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.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Collective individuality
Living outside of society gives me, I would like to think at least, a very unique perspective. I see what appears to escape most. Or, I'm just a crazy person. I see this collection of walking dead inspiring only despair. Heartbreaking. I could sell tickets to this circus, but who would buy them? I watch as unity is achieved under everything from sexual proclivity to hatred. But collective individuality? Let your mind gnaw on that one for a second. Collective individuality. Huh. Most are so dead inside the only thing that inspires life is anger. Or perversion. And there are some seriously twisted freaks out there. Which pisses off more people everyday. What a vicious ugly little circle. Sometimes I wonder if that isn’t perpetuated purposely?
Where are the great writers today? The painters, philosophers, artists? Show the first sign of creativity and someone is drugging you into submission. Conformed into a massive ingot under the all powerful hammer of one. I'm amazed we aren’t all wearing jumpsuits of a single color by now, in the exact same house, driving the same non-nondescript vehicle. Then again, looking at some of the suburbs, yes, they all look the same. Majority of vehicles? Yes, they are beginning to appear the same too.
I'm thinking somebody long long ago tending their sheep high on the mountain, looked about themselves and said,.”how do I get these sheep together?” Build a fence, they concluded and all will be in one place. Eventually, someone else saw that principle worked, and applied it to humanity. And it worked too. Looking around they could see people, individuals, joined together by nothing more than their imaginations. Reaching conclusions and understandings collectively, yet individually. Except there is no control under that philosophy. Time to build a fence.
I believe that fence began with religion. Collecting all under the one interpretation. Others then saw the power wielded by those who controlled and decided they wanted authority of their own. They came up with a different version. Same ideology, slightly different packaging. Now everyone is one. Now the sheep are in the fence, all controlled by a few and there is peace in the world. Ha, like that is even possible. I swear these fools are trying to shove 10 pounds of jello in a 2 pound can. They have 9 pounds in it. Its that last persnickety pound that keeps driving them nuts.
From religion came science. Because there are those who just know. Ancient man, with his fear of the unknown, devised many ways to explain the mysteries of the dark. The sounds and stirring unexplainable when the lights went out. Dismiss the knowledge he possessed of every creature for a 200 mile radius. His observed understanding of their habits and interactions with everything else. When the sun went down, based on fear, he had to come up with imaginary explanations. Plausible, yes. Also absolute bullshit. But it sounds good on paper. Maybe, just maybe, ancient man had it right all along.
Science is simply a continuation of beating the populace into submission. Continuing right up to this very moment. Every day those who know explain how there is only one. One interpretation of God. A supreme entity. One way of living as a society superior to all the others. Non conformity is unacceptable. Dare to voice a consideration of another way and be immediately labeled as mentally ill. Everything has been defined to its essence. Even the vast universe, reality itself, brought under the mighty hammer of one.
Billions upon billions of galaxies, with billions upon billions of planets. But we are the only ones. There is only one planet that has sentient beings. Gazing onto the vastness of the night sky, we are as good as it gets. That's terrifying. Disregarding every scrap of evidence we uncover, buried under 4 billion years of existence. Dismissing indigenous understandings as the rantings of an ignorant people afraid of the dark. That takes arrogance. A level of pretentious egotism unachievable by most. Are we really that brain dead?
Because, as we are instructed every day, science has the facts. This is how it is. Convincing the masses that all is only one. This that we know is based upon what we have been told we know by those who insist they know. Plausible, but bullshit. How utterly boring. How amazingly arrogant. Seems it was better as an idea, an unknowing, and occasionally one would step out and exclaim revelation!, sharing an insight never before perceived. Try that today and watch what happens. We have become a collection of soulless unimaginative walking corpses. The only difference between us and the dead is a pulse. A continuation of the flat earth sun revolves around the earth theory.
To think this is the only reality is absurd. Ancient man knew it. Every indigenous society understood it. Not one God. A great mystery, a great unknown. Something to imagine, something to ponder and mentally gnaw on. Opening the conscious to the possibility of unlimited possibilities. Collective individuality. Imagining the unimaginable.
What is out there? What is in here? What is the meaning of life? Is this all there is? Are we simply meat puppets, existing on this plane for a period of time, only to expire and rot? Is our existence defined simply by accumulation? Or is there something more to this? Life, this existence, is a zero sum game. Death exists to give meaning to life. Anything other than achieving comprehension of the unknown is frivolous and self destructive. Use your head for something besides a hat rack. There is an amazing apparatus inside that protective shell of bone. The vast majority uses 10%. That’s 90% untapped. Laying there, decaying under the weight of all that is known. Or maybe I'm just nuts and have spent way too much time alone. I'm an individual, among the collective. Plenty of room if you care to join me.
Where are the great writers today? The painters, philosophers, artists? Show the first sign of creativity and someone is drugging you into submission. Conformed into a massive ingot under the all powerful hammer of one. I'm amazed we aren’t all wearing jumpsuits of a single color by now, in the exact same house, driving the same non-nondescript vehicle. Then again, looking at some of the suburbs, yes, they all look the same. Majority of vehicles? Yes, they are beginning to appear the same too.
I'm thinking somebody long long ago tending their sheep high on the mountain, looked about themselves and said,.”how do I get these sheep together?” Build a fence, they concluded and all will be in one place. Eventually, someone else saw that principle worked, and applied it to humanity. And it worked too. Looking around they could see people, individuals, joined together by nothing more than their imaginations. Reaching conclusions and understandings collectively, yet individually. Except there is no control under that philosophy. Time to build a fence.
I believe that fence began with religion. Collecting all under the one interpretation. Others then saw the power wielded by those who controlled and decided they wanted authority of their own. They came up with a different version. Same ideology, slightly different packaging. Now everyone is one. Now the sheep are in the fence, all controlled by a few and there is peace in the world. Ha, like that is even possible. I swear these fools are trying to shove 10 pounds of jello in a 2 pound can. They have 9 pounds in it. Its that last persnickety pound that keeps driving them nuts.
From religion came science. Because there are those who just know. Ancient man, with his fear of the unknown, devised many ways to explain the mysteries of the dark. The sounds and stirring unexplainable when the lights went out. Dismiss the knowledge he possessed of every creature for a 200 mile radius. His observed understanding of their habits and interactions with everything else. When the sun went down, based on fear, he had to come up with imaginary explanations. Plausible, yes. Also absolute bullshit. But it sounds good on paper. Maybe, just maybe, ancient man had it right all along.
Science is simply a continuation of beating the populace into submission. Continuing right up to this very moment. Every day those who know explain how there is only one. One interpretation of God. A supreme entity. One way of living as a society superior to all the others. Non conformity is unacceptable. Dare to voice a consideration of another way and be immediately labeled as mentally ill. Everything has been defined to its essence. Even the vast universe, reality itself, brought under the mighty hammer of one.
Billions upon billions of galaxies, with billions upon billions of planets. But we are the only ones. There is only one planet that has sentient beings. Gazing onto the vastness of the night sky, we are as good as it gets. That's terrifying. Disregarding every scrap of evidence we uncover, buried under 4 billion years of existence. Dismissing indigenous understandings as the rantings of an ignorant people afraid of the dark. That takes arrogance. A level of pretentious egotism unachievable by most. Are we really that brain dead?
Because, as we are instructed every day, science has the facts. This is how it is. Convincing the masses that all is only one. This that we know is based upon what we have been told we know by those who insist they know. Plausible, but bullshit. How utterly boring. How amazingly arrogant. Seems it was better as an idea, an unknowing, and occasionally one would step out and exclaim revelation!, sharing an insight never before perceived. Try that today and watch what happens. We have become a collection of soulless unimaginative walking corpses. The only difference between us and the dead is a pulse. A continuation of the flat earth sun revolves around the earth theory.
To think this is the only reality is absurd. Ancient man knew it. Every indigenous society understood it. Not one God. A great mystery, a great unknown. Something to imagine, something to ponder and mentally gnaw on. Opening the conscious to the possibility of unlimited possibilities. Collective individuality. Imagining the unimaginable.
What is out there? What is in here? What is the meaning of life? Is this all there is? Are we simply meat puppets, existing on this plane for a period of time, only to expire and rot? Is our existence defined simply by accumulation? Or is there something more to this? Life, this existence, is a zero sum game. Death exists to give meaning to life. Anything other than achieving comprehension of the unknown is frivolous and self destructive. Use your head for something besides a hat rack. There is an amazing apparatus inside that protective shell of bone. The vast majority uses 10%. That’s 90% untapped. Laying there, decaying under the weight of all that is known. Or maybe I'm just nuts and have spent way too much time alone. I'm an individual, among the collective. Plenty of room if you care to join me.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Bridging Comprehension
Many I come into contact with feel the need to qualify who or what I am. My response of being simply another person, like every other person on this spinning blue rock desperately hanging on for dear life, yet paradoxically anticipating getting off, falls inadequately on their expectant countenance. As though I would say I am something, or someone. Want to see your credibility go straight out the window? Start a sentence, or finish one for that matter, with “I am...” Instantly a lack of humility is revealed. If the question were on the test of life, you would have failed. A title, a position, shows an elevation above the rest, which is exactly the opposite of what the understanding should be.
Therefore, with no attempt to elevate, I am simply a man who has had a profound spiritual experience and is attempting to live with the burden, the responsibility of it. Make no mistake, this is a burden. Anyone who sees this as cool is an idiot, with zero capabilities of comprehending the immensity of responsibility. Required is an individuals very existence. Their life is no longer theirs to live. Sacrifice and suffering become the norm, and only after considerable time is beauty found in the sacrifice. A depth of realization is reached, profound in its simple complexity.
Yesterday I was honored to have this discussion with a family, deeply rooted in Catholicism. Not of the intolerance pretentious variety, but those intelligent, with minds open to concepts not previously revealed or explored. I enjoy conversations like those, where individuals of distinct philosophies can share relevant experiences and learn from each other. Much more enlightening and enjoyable, versus those with individuals whose beliefs are so rigid their intolerance has become palpable. People of the latter variety invariably wind up the equivalent of squeaky toys suffering the repercussions of my acerbic wit and biting sarcasm.
As is want to do so, the question came up. Not in a context of recrimination, but one of honest curiosity, a desire to comprehend. My answer is this: They are the storm. Like the thunderstorm, They come, lashing winds and rains, clearing away the debris and detritus of someones life. With crash and flashing light they garner attention, demanding to be seen. Intimidating, awe inspiring They rage, often initiating fear. Then They pass, the sun returns, and new life begins. They are the Ancestors I walk with, chosen not by me but by Themselves. Incalculable of age, entities retaining knowledge and wisdom far beyond mere human comprehension. I simply happen to be the conduit they use to do what they do. I go where They instruct, then They do what needs done. I don't do anything. I cant do anything. I have no magic powers. My crystal ball is in the shop...permanently. All I can be is human, and I usually screw that up at least once a week.
They are also a mirror. Reflecting back to the unwary gazing within whatever baggage or issue buried deeply within. Trauma deeply concealed, pain that has altered the very path of life. Giving the individual the opportunity to recognize the damage held onto for so long, the strength to endure the emotional upheaval of revelation, finally the euphoria of healing. How could this responsibility not be a burden? It is the contradiction of blessing and curse, appreciation and anathema.
The intention behind conversations such as these, with individuals possessing tolerance and comprehension, is to bridge our philosophies. To put into context what is understood, from their point of view. What, in their pantheon of spiritual entities, in this case Saints and Angels, would be comparable to those Ancestors I walk with? Their conclusion was Michael, the Arch Angel. With utter intolerance for absurdity and no compassion for irreverence. Revealing his presence to a chosen few, to rectify whatever folly they may have knowingly, or unknowing, open themselves to. With heavy hand of immediate decision, woe unto those who dare.
This is no way to insinuate I perceive myself as a manifestation of that entity, or any other. There are no delusions of grandeur. Simply parallels in context. Similar to hundreds of others, unknown to the majority. Men and women whose lives were and are lived in service to everything and everyone else. Lives willingly given, neither accolade or recompense expected. Living with the burden of responsibility of being plucked from the herd, usually kicking and screaming, eventually acquiescence, concluding in observance of healing bestowed. Is there, could there possibly be, a more beautiful way to live?
Therefore, with no attempt to elevate, I am simply a man who has had a profound spiritual experience and is attempting to live with the burden, the responsibility of it. Make no mistake, this is a burden. Anyone who sees this as cool is an idiot, with zero capabilities of comprehending the immensity of responsibility. Required is an individuals very existence. Their life is no longer theirs to live. Sacrifice and suffering become the norm, and only after considerable time is beauty found in the sacrifice. A depth of realization is reached, profound in its simple complexity.
Yesterday I was honored to have this discussion with a family, deeply rooted in Catholicism. Not of the intolerance pretentious variety, but those intelligent, with minds open to concepts not previously revealed or explored. I enjoy conversations like those, where individuals of distinct philosophies can share relevant experiences and learn from each other. Much more enlightening and enjoyable, versus those with individuals whose beliefs are so rigid their intolerance has become palpable. People of the latter variety invariably wind up the equivalent of squeaky toys suffering the repercussions of my acerbic wit and biting sarcasm.
As is want to do so, the question came up. Not in a context of recrimination, but one of honest curiosity, a desire to comprehend. My answer is this: They are the storm. Like the thunderstorm, They come, lashing winds and rains, clearing away the debris and detritus of someones life. With crash and flashing light they garner attention, demanding to be seen. Intimidating, awe inspiring They rage, often initiating fear. Then They pass, the sun returns, and new life begins. They are the Ancestors I walk with, chosen not by me but by Themselves. Incalculable of age, entities retaining knowledge and wisdom far beyond mere human comprehension. I simply happen to be the conduit they use to do what they do. I go where They instruct, then They do what needs done. I don't do anything. I cant do anything. I have no magic powers. My crystal ball is in the shop...permanently. All I can be is human, and I usually screw that up at least once a week.
They are also a mirror. Reflecting back to the unwary gazing within whatever baggage or issue buried deeply within. Trauma deeply concealed, pain that has altered the very path of life. Giving the individual the opportunity to recognize the damage held onto for so long, the strength to endure the emotional upheaval of revelation, finally the euphoria of healing. How could this responsibility not be a burden? It is the contradiction of blessing and curse, appreciation and anathema.
The intention behind conversations such as these, with individuals possessing tolerance and comprehension, is to bridge our philosophies. To put into context what is understood, from their point of view. What, in their pantheon of spiritual entities, in this case Saints and Angels, would be comparable to those Ancestors I walk with? Their conclusion was Michael, the Arch Angel. With utter intolerance for absurdity and no compassion for irreverence. Revealing his presence to a chosen few, to rectify whatever folly they may have knowingly, or unknowing, open themselves to. With heavy hand of immediate decision, woe unto those who dare.
This is no way to insinuate I perceive myself as a manifestation of that entity, or any other. There are no delusions of grandeur. Simply parallels in context. Similar to hundreds of others, unknown to the majority. Men and women whose lives were and are lived in service to everything and everyone else. Lives willingly given, neither accolade or recompense expected. Living with the burden of responsibility of being plucked from the herd, usually kicking and screaming, eventually acquiescence, concluding in observance of healing bestowed. Is there, could there possibly be, a more beautiful way to live?
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Insanity
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!”
I have realized for a good while now, this Nation is screwed. Majestically screwed. Yesterday evening brought it home with a donkey punch. I make my cigarettes, because, lets face it, I'm a chain smoking fool. Not like I give a crap. With my health problems, I'm convinced something will kill me long before my smoking does. Not that my smoking is helping the situation, I realize that. I've convinced myself its irrelevant. We all create out own delusions. Anyhow, I ran out of cigarette tubes yesterday, and went looking for a box. Holy bend me over the coffee table batman!
After three local stores, cigarette tubes were located. Not to bad really, a buck more than what I'm used to paying in some other states. Out of curiosity, I asked about tobacco prices. $25.00 for the exact same bag - size, quantity, quality, - I had purchased days ago in southwest Pennsylvania for $10.00. $47.00 for a tin of tobacco I used to buy, not three years ago, for $5.00. $47.00?! Are you kidding me? Like the lady said, butter my butt and call me a biscuit. Un freaking believable. Someone please explain to me how something that was one price, can suddenly in three years time, be 10 times as much? When I had the audacity to be stupefied at the price, the cashier says, absolutely straight faced, “well, that’s New York for you”. As though that was a perfectly plausible explanation. I'm still waiting for the punch line.
You want to hear the funniest two words in the American Language.? United Sates. Think about that for one second and you are on the floor. United. States. Really? Come on, really? What about this collection of ragtag misguided soul stripping conglomeration is “united”? Well, there is one thing. United together by a few, to subjugate the many. Welcome to indentured servitude. So, how is life as a slave? While the many wave their little flags and exclaim America! The greatest country on earth! Really? Isn’t that called “Stockholm syndrome”?
I do not apologize for my cynicism, nor do I ask your forgiveness for my sarcasm. The patients are running the asylum, and not only is it known, its encouraged! Only in this country we're fair about it. We let each lunatic have their chance every four years or so. Absolutely supported by the masses, and then looked on as, "this time it will be different." Is that not the quintessential definition of insanity? Maybe you and I are reading different version of the dictionary. I fully believe the Stars and Stripes should be retired and the Jolly Roger put in its place. Arrgh! Here be pirates I tell ya!
For all intents and purposes, I live outside society. Oh, I mingle with the masses, but I certainly am not part of the system. The view I have is one of absolute absurdity. The friend I am visiting likens this to “They Live”. There are monsters living among us, with subliminal messages everywhere. Until you don the ray bans, you cannot see them. The monsters look exactly like everyone else, but they are, without a doubt, monsters. We co-habitate with them, eventually birthing more monsters. And the monsters are in control, don’t doubt it for one second.
This is a Nation of emasculated men and entitled women. 40 year old little boys and little girls. Men so disgusted with themselves the only way they can feel like a man is when they are killing each other. Men with so little understanding of what it means to be a man, they lead others just like them into wars to kill. Packaging genocide as liberation, or the insatiable lust for natural resources. In reality its men, addicted to killing. The new designer drug, immensely addictive. Worse than any drug known to any society. Adrenaline. Power. The feeling of superiority. Blood lust. A drug insatiable, unquenchable. The women of this Nation, finally understanding they are the superior species, shoving that understanding down the throat of every man they encounter. Assisting in the creation of mindless murderers by feminizing every masculine tendency. Up in the face of the perceived enemy, daring them to retaliate. And they are retaliating. Not against those who denigrate them. No, that would be wrong. Instead, lets start a war with any other society and murder the lot of them. Finally, release. Civilized, aren’t we?
Here is the depressing part. There is a way out of this all consuming conflagration we have ignited. The soul crushing aspect of the entire equation. There is no lock on the door. No bars of steel. Hell, there aren’t even doors! The elite few have convinced the masses to lock themselves in a cage created in the mind. Happily trading self respect for 500 channels. However, this rant, my point, is mute.
Not one individual is going to do a damn thing. Oh, I may have raised someones ire, but it isn’t like anything is actually going to change. The monsters know it, as I'm sure they are reading this. Laughing themselves into fits of agony, while those with the real power slip back into their stupor. The food is poison, the air toxic. Forget about the water. That which is every living thing on this planet. Go on back to bitching about what no one has the balls to change. Reattach that chain to your neck, return to the cottons fields of the imagination, and contemplate not the compassion of your masters. They don’t have any.
Excuse me now while I light my cigarette, manufactured by the elite for pennies and sold at 10 times its value. I now return you to the next exciting episode of the most sublime comedy ever, laughingly entitled, “America, the Greatest Country on Earth!”
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Survival
Visions. I tell you, if I had a dime for every person I have met who desperately desire a vision. I can only look at them incredulously, wondering what the hell is wrong with them? Really? You want your consciousness to dissipate, much like the ocean receding from the shore moments before the tsunami? Because that’s about what a vision is. A tsunami of realization all at once, and it can be just as destructive. So many have told me, “I want to know my purpose. Why I'm here.” My response has always been to shut the hell up before someone, or something, hears you. The second you discover the answer to that question, your life is over. Once you know your purpose you will never do anything else. You cant. Best to remain among the masses, enjoying what few days you may have. Once you see the wizard, you can never un-see him. Whats so wrong with simply enjoying the gift of life? Must there be some purpose to every ones existence? Inst life, in and of itself, enough? Always more, more, more. I wonder what is takes for some to understand less, less, less.
I have been sharing some of my “visitations” with you. Rest assured, every time “they” come, it is terrifying. I always arouse, knowing an event has unfolded that will dramatically alter my existence. I don’t always know the details, rarely comprehend the meaning. I do, however, get the understanding that my life, up to that point, just ended. There is a time before these events, and the time after them. Returning to before is never an option.
Some time ago, I had passed through Pennsylvania on my way to somewhere else. I stopped at an ex girlfriends place for some much needed off the road time. I slept on the couch, as any intimacy between us had faded long ago. As I drifted off one evening, just before sleep yet not awake, here “they” come again. Once more I found myself at the Tree of Life. Except this time was to be much, much worse.
“They” showed me entering the dance circle, a hot summers day. The dancers were already around the outside edge, the dance already begun. As I entered through the south gate (yeah, I know!), I walk directly to the elderly man leading this dance. “I've come to learn the ways of a wicasa wakan”, I said to him. Even in this half sleep, certainly awake, I am appalled at such a thing coming out of my mouth. I would never, ever say something like that to anyone at anytime while conscious. I would sooner poke my eyes out with a dull pencil, repetitively, than to ever say such a thing. But I did. This Elder looked at me, the only words from his lips, “huh”. He motioned to the dancers, all of whom immediately fell upon me and held me to the ground. With no hesitation I was pierced in the back and hung in the tree. For four days I hung there, the relatives who were at that dance bringing tobacco to the tree, crying. Torrents of tears streaming down the faces of relatives as they looked at me, hanging there like fresh meat. The fourth day, around noon, the butterfly’s came. In moments I was covered with them, this orange butterfly tattooed upon my left arm. Immediately following them came the dragonfly’s. Hundreds upon hundreds of dragonflies, all black and white, landing on the ropes holding me in the tree. The dragonflies cut the ropes, the butterfly’s gently eased me to the ground.
How's that for a vision? How would you like to see something like that, then live with it? Some fools are thinking, yeah! Sounds cool! Alright, bring it on! I have only one thing to say to you. Idiot. Not for one second are you comprehending the immensity of the responsibility of having something of that magnitude stuck in your head. I certainly didn’t, and I kept that one to myself for several years. Rarely and only to a very, very select few, did I speak of it. The fourth year I danced, to a man who I then thought of as a brother, did I make the mistake of telling these details.
Sitting around the kitchen table, of the man who would lead that years Sundance, this “friend” and I were bullshitting with him. Not really getting into anything heavy. Just casual conversation. My “friend” says, in the middle of the conversation, “tell him about that vision you had”. Oh son of a bitch. Oh shit. And you just know that Leaders eyes began to twinkle just a bit, his posture straightened just a bit, his interested peaked more than a bit. “Vision, huh? Tell me about it”. Hells bells. Like the dumb ass I can be, I did. I do take some comfort in knowing I was reluctant to do so.
That year I hung in the Tree of Life. On the second day of the dance, in the middle of the afternoon. Pierced thru the chest and back at the same time, assistants dragged me as high in the tree as they could. I since found it quite interesting that, before my toes left the ground, the back piercings broke immediately. Although they were quite deep, but we will get to that in a moment. Up into the sky I went. I felt every tug on the ropes as they pulled. My heels lifting, my toes scratching furiously for some purchase on the sweet soft earth. Each tug sending lightning bolts of raw unadulterated pain explosively through my entire body. Off the ground now, and out of my body. But I could not break.
Like the vision, I hung there. Relatives, crying. Seasoned Sundancers watching, dancing hard for me, their hearts breaking. The leader leaving the dance circle, only to return moments later with a coup stick. So high I was in the tree, as high as they could get me. The leader tapping me with the coup stick, desperately trying to get me to break. The men holding the ropes straining under the pressure. I was informed later by one of my brothers, I was getting heavier and heavier the longer I hung there. For 20 minutes, I would not come down. All 250 pounds of me, hanging on two twigs. Later they would call it the pinata round. I was the pinata.
As I hung there, facing west, all I remember is pain. They, whoever they are, say when your reach a certain level of pain, you pass out. They lied. Through that fog of agony I eventually saw a hand extending from the sky. That hand grabbed the ropes attached to the pegs that were buried to the muscle in my chest and with one fierce tug, ripped me free. Seems my “friend”, who had told the Sundance Leaders about my vision before I did, thought it would be funny as hell to pierce me as deep as he could. I learned later he laughed about it, telling everyone they could, “just call him the butcher”. Personally, I didn’t find it very damn funny.
20 minutes I swung in that tree, only to be released only by Grandfather. When the pegs broke free, they didn’t fly upwards as would be expected. No, they flew straight out of my chest, directly in front of me. Over the dance arbor, into the west. Crashing to our mother, into my brothers arms. I lay there, a mantra of “I'm done” falling from my lips. Eventually I was brought to me feet, escorted to my chair, the other dancers coming with incredulous expressions as to what I had just gone through, many in tears.
What did “I'm done” mean? I'm only a man, I have no idea. There is no way I could interpret what had happened. Following protocol, I did exactly what I was supposed to. I brought that to the Sundance Leader. What does this mean I asked him? Am I done with the dance? Am I done with the day? How am I done? His instructions were I was done with the dance. My response was of relief. The next round I danced out of the circle. You can imagine my bewilderment later when I heard my relatives, those who had come to pray for the dancers, even others dancers, telling each other I had quit. I looked down at these giant holes in my chest, the muscle exposed. I had just completed the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. Yet, all anyone seemed to have seen was I quit? Excuse me, what the hell? Later, the Sundance Leader denied every saying to me my dance for that year was over. I was informed I had a weak mind, I was a weak man. I've never been back.
This I guess is the point of this mornings rant. That we are so quick to jump on the negative train. Whether it is attacking one of our own, or someone who we perceive, however slight, is attacking us. Why then, cant we harness that same potential for reprisal into a vehicle for revision? Revising this way of life, so what we do is done for the good of each. Taking this passion we all have, that burns so deeply in us, and channel that passion, that fire into unity. Bringing us all together, as one force, in one direction, channeling our passion, to create a better world for us all. So quick to anger, and so quick to destroy each other. We are like a pack of curs, fighting each other over scraps, yet willing to defend the pack with our lives. When all we have to do is leave this depression of destruction and devastation. When we top the rise we will see stretched out before us a bounty never ending. Yet we will never top that rise alone. Only together, working with each other, in unison. Until then, we will continue to exist in the poverty of our delusions. A crater created for us, by those determined to see us never succeed. Amongst each other we will continue to rant and rage. Instantly we will assault any who dare enter. Yet in our hands we hold the keys to our freedom. Together, as one. It is the only way we will survive.
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.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Painting a Picture
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?
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?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Release
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.
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.
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