don’t get me wrong, they are great people. Warm, loving, caring, compassionate. Beautiful people really. But assholes. At the same time. Especially when it gets around to them doing what they do. What gives here? I come to you, supplicating, needing what you have been gifted, and you’re treating me like something you scraped off your shoe? The math makes no sense.

Well, try this on for size. You have a need, they have a way for that need to be satisfied. A healing, knowledge, direction. Whatever. But, for everything taken, something must be given. If nothing else, balance prevails. That law appears to be universal. I've seen it everywhere, in every situation. Regardless of where I have been or am, regardless the situation. Balance is always reasserting itself. The one unequivocal, undeniable truth. With that said, there then must be balance here to. When that logic is applied, things begin to make a little more sense. You need fixing. They can help. However, someone has to take it in the teeth. In other words, there is an ass whipping due. You are going to get the good stuff. They get the ass whipping. For you. Balance. You think after thirty or forty years they might get a little cranky? You think they might get a tad bit surly when someone brings a problem about as serious as a broken fingernail? Waaaa, I got a boo-boo. What? They are supposed to take an ass whipping for something you could fix your damn self if you just got off your ass and did it?

Look at it this way. Somebody you know is a pretty good mechanic. Doesn’t work as a mechanic, but they are as good, most of the time better, than anyone certified at the local dealership. However, they don’t tell anyone. Why? Because if they did everyone would be beating on their door, asking them to fix their car. For free. Eventually, that shits going to get annoying as hell. Even more so when its something simple, like changing the oil. Anyone can do it. Most are too damn lazy. With that box of crayons, now the platypus is starting to look like a duck. Here is someone who can assist you, will assist you, but dammit make it something serious, okay? Otherwise, change your own damn oil.

Most understand the person cant do a damn thing. They are just a person. However, that something that has a vested interest can. Modern science is always trying to figure out how things like cancer, diabetes even aids can be cured in traditional ceremonies. What they never realized is it isn’t the ceremony, or the individual presiding over it. What is curing the incurable is that something. That intangible unknowing. The individual presiding is only a conduit. That individual is all too aware of that fact, and just as aware there is going to be a price to pay. Just as aware they aren’t going to get paid. When the bill comes due its their ass. For me, that puts things into a whole new perspective.

If you need, go. There are real ones. Good luck finding them. Even better luck dealing with them. Or being dealt with by them. Remember what it is going to cost them to help you. If it is something you can do on your own, do it. If not, think long and hard before asking. Contemplate deeply on what it is going to cost. Not you, them. What are you asking them to suffer, all on your behalf? Are you so willing to put someone through that much pain? This rant isn’t to keep anyone away from those who are real. Quite the opposite actually. The idea here is for you to come to a better understanding the consequences. In this push button, give it to me now society, the consequences of our actions are rarely, if ever, considered. So yes, go. But, remember what you are going to put them through. Maybe it isn’t too much to offer a bit of tobacco, a little food, hell even a thank you. That is, of course, if you don’t have a hold of a platypus.

Welcome to your Meat Suit

2011-12-01T17:55:00.000-06:00

Some time has passed since I last wrote. Much has happened in that time. Some good, some ugly, but that’s life, isn’t it? Regardless how beautiful the field, go far enough and eventually you will step in a pile of crap. This leaves you with two choices. Rant and rave, pissed off over something you never had control of in the first place or scrape off the poo and move on. If you're fortunate, maybe you will find a creek to rest beside, washing off the remnants, to where your misadventure becomes nothing more than a bad memory. In time, that too will fade.

On and on we go, traversing valleys and precipices, on this journey called life. One certainty presides over us all. No one gets out alive. From my perspective, that's a good thing. Seventy or so years of this is enough. Immortality would be a curse. A never ending cycle of highs and lows, with time inexorably speeding up each year. By two hundred it would seem each day was passing in a blink. Enough to drive anyone mad. A great movie I watched on this subject, “The Man From Earth”. Well worth the watch if you have the time. Some believe death to be the bane of human existence. As though it is something to be feared. I see death as the ultimate gift. A gift to be welcomed, and looked forward to. Not to infer I am suicidal. I deeply appreciate this gift of life, and the privilege to experience reality in this form. However, I do look forward to it ending.

It has always been my understanding what you do today is what matters. Living life remembering life allows a person to stagnate. Stuck in the past, reliving traumas that never healed. Never becoming all one was created to be. One thing I have learned, the past lives only if you continue to feed it. Remembering the torments and tormentors, giving them status and presence, as though they remain in existence. Reanimated corpses of long dead agony. Ethereal ghosts of the mind. To exorcise these demons is the simplest of processes. Let them go. Yet many define their existence by these events. Missing the experience of being human by allowing an experience while being human to contain them. No one said this was going to be easy. If it were anyone could do it.

Some live their lives imagining their lives. Dreaming of what they may become. Never fully realizing who they are. So caught up in the dream of what they may yet one day achieve. Struggling so hard to be more, to have more. To become something they do not need to be to impress those they don’t want to be. All the while their lives pass them by. Moments like drops of rain, washing away each experience squandered. Interestingly, they never seem to get there. That far off horizon never reached. Until that final moment, when its time to go, realizing all that was missed. Too late to turn back.

One other option I have witnessed are those whose lack of self esteem and sense of self drives them to live their imagination. Before the advent of the internet, this was a rare occurrence, and typically society at large noticed these individuals and gave them a comfy place to live, complete with padded walls and nice people in white coats to care for them. An existence perpetually medicated, unquestionably deluded. “I'm Napoleon!” Of course you are. If you will step this way we have just the place for you to conquer.

Now exists all the tools necessary to become anything one can imagine. To create for themselves an entirely new persona, history and even physical appearance. Some go so far as to actually believe their imaginations, and then transfer that imagination to the real world. Living life so deluded they forget who they really are. Demanding the populace at large accept them as what they imagine themselves to be. So caught up in their fantasy they have given their fantasy life, fully expecting all to accept their fantasy as well. Dr. Frankenstein would be in awe of the monsters some have created.

Some of the more absurd I have seen are those who proclaim themselves Native American. Really? Look at yourself. Look at true First Nations People. Do they look like you? In any way? The color of their hair and eyes, shape of nose, mouth and face. Does anything of their countenance look anything like yours? It is one thing to be genetically Native. To be a descendant of the First Nations People. Hell, after 500 years or so of European occupation, mix marriages and of course all the Cherokees who traveled the continent banging everyone’s great grandmother, I expect most everyone who can trace their linage back a few generations will find an Indian in the woodpile. That however, does not make you “Native American”. There is a vast difference between being genetically Native, and being culturally Native. If I have to explain the difference, you would never understand it. Nor would you accept it. It is astounding the lengths some will go to in order to defend their delusion. In my travels I have heard the most outlandish of stories used to defend pale skin, blonde hair and blue eyes. I cannot tell you how many times I have had someone stand before me, so obviously of English, Irish, French, Scandinavian and Asian descent, demand I accept their ludicrous lamentations of being Native American. Fools like this may as well don a pirate costume and exclaim arrgh! all day. You look as foolish, and yes, everyone is laughing at you. Do you get how ridiculous you sound when you walk into a room, blonde hair and blue eyes, and make the declaration of being “Native American?” You really are embarrassing yourself. And providing comic relief to some of the more cynical, like myself.

Riddle me this, oh special one...what the hell is so wrong with being who you are? If you're white, be proud to be white. Or black or yellow or purple with green polka dots for that damn matter. There are two species of human, with four subgroups in each species. Be proud of you. Obviously, if you have a belief in a higher power, that higher power made you what you are. Therefore, are you so petulant, arrogant and pretentious to inform that higher power it was wrong? Doesn’t that mind set immediately nullify your higher power? How can it be a higher power if it is fallible? Isn’t the concept of infallibility indicative of a higher power? Or is that to logical and I, along with the rest of the world, am supposed to believe you were Pocahontas in a former life, you're immortal and are simply continuing your existence?

Most existing in their pit of self delusion are harmless. Well, maybe to themselves and a few in their families, but to the world at large they have little to no effect. Others however cause irreparable damage. Certainly those who portray themselves as Native American teachers and leaders. Accepting and initiating invitations from those who know no better in order for them to pontificate their delusions. South Park recently aired an episode. I liked to have passed out laughing when introduced as a Native American in walked the stereotypical white guy with a headband. Watch the episode, then look at the fool you invited to teach the children all about Indians. Sound familiar? The last woman I dated actually pulled out a book about Frank Fools Crow and proceeded to inform me, based on her perception that book was an instruction manual, on how I am supposed to conduct myself. The incredulous look on my face should have been enough. The real nut buster? She was a mental health professional! Let that sink in a moment, I'll wait.

OK, on we go. Still with me? Good. You know who is real good at playing Indian? Indians. When all you have to feed your family is the knowledge of culture, many see that knowledge as a commodity. And there are thousands upon thousands oh so willing to buy. Leave the rez, become a God. Or stay on the rez, because every year there will be a new crop of the urban confused more than willing to open their wallets and dispense every dime they don’t have for all that spiritual knowledge. Many know there is no substance to what they are buying, yet they continue to support it for fear of not having it. Even if it is hollow and empty, convinced its acceptable. Watching as women are abused, children broken, their men emasculated. Accepting what they know is blatantly wrong because the individual they are deifying has claimed to be a medicine person, head man of a non existent society they made up in their minds or some other foolish nonsense. These individuals know all the right words, can imitate all the right gestures. Some have even convinced themselves they are what they pretend to be. On and on it continues, eroding the very fabric of the culture they are selling, until all that exists is a facade of what once was.

A true Holy Person would never reveal themselves today. This society, those so convinced of what is or isn’t, would crucify them. Many times I have witnessed the Sacred reveal itself. Sad to say, I have had the unfortunate displeasure of watching as the Sacred was used to defile the Sacred. Like petulant children, “I didn’t want that color!” This circle attacking that circle. One claiming to be, while denigrating the next. If Christ himself walked through the door most would put a bullet in him. And exactly like children at Christmas, so busy playing with the box they ignore what was in it.

Here is how this works. The person chosen is the box. Chosen, not those who choose for themselves. They are the receptacle the power is housed in. They are simply a human, like anyone else. No magic powers, no special gifts. Just a person, acting the fool, being human. Until ceremony. Then the human steps aside, the box is opened and out comes the gift. The power. These unfortunate few are exceptionally difficult to find. Living a life of abject poverty, in constant misery and sadness. Knowing their lives are no longer theirs to live. Understanding as much as they are capable that they are now nothing more than a box. Waiting for someone to come and open them. Only to return to a life of torturous loneliness. But wait mr. hawk, that’s not how the books and movies portray it. Its all love and light, warm and fuzzy, with group hugs and effusive accolades. Everyone gets a trophy. If you will indulge me a second? Please return to a previous exercise. Find a mirror, look deeply into your eyes. Now, tell yourself, “I am an idiot.” Rinse and repeat as necessary until comprehension dawns.

True healing hurts. A lot. Any medical professional will tell you, and I am certain you have heard at least once, it has to hurt before it gets better. Do you honestly think it is any easier spiritually then it is physically? Traumas that have existed for 20 or 30 years, being forcefully ripped out of you. Nothing about that suggests warm and fuzzy, unless of course your into that sort of thing.

I guess the point to this rant is be you. Whatever you were created to be. Obviously, there is a point to you, or you wouldn’t exist. Yes, you are a little snowflake, unlike any other snowflake that has been or ever will be. In all of time, that ever existed or ever will exist, there is and only ever will be, one you. How freaking cool is that? So why in all that is sacred would you want to be someone or something else. That robe you wear, the flesh, your meat suit, its the only one. Okay, so it isn’t perfect. It has flaws and discrepancies. But then, isn’t it supposed to? If you believe you were created, not hatched, then you were created to be exactly what you are. What happened, happened. Use it for beauty, instead of wallowing in it and emanating the ugliness of it. Find a way to turn ugly into beauty. Don’t worry so much about what you might be. Hell, you probably wont ever become it, and if you did you probably wont like it. You were made to be exactly what you appear to be. Yes, we all want to be more. But more shouldn’t be different. More should be better. So ask yourself, is what you are better?

Water Balloons

2011-08-25T08:51:00.000-05:00

So, here is one for you. Many times I have folks come to me. Tell me the goofiest crap. Many come and tell me all they know about everything, and want to instruct me on all they know. As if I'm a dumb ass and I should fall all over myself because this numbnuts standing in front of me chose to impart upon me their great and celestial wisdom. Yeah, right. Up until a few years ago they were hanging out in the bars raising hell and not giving a damn about anything spiritual. One day they woke up, started learning and less than five years later, they got it all. Well, ain’t that special? Personally I don’t ever want to be that special. Sounds like way too much responsibility to me.

Basically what they are saying is they have learned it all. Applying this push button self service give it to me now way of life most exist in today to a spiritual understanding. One day they woke up and ta da! Instant enlightenment. Some folks are just out of their ever loving minds. Does anyone think for one second anyone could handle that comprehension immediately? Imagine your mind as a 2 liter pop bottle. Now instantly fill it with all the water in the oceans. What do you think is going to happen to that bottle? Yep, it would explode. And so would your mind. Pop like a water balloon. Remember when we were kids, filling balloons with water? We had to get the pressure just right. Invariably we always broke one or two, filling them too fast or too much. Slowly, just a trickle, until enough water had created the perfect bomb to drop off a second story window on some unsuspecting childhood companion. This is spiritual understanding. You are the balloon.

Another side of this is I hear how folks want to see things. Come into lodges and ceremonies, desperately seeking to see. Did you forget about the other 4 senses? Sometimes you will see Them. Maybe you will smell them, taste them (that one is always weird), hear them, feel them. We have a tendency to expect Them to do what we want. Come in a way we want. Ha, like that is ever going to happen. They come Their way. Our responsibility is to put away our preconceptions and let Them show us. That's a tough one for many.

Into this conversation, lets insert Elders. Folks who “woke up” in their 30's or 40's and are now in their 80's and 90's. They have had many years to let that trickle of understanding fill them to the right consistency and volume. Now they can be dropped on some unsuspecting fool, exploding understanding all over them. Years they have spent, learning to perceive Them as They chose to show Themselves. Through sight, touch, taste (still weird), sound, smell.

Into all of this stew of course is religion. The word of itself makes me hack. A few special folks, organizing spiritual understanding into a dogmatic form, telling everyone how it is and how they should do it. Really? Don’t think so. That perception has of course tainted traditional understanding as well. Many times I've had folks tell me so and so is a medicine person and I have to do what they tell me. According to this “medicine person”, Creator came to them and told them to tell me I had to do this, that and the other. Huh. Why did Creator tell them? Why not tell me? Regardless of how thick headed I might be, I'm sure an entity older than time itself can come up with some way of getting my attention. It would seem to me the Elders, the true Medicine People, their responsibility is to guide me in what was shown to me. Assist me in completing the task asked of me. Not standing there telling me what I have to do.

See, I'm not much good at following other folks. When someones steps up and says God told me to tell you, I'm immediately skeptical. So, God told you huh? Prove it. If this person is what they say they are, that shouldn't be a problem. If God gave them the ability to hear what the rest of us can't, I'm sure God gave them the ability to prove it. Are they so much better than the rest of us only they can hear God? Remember, your experiences made you who you are. Their experiences made them who they are. You aren’t them, they aren’t you and I’m pretty sure you both see the picture differently. Unless they can spread wings and fly or do something just as dramatic, it would seem they are just a person, like anyone else. Therefore, if they are just another human like the rest of us, where do they get off telling us what God said? Sounds like an ego trip to me.

Remember, its only a trickle. Just a little water, filling up the balloon that is your mind. None of us can handle instant understanding. Your head would explode. Just because someone says they are something doesn’t necessarily mean they are. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. Simply because a person tells you to do something doesn’t mean you have to do it. If God, Creator, Tunk'sila, what ever name you choose to apply to that entity wants you to do something, I'm pretty sure that entity will find a way to tell you. I don’t think that entity has to go to another person to go to you. Why would there need to be a middleman?

Trick is, after They come to you, tell you something, now what the hell do you do? Too many idiots out there who think they are what they ain’t. Now your left with a revelation, and no clue as to what to do with it. Unfortunately, there aren’t many true Elders and Medicine People who can guide you, assist you, in what you need to do. Here is a suggestion. Bring it to who you think you should. If that person gives you some long drawn out flowery explanation, don’t do it. What you need is the one who sits there and when you ask them what you are supposed to do, their response is they don’t know. When they say lets take it into ceremony and see what They have to say about it, you're probably talking to the right person. About the only way I have seen where it works out. Then it isn’t the person telling you what to do, its Them. The other side, who spoke to you in the first place. Makes more sense to get it straight from the source than through another human. But, it is each individuals choice. Guess there are folks too afraid to do it themselves, they have to have someone tell them how to do it. Of course, there are those who think of themselves so highly they need folks who are afraid, so they can tell them what to do and feel superior. The only thing that scares me is Them. That and humans who think they are special.

Faith...Now There Is A Thought.....

2011-08-17T08:40:00.000-05:00

I have been living this life for many years now. Been too many places to count. Seen so many faces they are beginning to blur. Six of one, half dozen of another, all and all it has been one hell of a ride. They came for me at 11, and my life hasn’t been the same since. Not that I'm bitching mind you. But I do often wonder who I would be, what I would be doing, if They hadn’t. So many interests come and gone. So many different directions that could have been. Regardless, this is what They want, and I accept it, gladly. Kicking and screaming at times, but I guess that is to be expected. They never said it would be easy. As a matter of fact, They specifically said it would be difficult. Very, very difficult. I give thanks for that, for the pain and suffering. The privilege to live this way. Grateful for all given, never asking for a damn thing. I live in my faith. It defines me, makes me who and what I am.

Faith. Easy to talk about. A son of a bitch to live. Faith is one of those things that either is or isn’t. There is no gray. Totally black and white. Either you have faith or you don’t. Either you believe, or you don’t. Not a little, not “well, maybe this piece but not that one.” With faith its all or nothing. Took me many years to get that. I can now say my faith is unshakeable. I give credit to Them for everything. When I lose something, need help with something, have a “sudden” understanding. First thing, I thank Them. I know it came from Them, not me. I ain’t that clever.

This is where I get confused. I see many of my Relatives, who profess faith, yet lack the ability, the initiative or the comprehension to live it. Some don’t live their faith because of fear. Which is one hell of a contradiction. If you believe what is there to fear? Many confuse organized religious practices with spiritual beliefs. That one stupefies me regularly. What the hell? Okay, so someone says they are spiritual, but everything they do is religious. Doesn’t make sense to me. So many are seeking, looking for the direction. So many have found the church, synagogue, temple to be empty. What they need to fill that void simply isn’t there. Duh. Its a building built by men, controlled by men. Of course its empty and hollow. How can anyone find anything more than an echo in an empty building? Usually it turns into a fashion show, or an ego fest. Some figure that out, and turn to the original instructions. The traditional ways of being. Unfortunately they bring all their religious bad habits with them.

Take instructions for example. Eventually you find yourself at a place, with someone who is supposed to be a Leader or Medicine Person. Let me tell you now, there are very, very few real ones walking this rock. Most who say they are with no doubt are absolutely full of shit. The majority of those few that could be are predators. Yeah, I said it. Too many who could be have forgotten what was given was given for the People, not the person. Feeding off those who are starving for some direction, some understanding. Every year its a new crop of the urban confused, wallet in hand looking for the fast track to enlightenment. Freaking depressing. I’ve seen it thousands of times. The conversation usually goes “so and so from such and such told me I had to a) dance for this many years b) go on the hill for this many days c) do this certain ceremony d) make this many prayer ties.” Every time it comes with a price tag. Always,eventually, their phone rings because so and so from such and such needs money. Huh. To me that speaks volumes.

Yes, the real medicine people live very pitiful, humble lives. They have nothing, because they give everything away. However, they always have what they need. Their faith sustains them and they don’t have to ask. For anything. When its needed, its provided. Every time. So that dispenses with the so and so from such and such needing money. If they needed it, and they actually are what they claim to be, it will be provided. Why would they have to ask? I don’t think They want them sitting in the casino wasting the cash you gave them.

The other side of that is the fact that so and so from such and such told you what you had to do. Wait a second, isn’t that person just that? A person. How the hell would they know? Isn’t that exactly like some preacher telling you what you have to do? If its something you are supposed to do, why wouldn’t They tell you? That is the spiritual understanding, isn’t it? That when you begin to live the original instructions, They will come to you, tell you what you need to know, need to do. Most are too anxious, too impatient, to wait and grow. Most want it now, immediately, today. Do you honestly think your mind could handle all that understanding right now? Your head would explode. Its a little at a time, piece by piece. Doing what you are told to by Them, building your faith. This is why it takes years. Why there are Elders.

That in no way discredits visions and dreams. Actually, that is the point. This is Them talking to you. This is Them instructing you. Not so and so from such and such. You being given what you need, as you need it. Then, you find a true interpreter. Someone who isn’t feeding their ego, isn’t feeding off the Relatives. In a sacred place, in a sacred manner. This is how you learn what to do with what was shown. Interpreting your own visions and dreams is a sure way to screw things up. You can't, simply because you will interpret it in a way that suits you. Your interpretation will be biased. You cant make it not biased. So you find someone who truly is, and leave you out of it. Those who really are will, in ceremony, speak with Them on your behalf. Those who are understand it isn’t the person. They leave the human out of it. The interpreter is the telephone and you are dialing them, calling the other side. What comes through are instructions for each individual. Unbiased. This is how you know what the dreams and visions meant. This is how you know what to do with the information. This is how you learn to live the original instructions.

Just because someone is from somewhere, or has a title or position doesn’t make them any more than anyone else. The idea is to make them less. Take everything you think you know and turn it upside down. Those who are true Leaders, Medicine People, they get that. They have nothing, but faith. Their faith is what sustains them, provides for them. They don’t have to ask you for anything. They simply live to serve, and in serving they live. They will be the first to tell you they don’t know. How the hell could they? They are a person, like you, like me, like anyone else. No individual can tell you. It has to come from the other side. It has to come from faith. Either you have it or you don’t. So, who are you listening to? A person, who you provide gambling money to? Or are you really listening to Them? Have you taken what was shown into ceremony? Come to an unbiased understanding? Are you doing what They told you to do, or what another human told you to do?

Men & Women....What A Combination!

2011-07-31T08:00:00.000-05:00

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?

Dust Off Your Fairy Wings!

2011-07-27T09:42:00.000-05:00

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 over...here. 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 that...you 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
essence!

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
flyer.

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,
Victoria

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.

Is You Is or Is You Aint?

2011-07-26T08:13:00.000-05:00

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.

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

2011-07-23T07:53:00.000-05:00

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.

Idiots, and The Confused Who Follow Them

2011-07-20T06:51:00.000-05:00

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.

Native Wisdom...or Some Twisted Version of It

2011-07-19T08:29:00.000-05:00

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?

Respect of the Sacred Feminine

2011-07-17T09:36:00.000-05:00

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.

Details of a Few Others

2011-07-15T07:47:00.000-05:00

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.

Me, Myself and a Few Others

2011-07-14T07:47:00.000-05:00

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.

Elitist Ignorance

2011-07-13T07:52:00.000-05:00

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.

Collective individuality

2011-07-12T07:43:00.000-05:00

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.

Bridging Comprehension

2011-07-10T07:32:00.000-05:00

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?

Insanity

2011-07-09T06:46:00.000-05:00

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!”

Survival

2011-07-07T07:07:00.001-05:00

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.

Painting a Picture

2011-07-06T14:28:00.000-05:00

All is quiet here for now. Arrived late last night, around 11 pm. What a drive. Seems the older I get, 48 this year, the harder the road gets. Then again, I don’t remember anyone saying this was going to be easy. Life, its either something you do, or something that gets done to you. The interesting part is many never figure out they have a choice. Too busy wallowing in the pain of yesterday, remembering their lives. Or captured in the fantasy of tomorrow, imagining their lives. Somehow they forgot all about today, about this one moment, and without a notice it passes them by.

This morning I met the neighbor of the friend I have come to visit. Intelligent, with deep insights and a passion of philosophical discussions. Are there any other kind? Maybe, if the so called Leaders of this world delved into a few, instead of pontificating on how it will be, they might actually come to a conclusion and rectify some of the hell most of us live in. But that’s a philosophical discussion in itself, isn’t it?

We were discussing mental illness, and those who suffer from it. The sufferings perception. She was informed by a close member of her family, recently diagnosed as schizophrenic, she went crazy because God came into her mind. Wow. The idea makes such perfect sense. What human mind, operating at 10% capacity, could host the intelligence of a superior existence. Reality would crack.

This conversation took me back immediately to the first time it happened to me. I have known all my life I am a First Nations descendant. I can remember conversations as child, being instructed to never forget. Although I did not grow up with my siblings, in a family of us, I remembered those instructions. I have never forgotten. The first 30 some years of my life, I did absolutely nothing with that knowledge. Like the color of my hair, the color of my eyes. Something known but never deeply pondered. I was the opposite of what is so prevalent today. I was a Native pretending to be a white guy! Married the perfect white woman, had the perfect home in the suburbs, drove the perfect vehicle.

In 1993, that changed, and drastically. My home at the time had a furnished basement, which I used as an office. I was there one Saturday afternoon, around 2 pm, working on the books for my business. Suddenly, I wasn’t there anymore. I was standing on the prairie. Buffalo grass to my waist, blowing gently in the wind. A clear summer afternoon. I looked to the West, and fear encircled my heart with an icy grip to rival that of the Reaper himself. I could not see the west for the Thundercloud coming to me. Not over it, below it or around. It was the West. Utter darkness stretching from horizon to horizon. Lightning, wind, rain and hail. Leading this horrifying visage, coming straight at me, was the largest, blackest bird I never imagined. Flashing eyes, a beak designed to shear flesh from bone. Later I would learn it was a Thunderbird. Just before this Thunderbird hit me, my fear building as though I were watching a needle get closer and closer to my eye, slam, back into my body.

I was left dazed and confused, sitting in my basement. Nothing like this had ever happened to me before. I had done nothing to initiate it. I had no frame of reference. I have since learned many thing about what happened to me then. The journey to that understanding has been, lets say, interesting? Momentarily I hosted the intelligence of a superior entity.

Did it make me crazy? Did I lose my mind? Some would say, oh hell yeah! Mr. hawk is, if nothing else, bat shit insane. Maybe its true crazy people don’t know they are crazy. I certainly don’t think so. Nor do I think this journey, my vision of a unity of the mix bloods is insane. I absolutely believe its possible. I see it, feel it, taste it. I comprehend the effects, and the beauty it will render, to all our relatives. I wonder, is there a way I can paint this picture for you?

Release

2011-07-05T06:49:00.000-05:00

Before coming to South western Pennsylvania, I had been traveling the country. Many beautiful experiences. Elders and Medicine People. I have never had a traditional home or family. Many siblings, but no family. But these are stories for another time. During this period of constant traveling, I began my journey as a Sundancer. Something I fought tooth and nail before winding up at the Tree of Life, wondering how the hell I got there. Let me share with you what was shared with me.

I had been in middle Tennessee, at a gathering of relatives from around the country. Not blood relatives mind you. Indian Country has a saying, coming from the Lakota. We are all related. These are the relatives I speak of. For three days we gathered together in prayer and ceremony. A yuwipi man had come from Pine Ridge. This would be my first yuwipi and the friend who's yard I was camping in would be singing. Jokingly we often referred to him as a Lakota jukebox. Seemed he knew every song and then some. The basement of our host had been set up, and as many as could crowded in. Windows blackened, the door sealed. In total darkness the yuwipi man lay upon the altar he was given responsibility for. The singing began and the Ancestors came. Half the time I tried to convince myself what I was seeing was real. The other half denying it. Lights flashing, creatures in the dark moving about. Exclamations for those assembled who were being touched. It was an awe inspiring ceremony.

When the final day passed and all had collected their belongings, each departed to where they had come from. Not having anywhere to go home to, I moved on to the next ceremony. A healing ceremony was taking place on the Boundary. Qualla, the Eastern home of the Cherokee People. A healer had come down from Rosebud. An invitation was extended and I accepted. Hell, didn’t have anywhere else to go, and Qualla was close, only a few hours drive down the highway.

In my travels I had attended other ceremonies. I supported at Sundance, witnessed what these men were suffering through. I had experienced the power that emanates from the circle. But there was no way in hell I was doing it. I'm a cripple for gods sake, can barely walk, and I sure as hell ain’t going to make one day amongst these men, so willing to lay down their lives for the People. Such courage and strength. A young man, pierced through the back, hanging in the tree. Eagle fans in each hand, dancing! Dancing on the air, smiling and laughing. Those eagle wings flying him to someplace only he could see. My heart simply burst. Where does one find the courage, the strength to give so much?

The ceremony at Qualla was being held for a Elder woman who was sick with cancer, and she didn’t have long to live in this world. Soon she would be going home, to her Ancestors who were waiting. We prayed, all of us together, more I believe for those who would be left behind. In the lodge medicine was passed of which we all were invited to partake. It was in this lodge, during the third round, came my initiation to Sundance. The lodge suddenly expanded to include the entire universe, and I was no longer there.

I found myself standing in the Sundance circle. Dancing in the South, pierced through the back. Singers had begun the water song. I could feel my pulse beating in unison. Dressed all in black, with a mask upon my face. My relatives under the dance arbor shade, standing, singing for me as my feet gently tapped a a two step rhythm on mother earth. In moments I returned. To the healing lodge, the prayers offered from love and compassion. Visions had been brought to me previously, so I was well aware of what had just happened. But Sundance? Oh no. And what was with this all in black thing? What was with the mask? I spent a few years, searching for answers to those questions, and many others. Many medicine people counseled me, but every time I got to the part of me in black with a mask, the conversation ended. The Elder I was with would turn cold as winter stone. Some actually walked away from me. Others refused to speak with me anymore. Well, ain’t this lovely. I'm shown this thing, have no understanding of it, and no one is telling me squat. Add to that Sundance. No way. That simply wasn’t happening.

Well, it did happen. In time I did dance that vision. Exactly the way it was shown. In time, much was explained, although there is still much much more I don’t know. I have learned, when I am able to handle it, when my mind has the ability to comprehend it, the understanding will come. Patience was not an easy lesson for me to learn. It usually takes a busload of pain before I finally get it. But I am getting it.

Today I live with another vision. A vision of us, the lost and forgotten, the unknown coming together as one. A vision of us unified, under The Buffalo Boy Foundation, dancing for all our relatives. Joining together all our strength, our courage and banishing forever this idea of individuality. Fulfilling a vision of all Nations joining together under the Tree of Life, where we can be again the once magnificent People we always have been. Pierced through our hearts this agony of separation. Its time to break my relatives. Four times to the tree. Now walk with me. Feel the ropes tug gently and allow them to release you. Into a new dawn, a new beginning, fulfilling the promise of the Seventh Generation. Break my relatives, break. I will catch you.

Going Home Together

2011-07-04T06:40:00.000-05:00

I'm sitting here this morning, as I do most mornings. Outside in a lawn chair, giving thanks for the day. Greeting those who walked before me, my Ancestors. A smoke, a cup of coffee. Superdog terrorizing the cat, and any other creature that gets his attention. Coming over for the occasional pat and scratch, then off again, determined to get that squirrel out the tree. On my mind, my prayer, is how. How do I do this? How do I get the attention of my lost relatives? Those like myself, with no tribal connection. Only a burning desire to return to what was, what should have never been taken away. I ponder often on how it must have been. When we were one.

I am only a man. With a broken heart and a dream. A burning desire to bring us together. How do immigrants come here, with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and within months have a home, a business? Six months ago they were flat broke, living in absolute poverty. Now look at them. How does this work? And it hit me like a brick to the forehead. Unity. Their people work together as one. All give a little, so none suffer. Beautiful. Now, why in the flying sam hell cant we do this? I cant read another story of a grandmother beaten. Another single mother abused and raped. Not one more teen suicide. My soul screams every time I see the young men branded with gang symbols. Branding themselves, like cattle. Hunting their own people. No opportunities, no direction. I cant live with the ugly anymore. There must be beauty here, somewhere.

My mind drifts back to my first Sundance. I tell you this not because I want to, but because I am asked to. Draw your own conclusions. My first dance was in the desert. Nothing like Sundance in August in the middle of the desert. This I don’t recommend. Many things happened at that first dance, one particular event pertinent. Sitting in my chair between rounds, resting, napping, The second day this was. Walking up to the arbor is this little Elder woman. No idea who she was, I had never met her before. She has just arrived to camp and was standing at the entrance to the arbor, greeting those she had not seen since the year before. This was my first time in this camp, and many I didn’t know. I watched her for a few moments, then returned to my nap. Through the fog of a half sleep came the call for dancers. Eagle bone whistle piercing the dry dusty air. Slowly, achingly, tired and sore I rouse myself from the chair. Time to dance another round. We line up, shuffling our way into the dance circle. As I pass this Elder woman, still standing and chatting at the arbor entrance, I black out.

One of the prayers I brought to Sundance that year was to know my mothers people. I had previously met my fathers. An Uncle who was the spitting image of my Dad, but that’s another story. What follows next is what I was told. I have no memory of it. Of those moments, approximately 10 minutes, I have no recollection. I spoke with that Elder, this small woman who seemed to emanate raw spiritual power. I spoke with her, in our language! I don’t speak our language. All I remember is slamming back into my body, her smiling face before me, a soft tinkling laugh, like bells in the arid noon day heat. Her words to me were, “I thought I was the only one here. Imagine, two people from Alaska meeting in the desert!” She is my Auntie, on my mothers side. A prayer answered.

We spent that Sundance together, and she couldn’t tell me enough stories. No words exist to describe the joy, the absolute rapture, I felt to my soul. We left that dance, she returning home to Alaska, to continue the work she had been called to do. Me back to Pennsylvania, continuing on as the Guardian of the White Buffalo. A few months passed and we chatted occasionally on the phone. She passing on knowledge, me opening my big fat mouth and saying something stupid. I'm human, what can I say? I didn’t grow up in the culture, like so many others. So much I didn’t, and still, don’t know. So much I learned.

Days passed, nights turned. Little happened and life continued as usual. Until the evening my Ancestors came for me. I lay sleeping when they came. To an island they took me, far to the north, off the coast of Alaska. Around me stood totem poles of all shapes and sizes. All manner of creatures, from real to fabled. I was standing amongst them, surrounded by them. Nothing other than these totem poles could be seen, other than the emerald green grass beneath my feet, the crystal blue sky of a crisp fall day. From the silence, a crackling, a splintering. The totem poles were coming apart! Each carved creature separating from the one above and below. To me they came, singing in many voices. They danced for me, welcoming me home. Welcoming me back to my People.

This is what I carry with me each day. What I so desire to share with all my relatives. But how? What can I do to get your attention? And I realized, I cant. It isn’t up to me. We don’t tell the Sacred, the Sacred tells us. We must only learn to listen, then do as we are asked. I'm listening. I wonder, are you? Can you hear them singing in many voices? Can you see them dancing? Welcoming you home, to your people? A call to the lost to come together, as one. A song to come home. Dance with me my relatives. Sing with me. Come home with me.

Following Instructions

2011-07-03T08:17:00.001-05:00

In March of 2006, I came to Western Pennsylvania. Been living on the road, ceremony to ceremony, powwow to powwow, socials, gatherings. Believe me when I say the last place I wanted to be was Pennsylvania. I had been in and out of this area since the late 80's. Didn’t like it here, and many of the mix bloods in the area certainly didn’t want me here. Much too much of a hard ass for them. Too rigid. I never could abide by the pixie dust and love and light brigade, and I wont hesitate to call a twinkie a twinkie. Tends to piss off the “lets play Indian crowd”. Didn’t care then, and still don’t. When I was told to come here you can believe the first thing I thought was “oh shit”. “Dammit all to hell” followed shortly thereafter.

Having lived thru what would kill most people, and certainly almost killed me several times, I've learned to do what I am told. There are consequences to our decisions. There is always a price to pay. A price for doing what is asked, and a price for not doing it. In my travels, I've learned the price for not doing what I'm told is usually worse. I knew coming to Pennsylvania would suck out loud, but its what I was being told to do, so I did. No knowledge or understanding of why. “They” aren’t under any obligation to tell us why. Only what. Its up to us to do it.

There I was, in a place I didn’t want to be, in an area I wasn’t wanted. Months passed, nothing happened, and I began to question my instructions. No one wanted me here, I'm being attacked from every direction, and life here, by then, had become unbearable. Obviously I missed something in the translation. I was out of here. The hell with this crap. I could go anywhere in the country and be shit on. I wasn’t staying here. I was going back to where the culture is still alive, in the right way. Set up an apartment, changed my bank account for my disability check, packed what little I had. Two days before I was supposed to leave, bang. A 16 year old kid, paying no attention to what he was doing drove into me head on at 70 miles an hour. As I'm laying in the street, smoking a cigarette, my first thought was “I am finally off this rock”. Not even close.

The accident left me with a broken neck. Spent an hour and a half in the ER, waiting. They wouldn’t treat me, because no one survives what had just happened to me. They figured I was a corpse with a pulse. Waiting for me to die. And agony? Oh god, you cant imagine the pain. Back is already broken in five places, now add a broken neck as the perfect accessory. I spent that hour and a half writhing in absolute agony. Nothing short of torture. When they finally realized I wouldn’t die, they transported me to another facility, fused my neck and told me it would be six months before I walked again. Four days in the ICU, two days in the recovery ward. On that sixth day I walked out of that hospital. To this day the doctor thinks he is a genius. I told him,”you don’t pray like I do”

Returning to the hospital for a checkup some days later, there was a newspaper laying on the chair, open at the front page. “White buffalo calf born in Farmington”. The light bulb went off. Now I knew why I had been sent to Pennsylvania. It took “them” breaking my neck to get my attention. And they had my full attention now. A few phones calls to some elders, a few real medicine people. Each laughing at me of course. Did I get it now? Uh, yes I did, thank you. Painfully, but comprehended.

Until May of this year, 2011, I kept that responsibility. Never once did I do anything that wasn’t honorable, with complete integrity. I understood, best as I could, every decision I made effected every relative on the planet. No drinking or drugging, which I had quit years before. No womanizing, chasing skirts, snagging. Something I had also quit years before. Always remembering the Sacred is not for sale. Not once did I sell out.

When I was instructed to leave in May 2011, actually more precisely “You have 48 hours to get out”, my first thought was “I'm done”. Going to find a little place in Mexico, and its cerveza and fish tacos for the rest of my life. Right, like “they” are going to let that happen. No, "they" have other plans for me. As usual, “they” aren’t saying why, just what. And here I am doing, immediately. Tired of breaking bones. That shit hurts.

This is my next chapter, in this ordeal lovingly referred to as my life. Bring the urban mix bloods together, as one force. Each of us, a light in the darkness. Together, we burn brighter than the sun. Like herding cats, but hey, a lot less painful than breaking something else. This then is what we will do. We will come together. We will unify. Under The Buffalo Boy Foundation, we will do the impossible.

The minimum amount an employer can legally pay someone today is $7.25 an hour. Social Security and Disability is at least $800.00, or there about. Now, explain to me why individually we cannot cut $5 or $10 a month out of this and send it to one organization we know we can trust, The Buffalo Boy Foundation? Why? Here's a thought. Keep your change from every purchase. Just the change. Every month, there is your contribution. Its hard to see where one person, living on only $700 or so a month, can possibly make any difference in this world. What many fail to realize is they can make a huge difference. When that difference is made together, as one.

This obviously begs the question, can we trust The Buffalo Boy Foundation? I wouldn’t know Jim Cortez from a can of paint. Have never met him. I do know Eli Tail. Sat through many ceremonies with him, and I have the utmost respect for him. He is everything you think of when you think “Grandfather". Why The Buffalo Boy Foundation? Because “they” told me. I've come to trust “them”. I've learned, albeit painfully, to listen to “them”, follow "their" instructions.

Who, exactly, are “they” and “them” mr. hawk? Listen closely, I'll tell you. About a year ago “they”came for me. Five I spoke with, while others watched. Ancients, who covered me with a dark blanket. They said “we have been watching you. How you care for the Elders, the young, the sick, those who need with never a thought for yourself. Regardless the suffering and sacrifice we have asked of you. You are now one of us”. How do I know this wasn’t a fitful dream? Because "they" wouldn’t let me awaken until I remembered "their" names. Names I have no reason to know, yet are now burned into my consciousness.

Therefore, by “their” instructions, this is what we are going to do, because “they” told us to. We, the scattered mix bloods of this country will come together, as one, unified under The Buffalo Boy Foundation. Each month we will send to The Buffalo Boy Foundation $5 or $10 dollars, more if we can. We will trust The Buffalo Boy Foundation. Give them a year. 12 months. We all have the potential. The trick is living up to that potential. If The Buffalo Boy Foundation screws it up, I have no doubt “they” will point us in another direction.

This is our time. We are the 7th generation. Our people, our culture, our way of life will rise again from the ashes of destruction wrought by the Doctrine of Discovery and Manifest Destiny. Colonization has seen its dying day, and we, the mix blood children of the First Nations People, are going to kill it. I'm out here, traveling amongst us. Anyone got a gas card I can borrow...indefinitely? Got places to go, relatives to see, idiots to piss off. I do have a Paypal account under my email (hawkgoodfire@yahoo.com). Anytime anyone wants to help me with gas, I ain’t saying no. Now, know this my relatives, I am coming. This is my responsibility, my next set of instructions. I am the car “they” are driving around. I will take this message of unity to each and every one of us. We will do this. We don’t have the tribal problems, although we do seem to enjoy attacking each other. No more fighting over scraps. Our table will be over laden. Our bounty plentiful. Here “they” come relatives. I hope you're ready.

The Dream Never Died

2011-07-03T08:16:00.001-05:00

Not to long ago there was a man who came among the people. Everyone has heard of him, hell they teach of him in schools even today. This man, an extraordinary man, came from the Shawnee Nation. Born not of the chiefs, with no hereditary status. Just another member of the Nation, who was so thoroughly fed up with the state of affairs in his time, he did the impossible. Looking around him he could see the despair and destruction of his People and he refused to accept it. He knew the Shawnee were not the only ones. He knew every Nation was suffering in the same way. One day he woke up, and said the hell with this shit. Not a chief, with no right or privilege to the title or position. A member of the Nation, like everyone else, but this man was unlike anyone else. With nothing more than brass and balls, he stepped up and did what had to be done and to hell with anyone who didn’t like it. Up to and including the Chiefs, the Council and the US Government.

This isn’t a story the begins long ago, in the time of the Ancients. This isn’t a parable, made up to teach a moral lesson. This man actually existed. Died in 1812. Think about that. 1812. 199 years from this year. If we assume the average life span is 70 years, we are talking less than 3 generations. Our parents generation, our grandparents generation and our great grandparents. Our Great Grandparents. This man was walking, talking and kicking ass when our great grandparents were alive! I don’t know about you, but I remember my Great Grandma. The locals referred to her as the crazy Indian woman who lived in the woods. She carried a side by side 20 gauge, and wasn’t afraid to use it.

This man, who simply would not lay down and go along to get along had a brilliant idea. He said we, the First Nations People, are sticks. Scattered and easily broken as individuals. But, put us together. Bundle us as one. Unbreakable. Then he took that idea to every Nation he could. From the Gulf to Canada and as far as the Lakota. To everyone in between. Many refused to join him. Fear of the government raining hell fire on the remnants of their People. Fear of losing the iron pots and steel sewing needles. All the innovations making life easy. No more war, no more death, rape and destruction. I don’t fault the Chiefs for making that decision. If they hadn’t, there would be even less of us today. Yet they were relying on a group of people to keep there word. A group that never had and to this day, still hasn’t. I think its safe to say they never will.

In a short time, this man brought the People of many Nations together. As one, unified, willing to fight and die to remain who they were. Refusal to assimilate and become what they weren’t. Refusal to go along and be “good Indians”. This man left his People and with those he brought together from the many Nations, they formed Prophetstown in 1808. A new Nation, a return to life as themselves, not what a newly formed government wanted them to be. A place that was spiritual, social and political. Their main goal was to halt US encroachment into Native lands. On November 7th, 1811, the newly formed government burned it to the ground. They paid a hell of a price. He paid a hell of a price. In a desperate bid to be themselves, to live as their Ancestors had lived. To keep the culture alive and so their children, our grandparents, would not forget who they were. His name was Tecumseh, and look at us now.

Beaten, broken, dispersed among the population. Our grandparents did forget, as did our parents. How many of us were taught who we are? How many of us have grown up, only to learn our true heritage when we became young adults? How many of us are still lost? What in the hell are we doing? The bundle has been broken. Someone figured out how to untie it, and then one by one, snap each stick in two. In less than 200 years, everything he fought for, everything he stood for, those with him stood for, is gone. Or is it?

Is there a way to put the bundle back together? Can we again become the unbreakable force we once were? Can we be again what he gave his life for, what all our Ancestors gave their lives for. Yes, I for one believe we can. I believe we aren’t broken. I believe the fire still burns, as hot as ever. I look around me and see my relatives of the many Nations beaten, but not broken. Scattered across this great country that bleeds with every step we take. Bleeds the blood of those who gave so much, gave their lives, so we could live. I see us again, as One People of many Nations, living the dream he gave his life for. Like this great man, I will travel from the Gulf to Canada,to the Lakota and beyond. I will bring his message of unity to those who will listen. Many will turn away. Fear of the government. Fear of losing the innovations that makes life easier.

I am not that great man. I certainly don’t believe some new age version of a reincarnation of the man. But I do believe in his dream, in his vision. I believe that vision is alive today. Burning in all of us. The lost, the forgotten, the unknown. I believe many more, like myself, believe that great mans vision. I'm not a chief. I have no right or privilege to the title or position. But like that great man, with nothing more than brass and balls, I will live to see us united, and to hell with those who dont like it, up to and including the Cheifs who have sold out, the Council that is corrupt and the US Government that only wants us dead.

Time To Weed The Garden

2011-07-03T08:15:00.000-05:00

Some time back, I saw this beautiful thing that was taking place. In the cities throughout this country, in the middle of asphalt and steel, are gardens. Set up by the community and cared for by the community. Everyone benefits from the garden, but it is also everyone’s responsibility to take care of the garden. I've thought about that for a long time. What a beautiful idea. Then I realized, we have our gardens too. The dominant society, notice I said dominant, not superior, made them ugly. But we, the First Nations People, have a way of turning ugly into beauty.

As of now, our gardens are overgrown with weeds, over run by rats and parasites. Yeah, I said it. They are going to kill me eventually anyway, so I may as well make sure I give them every good justifiable reason to murder my crazy ass. Back to our garden. There are many. Scattered throughout this country. And in our garden, there are still a few roses. Not many, fewer each year. Some die off, never found. Others are choked out, ripped out. Still others morph into weeds. I think that’s the one that hurts the most. We are the community. As it is now, we want to benefit from our garden, but no one is doing the maintenance.

Every year, a new crop of us descend upon the reservations. With dreams and visions, a burning desire to reconnect to our Ancestors. We are descendants. We can prove it. Old photos, paper trails, our family names on the roles. We have been separated from our People by three, four and even more generations. Yet, the blood burns just as hot in us. We all eventually hear that voice, feel that pull, to go home. So we load up our vehicles and head for the rez, desperately trying to answer that yearning inside us. No clue as to what or where, we just have to go. And we take. The rez, that’s where the culture is, the history is, the knowledge is. We arrive to these places of utter devastation, to take that culture, that history, that knowledge. We leave a few scraps of cloth, some tobacco, a few days meals. Then return to urban society, full of all we have stolen.

What most don’t begin to realize, usually until much later, is they have been played. There are those who know you are coming. They wait for you. They know exactly what monuments and places your are going to visit. For generations they have fed off you, and every year we never disappoint. We arrive, and they descend on us like a pack of wolves. Its how many survive until the next year, the next crop of urban breeds. Many, most, have nothing more than the culture to sell. They use it to feed their families. Except what they are selling is a watered down version. Just enough to satisfy our lust, but not enough to actually satisfy hunger. They have to keep us coming back every year.

We know the stats. 90% unemployment. 90%. What that means is 9 out of 10 people don’t have a job. 9 out of 10. And the 1 that does is working minimum wage, trying to support a family of 30 on $7.25 an hour. Our relatives have been isolated, separated from society. A entire group of people, caged with imaginary fences. No work, insufficient health care, ineffective education. No where to go, nothing to do and no way to get there if they could. Corrupt tribal governments keeping them that way. Taking loans from the bank, using reservation land as collateral, then defaulting on the loans. And little by little, the land is eaten away at the edges. Then here we come, trotting along in our vehicles that are all one color, with four matching tires and a recent oil change. Come to take the only thing that’s left. Come to take the fat.

So, what do we have our relatives don’t? We agree they have the culture, the history, the knowledge. What we have are jobs. A paycheck. As of May 2011, the unemployment rate in the country is 9.1%. More of us are working, verses more of our relatives that aren’t. We need a bridge between the two. A way to connect us to them. But what? How do we build this bridge? Where do we start?

We find a rose in our garden. Because the reservations are our garden. And the weeding needs done. Trapped in the middle of concrete and steel, islands amidst the asphalt. We are the community and it is our responsibility to care for our garden. We are out here, and for now we are running around like free range chickens. Hundreds of little groups here and there, all attempting to maintain our garden and every one failing. Like trying to soak the beach by reaching into a bucket and flinging droplets on the sand. Only to run back into the ocean to get another bucket. Futile empty attempts. And the damn firehouse is just sitting there. We, the urban mix bloods, have the capability of creating a deluge. We have the ability to grab that hose, and wash away the debris.

For years we have been seen as a commodity, something to be drained and fed upon, because there are always more where we came from. As long as we remain scattered and separated, this pattern will continue. Its well past time to break the pattern, to weed our gardens. But first, we have to find that rose. Just one rose, in the middle of waste and destruction. That rose has been shown.

The Buffalo Boy Foundation. This is our rose. This is our focus point. These are people we can trust, who know who needs help and where. Who know the predators, the drunks and druggies working us for their next fix. How many of us have met up with someone, been given just enough to keep us coming back, only to get that phone call, “hey, I need some money”. We think we are helping to pay the bills, but what we are really doing is providing them with money for the casino. We're buying the beer, and we don’t even realize it. And yes, we are being laughed at.

This is how this is going to work. We have the jobs, our relatives have the culture. This is our garden. Every one of us urban mix bloods are going to focus on the Buffalo Boy Foundation. We will unify under the Buffalo Boy foundation, as one entity. And there are millions of us. Give a million people a dollar, you effect nothing. Everyone has a buck. Conversely, take all those dollars and put them in one hat, now you have something to work with.

Every month, each of us, together, unified as one, will send a few dollars to the Buffalo Boy Foundation. $5, $10, $20, whatever. They will be our repository. All our power, our resources, focused in one place. Distributed to those who need, not those who feed on us. We will come when called, helping to build homes, create an economic base, rectify the health and education. Its our responsibility. It is our garden. We are responsible, and we will take responsibility. Imagine, millions of dollars, untouched by corporate greed. No government fingers. No corrupt officials and nepotism. Millions are sent to each reservation by this government every year. Where does it all go? Because our relatives sure as hell aren’t seeing it. Well, to hell with that idea. It doesn’t work. This will.

We can go back to what we were. I'm not talking about teepees and campfires. I mean go back to our pride, our dignity, our honor. Show this world who we really are. Stop taking the fat and start giving the fat. Those of us out here, living in this society. We have the jobs, the means, to do this. There is not one single reason we cant. Not one. All of us, together, contributing to one source. Because right now, we are part of the problem. Whatever excuse you are thinking of, its lame. Whether we are on disability, social security, pushing a broom or running a business. If you are getting a check, it is your responsibility to put into the pot. Then we pass this responsibility on to our children. So they know, when they get a job, a piece goes back to the garden. There are a few wealthy First Nations People. When they see what we are doing, they will join us, and the pot will get bigger. This can only grow. It cannot fail. All we have to do is do it. Right now. Today.

In time, when we show up, when our children show up, looking to connect again with their relatives, no one will be there waiting to feed on them. Our gardens, created out of wasteland. Once again flourishing. Our entire community, benefiting from our garden. Because our entire community is doing the maintenance. Now, give me one good reason why not? Just one. Together, unified as one, the strength of every one of us. What a beautiful garden it will be.

Jim Cortez
The Buffalo Boy Foundation
PO Box 1005
Mission, SD 57555
http://thebuffaloboyfoundation.org/Help-Native-Americans/Tipi.html

A Voice for the Urban Breed

2011-07-03T08:13:00.000-05:00

Breed, half breed, mix blood. Just a couple of the not so attractive labels we live with. Discarded, forgotten, many unknown. Ignored and pushed aside by our own People; forced to conform to a society we don’t accept. Caught, somewhere between two worlds, and accepted in neither. We are the bastard children of a forgotten People. Descended from the boarding schools and Indian Relocation Act. For all intents and purposes, we don’t exist. But when I look in the mirror, there I am. And I'm not the only one.

No doubt, we are the largest disenfranchised group of people in this country. No voice, no leadership, no unity. Scattered like leaves in the wind, with small pockets making futile attempts at assisting our Relations trapped in the federal prison camps known euphemistically as reservations. Much too busy fighting each other over what scraps we can scrounge up to actually accomplish anything. Attacking each other, destroying whatever good we try to accomplish, because someone isn’t “Indian enough”. Doesn’t fit the stereotypical image. Doesn’t abide by made up or imagined ideologies of what “real Indians” are like. Most have never been to a reservation. Many have never left their hometowns. Yet, through the propaganda of literature and movies, they know how it is and never hesitate to shove their confused and twisted concepts down everyone’s throat. Then ostracize those who refuse to conform.

We have groups and individuals visiting schools and teaching some of the most outlandish of customs never before heard of. Speaking as those they are experts on First Nations culture, yet unable to differentiate between an eagle feather and vulture. Staging gatherings and dances in costumes that simply boggle the mind to witness. Perpetuating every stereotype known and along the way, creating a few new ones.

Then there are those who fall prey to the “leave the rez become a god” individuals. May as well face it, we are killing ourselves. Most reservations are horrible places to live, and many learned some time ago, there are fools out here. Like any good barker at the circus, they have learned how to say the right words, a little flash and slight of hand, and the urban confused are throwing coins, clapping hands and exalting how real it is. By the time they figure out whats happening, these predators are gone, taking everything that isn’t nailed to the floor. Burning through the mix bloods like dry grass in a prairie fire, leaving total destruction behind. Some recoup from this devastation. Many, most never do.

Yet, we remain. Waiting for that voice. That Leader to step out of Indian Country who will unite us, bring us into the fold, give us that opportunity to make a real difference. We are well aware of the conditions our Relatives are living in. Highest rate of Type 2 diabetes. Healthcare 60% less than the National Average. One in five homes with insufficient plumbing, 50% not connected to a sewer system. 30% in overcrowded housing, 18% in severely overcrowded, with 25 to 30 individuals in one home. Six times the National Average. 40% inadequate housing, 40% with no electricity, home loan denial 25%. Unemployment rate as much as 90%. Teen suicide 3 times the national average. Infant mortality 3 times the National Average, 40% with no prenatal care. Rape, murder, drugs, alcohol. Every kind of abuse imaginable. There simply isn’t enough room. We know this, and we so desperately want to do something, anything. These are our Relatives for Gods sake. Isolated, secluded from the rest of the population. With corrupt tribal governments and our own people feeding off each other. We are destroying ourselves at every turn.

Young women unable to walk alone anywhere, for fear of being wolf packed, jumped and raped by our young men. By the local townies, who cruise the reservations looking for that single girl, alone. Young men, no longer interested in becoming warriors for the people, now seek to be gangsters. A gangster steals grandmas check, so she starves. A warrior ensures she has food. A gangster preys on his relatives. A warrior prays with his relatives. A gangster tags his territory. A warrior paints his home.

Now add us to this pressure cooker. Once a year some travel to the reservations. In our nice cars, trunks packed with food. Strutting like peacocks without a thought to the display. Then whining and bitching when we aren’t accepted, are used and abused, stolen from, taken advantage of. Crying because they wont let us play in their sandbox. Would you? If a relative you didn’t know showed up at a family gathering in a chauffeured limo, flashing all they have, rubbing your face in all you don’t, how do you think it would make you feel? How do you think our relatives, living in poverty to rival that of third world countries feel?

We are well aware of the problems. We have the tools to fix it. We have the solutions to education, health, poverty, housing. All of the pieces exist for us, the forgotten, the discarded, the unwanted, to rectify the conditions of our relatives. We need a voice, someone to lead us. To unify, together, as one. That voice isn’t coming out of Indian Country. It isn’t coming from the reservation. The predators are in control. That voice must come from us. We have been waiting, biding our time, listening, watching for that individual who will lead us. Unify us, to assist our relatives, to end this destruction of our people, our culture. Then maybe, our relatives will welcome us home. When they see those of us who aren’t seeking casino handouts and government assistance with our minimal blood quotient. That there are those of us who remember respect, honor, integrity.

I am no longer waiting for that voice. There is no more time to wait. What needs done must be done now. Today. Yesterday. Hear my voice, know I am speaking for you. For every unknown existing in a society that doesn’t want us, refuses to recognize us, demands we conform to a system of self destruction. Together, the millions of us, separated by nothing more than our imaginations, finally together as one force. Building homes, meetings needs, providing a sustainable economic base. A future where we can flourish and become again what we should never have forgotten. All of us, joined together as one, rising from the ashes of the attempted destruction. Can you hear my voice?

the message...on the road

2011-05-14T06:10:00.000-05:00

Our responsibility is to pass on this message. The message of these two Sacred Animals has gone mobile. Due to circumstance beyond our control, we are no longer with these two everyday. Maybe this is their will, the will of Creator. We simply cant say. Creator is under no obligation to explain why, only what. Therefore, we will take this message of unity and resistance to the Relatives, where ever they may be, where ever we are asked to go. Help with gas, maybe some dinner, a place to park Ms. Betty the campervan. The Superdog and I look forward to meeting you.

A Sad State of Affairs

2011-05-02T15:23:00.000-05:00

Disabled Native American Veteran
Ceremonial Leader Evicted

Saturday, April 30th, was a sad day for many First Nations and non First Nations People worldwide. On that day, Michael “Hawk” Spisak was escorted from the property by Security from Nemacolin Woodlands Resort. The explanation given for his removal was “you have been bad” and “it wasn’t one thing, it was several over time”. With a $1,500 compensation for “services rendered” over a year and a half, 24 hours a day 7 days a week, and informed “his services were no longer required”.

This saga began November 12th 2006, when the White Buffalo was born in Farmington, Pennsylvania. Seen as a physical manifestation of prophecy, the White Buffalo is a message First Nations People have waited on for millennia. Nine months later, within inches of the White Buffalo's birth, from a different mother, came the Black Buffalo. Theses two occurrences herald a cleansing that is so desperately needed today. Combined with the many other spiritual occurrences that have taken place in Farmington, and that the United States today exists because of the events that took place in Farmington, there is overwhelming evidence something very powerful, albeit not fully understood, is taking place in Farmington, Pennsylvania.

Sent to them, to watch over them, to be their Guardian and voice, was Michael “Hawk” Spisak. Insuring First Nations culture would never be exploited or misrepresented. Gruff, harsh, with no compromise in him, for 5 years he kept that commitment. Intolerant and dismissive of those who sought to financially gain from, or take advantage of, these two Sacred Animals. Through a house fire that demolished everything. 100% disabled, with a disintegrating spinal column and a broken neck, in pain 24/7, Hawk worked every day, for everyone, regardless who they were or what they might need. Hawk arranged ceremonies, powwows and gatherings. He held prayer ceremonies monthly, open to any and all who choose to come. Many did come. Many were healed. Physical ailments, mental and emotional problems. Healed. In the process he worked with Nemacolin Woodlands Resort, attempting to educate staff and management on the significance of these two Sacred Animals. Teaching anyone who came the truth of First Nations culture. Sharing with children the legends and stories. And he did all of this for no pay. Not once did he receive anything other than an occasional thank you. Not once did he ask for anything more. Yes, Nemacolin permitted him a place to stay so he could continue his responsibilities. But he never received or asked for a salary.

This commitment was not something Hawk entered into lightly, nor was it something he simply woke up one day and decided to do. He was chosen for this responsibility, and suffered many trials and ordeals before proving himself to Elders and Spiritual Leaders of the First Nations People that he could accept and execute this responsibility with honor, dignity, integrity and humility. Requiring he sacrifice his life for every other living thing. Demanding he be available to anyone, everyone, at any time. For counseling, assistance, ceremony, whatever was asked, whenever it was asked. Not one person can say he hasn’t done so, above and beyond what was requested of him.

Now, as appears to be business as usual, individuals with power and money have taken what they do not understand with obvious intentions of exploitation. Creating a new animal theme park, backed by a new casino, Nemacolin Woodlands Resort feels a Native American presence is no longer needed. With as much understanding and compassion as they showed by purchasing a white hybrid and attempting to pass if off as “a sacred white buffalo”. In complete disregard for the cultural and spiritual significance to a people much older than those currently residing in this country. In 1492 Columbus invaded the South Atlantic islands, and enslaved and decimated the peoples there. Now, 519 years later, we see nothing has changed. The rich, the greedy, continue to take what they want, whenever they want. Regardless of who or how it effects those it belongs to. These two Sacred Animals will now be put on display as part of Nemacolin Woodlands Resort safari exhibits tours. Associates with no cultural understanding of the First Nations people will attempt to disseminate trivial information about their significance. There is only one true White Buffalo in the world. Only one that exists today that meets all the requirements necessary for it to be the messenger so many have waited so long for. Born white, no genetic defects such as leucistic or albino. Changing colors from white to yellow to red and eventually to black. Never before have the two existed together anywhere else that is known. The White, the Black, one male, one female. The universe represented in these two special creatures. Perfect balance, perfect harmony. Now, displayed like a side show animal attraction. Their chosen Guardian dismissed as useless and irrelevant. A Native American presence is no longer required. It appears the prophecies are unfolding, exactly as they were promised.

Woman in white?

2011-03-02T05:08:00.001-06:00

look closely, can you see the white buffalo become a woman in white walking towards you? the hump her head, her hands in an open V at the horns, fringe hanging down. Is that a fur wrapped bundle she is carrying?
share this photo

Message of the Sacred Buffalo

2010-06-21T12:48:00.000-05:00

ORDER HERE

Available now, Message of the Sacred Buffalo features the White and Black Sacred Buffalo residing at Nemacolin Woodlands Resort in Farmington, Pennsylvania.

The Buffalo tell their story to a group of students in this beautifully illustrated picture book.

Message of the Sacred Buffalo is dedicated to the children of the world in hopes of instilling a less materialistic, more thoughtful, way.

NEW ELDERS STATEMENT

2010-04-29T05:23:00.000-05:00

greetings Relatives,

Approximately one week ago we were honored to host Chief Golden Eagle of the Yankton Sioux. He visited with us for a few days, spent time with these two Sacred Animals, and has issued a formal statement for all our Relatives. I invite you to read his words:

Chief Golden Eagle
http://www.buffalomessengers.org/goldeneagle.html

First Nations Inc. - Buffalo Messengers

2010-04-16T08:10:00.000-05:00

CALL FOR VOLUNTEERS

2010-03-16T12:04:00.001-05:00

Come and help us create a beautiful representation of our culture, our People

Construction will begin soon on an interpretive Native Village here at Nemacolin Woodlands in southwest Pennsylvania. This will be a teaching facility, helping to show First Nations homes and traditional ways of life. In this way we show our culture, our way. A First Nations village built by First Nations People.

Structures from many Nations will be represented. Northeast, Southeast, Northwest, Southwest, Plains and Desert. Constructed from natural materials, in the right way. Structures will include:

Earthen House
Wetu
Hogan
Longhouse
Wattle House
Plank House

If you are familiar with how to construct any of these type of dwellings, contact us immediately. All lodging and food will be provided during your stay here. This is a volunteer activity, so no one is getting paid. Absolutely no drugs or alcohol will be permitted. Travel expenses will be paid for.

Contact: Hawk
First Nations Inc.
moreinfo@buffalomessengers.org
215.253.8865

Black Hills Red Cross Press Release

2010-01-26T15:44:00.000-06:00

Black Hills Area Chapter Contact Name: Betsy Mergenthal
1221 North Maple Office: 605-342-4010
Rapid City, S.D. 57701 Cell: 605-391-6985
www.blackhillsredcross.org mergenthalarc@rushmore.com

Red Cross Winter Weather Response

January 26, 2010….While the nation sees many images of the Red Cross here on a National and International front, locally the American Red Cross is responding to its own disaster on a regional level. First, power outages due to severe winter weather plagued North-Central South Dakota starting on January 22. Power has finally been restored to most of the main hubs in the region, but water has not returned to the majority of Dewey and Ziebach Counties and well as the community of Faith in Meade County.

Ziebach ranks as the 4th lowest income per capita county in the nation while Dewey County sits in the 11th spot. This in combination of the rough, remote location leaves many people desperate in the face of harsh winter weather.

The Black Hills Area Chapter of the Red Cross works year-round to prepare for these situations and has conducted training for many of the communities operating shelters. In addition we have pre-placed supplies which include cots, blankets, and ready-to-eat meals. Yesterday, our Emergency Response Vehicle deployed loaded with additional supplies including additional cots, blankets, MRES and water.

Today, Community Food Banks of South Dakota graciously donated space on one of their trucks for the American Red Cross to deliver supplies to the community of Takini for shelter operations.

The American Red Cross is traveling the region and assessing needs while working with state, local and regional officials.

In Rapid City, the American Red Cross along with partner agencies is assisting 41 dialysis patients who were transported from the Cheyenne River Reservation late Friday night to continue care. We are working to meet the needs which include clothing, food, personal hygiene items and medical equipment for people with disabilities.

This and many other disasters have faced the local Red Cross recently and we are currently looking to our friends and neighbors to support our relief efforts during these times. Whether it is a large scale disaster like the one we are responding to today or the one of 77 home fires we answered the call to last year. Our local Red Cross needs your support. South Dakota has a reputation of neighbors helping neighbors and that is what why we are asking for your financial support today.

The Black Hills Area Chapter of the American Red Cross, a nonprofit organization, continues to provide services to the Black Hills and throughout Western South Dakota in times of need. We do not receive federal monies for operations. Our mission is to provide relief to victims of disasters and help people prevent, prepare for and respond to emergencies. Because of donors and volunteers, we are able to provide food, clothing, shelter, health and mental health services to clients and help them get through the emergency.

The Black Hills Chapter of the American Red Cross is a United Way Member Agency.

response to David Swallow, Lakota Country Times

2009-11-30T19:53:00.001-06:00

Greetings relatives,

First, I must say thank you, to Creator, for the strength and courage to write these words. Second, I must apologize to you, my Relatives, for having to write these words. But, the time has come.

On November 24, in Lakota Country Times, page A7, Letter to the Editor, David Swallow, Jr., Wowitan Yuha Mani, issued a statement to everyone. In the statement he spoke of his interpretation of the message of the White Buffalo. In this letter he made the following accusations:

1) I am taking advantage of this situation, to benefit financially from the message of the White Buffalo.

2) I am scamming all our Relatives, that I am a liar, that I cannot face facts and I hide behind Mary Johnson and other Elders.

3) I came to him four times to finish my Sundance commitment because another Lakota man would not let me dance.

4) He allowed me to dance for one year.

5) I never contributed a dime to his Sundance.

6) Creator burned my trailer house down because of these things.

For three years I have tried to quietly ignore these accusations. I have listened as the Elders instructed me to be humble; to be compassionate. I have now been instructed to respond. And as plain as I can make it, regardless of the harm that may befall me, David Swallow is a liar. For three years I dealt with him using me to get money out of my pocket. Every time he called I sent him money. And he called two and three times a week. Many were present during those conversations. When the electric company was pulling his meter because he gambled away the money for the bill, I paid the electric company on the spot over the phone. I paid for gas for him to travel to Deadwood, and gamble there. I paid for gas to and from Devils Tower. I sent him money for groceries. I paid to have his vehicles repaired. I paid the van he drives. I raised the money, some out of my own pocket, for him to travel to Pennsylvania. I paid for his expenses while he was here. I sent him more money when he left and got halfway home. I sent him $500.00 out of the first years powwow. Does he not think these records are available? Does he think he can simply say these things and I will go away? I have fought against him and his numerous attempts to get into this place, take over and suck the life out of everyone here. The only way I am leaving this post is if a) the owners of this facility ask me to leave or b) someone kills me.

I have given my life for this commitment. I make no money, and do not benefit. I remember to put our Relatives first, something David Swallow forgot. Yes, at one time he was a medicine person. He no longer is. Creator took that power away from him, because he misused and abused it. Stripping women in the lodge. Selling ceremony. Lying to white people to get money from them so he can gamble. Sexual encounters. The Elders do not like that he has made this public instead of coming to them. The Elders are well aware of his behavior. His reputation his well known. How he has abused his position and authority. How he has hurt people. How he has worked people for money. And publicly disrespecting his wife’s mother? An Elder of the Lakota Nation. A medicine person should be humble, compassionate and in harmony. Is this the behavior of a medicine person?

I came to David Swallow one year. I waited four days and was given permission to dance. I had danced one year previously in Rama under Bazel Braveheart at Leyton Cougars place. Bazel would not let me dance my visions. David did. But only because he thought he saw an opportunity to use me and take advantage of me. I knew what he was doing, and even attempted to defend him. After dancing for three years at his Sundance, I completed of my four year commitment and I left. At the end he tried to make me stay another two years, because he said I was weak. What he wanted was two more years of money from me.

I do not hide behind Mary Johnson or other Elders. Mary Johnson saw what David was doing to me, and stepped in to guide and assist me, because she saw I was trying to serve our Relatives. I deal with these Elders because they are not greedy and manipulative. They arent always looking to scam people out of money and hurt people. In other words, they arent like David Swallow. With the advent of the reservation system, it created a predator/prey lifestyle. David Swallow is a predator. He uses people to get what he wants, and throws them away when he is done. He is well aware this facility has immense financial assets. And he desperately wants to get in here and milk this place for everything he can get. The only thing stopping him is me. I actually live the original instructions. I give away everything I have. Money, cars, food, clothes. To anyone who needs. I have nothing, and get nothing for what I do here. All I do is provide for those Elders and Leaders who choose to come here. I raise money to pay their travel expenses, feed them, take care of them, and make sure they get home safely. I do not, have not, and will not ever make a dime for what I do. I live on a disability pension of around $1000 a month. I spend the majority of that on everyone else. I go without everyday. I have nothing, live alone, drive a beat up rez truck with 200 thousand miles on it. Where the hell am I profiting from, exploiting or benefiting? Yes, I live in an apartment here. But I was asked to live here. I offered to live in a tow behind trailer, with no utilities or facilities, in order to be here and keep this commitment, and keep predators like David Swallow from taking advantage of it. Before this I lived in a maintenance building. Basically a public restroom.

Everyone here involved in this does this for everyone else. Everyone here understands this isn’t about us, and gives everything of themselves for these two Sacred Animals, and the message they bring. Elders from many Nations have come and seen this to be true. Headman from many Societies have come and seen this to be true. All support the work we are doing out here. We put our Relatives first, everyday. David Swallow sees a gold mine, and he wants to drain it dry. You will have to kill me first. These are wonderful people who have stepped up, when no one else would, to provide for these Sacred Animals. I for one will do everything in my power to protect them from the predators in Indian Country. Predators like David Swallow, Jr.

This letter is written with the explicit permission, understanding and complete approval of Mary Johnson, Lakota Elder, Pine Ridge

White & Black Buffalo's New Home

2009-09-11T15:25:00.000-05:00

Greetings Relatives,

As in all prayers, thanks must be given to Creator first. So we begin this prayer, acknowledging Creator, giving thanks to Creator. Beginning July 23rd, when we learned the home of the Sacred White & Black buffalo’s is closing, many have prayed for their safety and security. It has always been understood this crisis is in Creators hands, and what will happen will be what should happen. My Relatives, our prayers have been answered.

Many Elders & Spiritual Leaders have visited here, to offer prayers and conduct ceremony. All have said the same thing, they must remain here. This is where they were given to us, and we must do everything we can to insure they do not leave here. This, my Relatives, has happened.

Less the 5 miles from this property, Nemacolin Woodlands, a 3,000 acre resort is the new home for these two Sacred Animals. Mr. Joseph Hardy, his daughter, Maggie Hardy Magerko and manager Mr. Trey Matheu have come together with Buffalo Messengers to provide for these Sacred Animals. The mothers of these Sacred Animals were secured by Mr. Hardy earlier in the spring. There are also several other buffalo on this property. This is an amazing, beautiful opportunity for our People, along with a safe and secure home for the two sacred gifts. All will be welcome to come, at no charge, to visit with these two gifts given to each of us by Creator.

We, the First Nations People, have prayed someone, anyone, would come forward and assist us. We have said we will do the work, all we need is the opportunity. Someone with a good heart, who is willing to not just hear us, but to listen to us. Someone willing to help us with what we need, not tell us what we want. Mr. Hardy is an answer to that prayer. Through his benevolence and generosity, we will be able to provide many things, not only to First Nations People, but also to everyone worldwide, to all our Relatives.

Our culture will be shown respectfully and honorably, to educate those who know so little about us. Here in this place we can begin to do away with the stereotypes and misinformation that surround us. Here we can be sure our culture and spirituality will never be exploited or manipulated for greed. This will reverberate throughout Indian Country. This will reverberate throughout the world.

The staff and volunteers of Buffalo Messengers will work with Nemacolin Woodlands, to ensure everything we do is presented correctly, both culturally and traditionally. Since the birth of these two Sacred Animals, Buffalo Messengers has worked diligently to ensure no one is able to exploit or manipulate these spiritual events. With advice and counsel from respected and recognized Elders and Spiritual Leaders from many of the First Nations, we have always presented this message from Creator with honor and integrity. We will not fail in continuing this responsibility as we move forward with Mr. Hardy.

All funds that have been raised will be used for the benefit of these two Sacred Animals and continuing to pass on the message given to us by Creator. My deepest appreciation is extended to each of you who gave all you could to make sure these two gifts remain here, in a sacred way. Creator showed us today that we are doing the right thing. This morning, (Sept. 11), one of the red tail hawks that had turned white with the white buffalos birth, that lived at the buffalo’s original home, showed itself in the buffalos new home as I sang for them.

In October, as soon as it can be arranged, working with Mr. Trey Matheu and his staff, Buffalo Messengers will assist Nemacolin Woodlands in welcoming these two Sacred Animals to their new home. Elders have been contacted from many Nations, including the Delaware, Absentee Shawnee, Lakota and Onondaga. These visiting Elders will conduct the ceremonies needed, and everyone will be invited to be here. Nemacolin wants to insure everything is done correctly, with respect to our traditions and culture. In this way, Nemacolin will host a thank you ceremony. This is also referred to as a wopila ceremony, a potlatch or give away. Nemacolin understands they are being gifted a great honor in providing for these two Sacred Animals, and understand in this way we say thank you, to Creator, for this blessing. I pray each of you will be able to be here for this event in October and as soon as I can I will let you know the date.

We now have that opportunity we have prayed for, for so long. Now we can present our way of life the right way, with respect for all things. Here our Elders and Leaders can speak with the People, sharing their wisdom. Here the ceremonies can be performed correctly, by those who remember the gifts given to them were given to serve the People, not the person. This is where this country, and the demise of our Nations, began. Here, Creator placed these two gifts. The circle of life has turned, and come back to the beginning. Now we go forward, from the beginning, to correct all that has gone wrong. To show the world who we are. The prophecies say we, the First Nations People of Turtle Island, will lead the world back to a spiritual path. It began with the birth of these two Sacred Animals, the White and the Black Buffalo. This too, is the beginning of our responsibility. We understand life is a circle. We understand every beginning is an ending. Every ending is a beginning. This ends here. This begins here.

Thank you Creator, for the beauty that is this journey of life. Thank you, Creator, for bringing this opportunity, these individuals, this place. Thank you, Creator, for this message, this ending, this beginning.

hawk

new WHITE BUFFALO photos

2009-08-30T12:22:00.001-05:00

These photos were taken 8/25/09 and they show the white buffalo with a distinctive reddish orange cast to his face and back. His rump is still white. Thank you for these pictures, Raven & Family, who came to visit.

hawk

White Buffalo - 1st Color Change

2009-08-28T07:14:00.000-05:00

greetings Relatives,

As was told to the People, the White Buffalo will change colors. He is going through his first change, from white to red. As of now he has a very distinctive orange cast about his head and shoulders, with his rump still white. As soon as I can get some photos of him I will post them. This is expected, and I have contacted a few of the Elders to let them know. I have been told he will go from red, where he is now, to yellow, then black, then back to white. As was foretold, the prophecy continues to unfold. What is going to be real interesting is if the black begins to change colors!

With all that has been happening, this is simply a little more information for you. Maybe this can help you to process what is happening here is real, and does affect you. In a few more days, Sept. 1, we will know the final outcome. Until then I will continue to move forward, giving to you all I can about what is happening here. Travel safe, my Relatives, along this journey of life. We will talk soon.

hawk
Buffalo Messengers
the measure of success is altruism

Why here of all places?

2009-03-18T21:06:00.000-05:00

Greetings relatives,

One of the questions I am asked regularly is why? If these two buffalo, the black and the white, are what the Elders and Spiritual Leaders claim they are, why were they born here? What is it about this place? Why are so many unexplainable spiritual events happening here? The birth of the white deer. The wild hawks turning white. And many, many other things. You need to get past the “my People don’t recognize the buffalo as sacred” thing. The buffalo are only one part of what is happening, and continues to happen here, every day. So, why here? In this out of the way little corner of nowhere? Why not anywhere else? Why not someplace sacred?

Well, I had a post it moment. Post it moments are those times when you realize something, and probably should have realized it all along. The realization was, it all began here.

The next door neighbor, and I mean right next door, next property over, is Fort Necessity. And Fort Necessity is where it all began. Fort Necessity is accepted as being where the French and Indian War began. And it is accepted that the French and Indian War began the American Revolutionary War. If the battle at Fort Necessity had never happened, the French and Indian War of 1812 would have never happened. And, if the French and Indian War had never happened, the American Revolution would have never happened. Therefore, this country would not exist as it does today. We could be speaking French, or German, for that matter.

Everything that is today, everything, began right here. This country as it is, this society as it is, this government as it is. The way we are, the way we behave, it all began right here. To solidify that point, uh, these two are here. If somewhere else, anywhere else, was the starting point, they would have been born there. These events would be happening there. But they are happening here. Right next door to where it all began. Where the destruction of the First Nations began. The subjugation of the original Peoples of this country.

Therefore, obviously, if it began here, it will all end here. Life, reality, what we perceive as existence, is a circle. And it would appear the circle has turned. And come back to the beginning. If this doesn’t make you rethink whether what is happening here is real, what more can I say? Do you still think this is a hoax? Do you still believe this has all been made up to exploit and capitalize? One thing for sure, these two, and everything that is happening here is not man made. Whatever concept of a higher power, God, the Creator, you might have, that concept put these two here. That concept is in full control of what is happening here. All of the spiritual events that take place here. Maybe, you might want to rethink a few things?