Poetry n Prose
In The Spirit of Sacred ~ Orannhawk
'FREE LEONARD' bumper stickers on my truck, tobacco ties and a piece of antler hang from the mirror. There are feathers tucked into the frame above the windshield and pouches of tobacco and sage are in the console for offerings. My Honor Buttons are pinned to the dashboard cover. My medicine is in place as always, my AIM patch is on my backpack .... Perhaps I am not too subtle. Forget the subtleties. Leonard remains a prisoner, the Ancestors and Sacred Sites desecrated, countless treaty rights ignored, and the US Government is actually suing the Oglala Sioux. Alcoholism, drug abuse, domestic violence, racism, and suicide are too commonplace in our society. Genocide dances around in thinly veiled disguises and Shiny Shoes stalk and threaten. I can barely contain my rage when the ubiquitous comment comes up in regards to Sacred Sites, to Leonard's innocence, to treaty rights, to truthful education, to anything regarding First Nations people to… "just get over it." The absurdity is beyond reason. Too many people still see us as an expendable species obstructing 'progress.'
"The more Indians we can kill this year the fewer we will need to kill the next, because the more I see of the Indians the more convinced I become that they must either all be killed or be maintained as a species of pauper. Their attempts at civilization are ridiculous…” ~ Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman To be taught that All is Sacred is the path that our Ancestors lived and walked every day without question. To live a life honoring the tenet that All life is Sacred is the path that we as Native people choose to walk. It is also the path that mainstream society chooses to abdicate primarily to organized religion or governmental structures; controlled and contrived. As a child, I spent my time primarily at my grandfather's side, absorbing his words, philosophies and teachings like a little sponge. He was a quiet man, often in his own thoughts and on too many occasions shadowed by the haziness of alcohol. His face was soft warm leather, gently crackled with the web lines of time. Watered down coffee and Mogen David Red; colors of our ancestors, deftly blended into his pores. "Remember the whirlwind … remember the dream, dance the whirlwind dream." I watched his eyes, a hawks vision, shadowed with mystery and pain, infused with the steady flow of wine. He spoke to me gently as an equal … reverently sharing the great whirlwind mystery. I sat in awe, watching the dance unfold before me, spellbound by his words, held secure by the singing in my head as my soul reawakened, bound to his. The drums became my heart, the shuffling steps of the dancers finding rhythm, spinning, surging, pounding, pulsing from the heart of the Earth mother to vibrate in my soul. Does your heart not ache when our Sacred sites are desecrated, the remains of our Ancestors placed on display or kept hidden away in cardboard boxes like some discarded carnival prize? Would you prefer to kneel at the stream and drink of the clear crisp water that Creator placed here for us or a plastic bottle of 'purified' water? To look into the skies free of pollution and smog and actually see the stars at night? To walk on the land as it was meant to be?
To live free and with honor. To be sovereign. This was the dream; it is still the dream. Why is Leonard still in prison for a crime he did not commit ? While it is appalling an Elder has been imprisoned for over 35 years, without the benefit of proper medical attention he needs and deserves, the other abhorrent factors in this case are the actions of the fb-lies. The general public has no clue what happened at the Jumping Bull ranch, much less any of the real facts of the case. It is more than obvious now, reading the documentation, the fb-lies were preparing a full out assault well ahead of the actual shootout. Surveillance, calculated manipulation of evidence, fabricating witnesses, using every possible loophole available to plan and plot against anyone connected with AIM. The innocence of Leonard Peltier holds no weight in their justice system. Much the same as General Sherman and Capt. Pratt's sentiments - the fb-lies were out to kill the Indians. The real proof of innocence is there, it is past time for Obama to open the door to freedom for Leonard Peltier. What about the other countless First Nations people who are behind bars on trumped up charges, based on racial profiling ? Where is the justice ? Innocent until proven guilty ? Where is the Sacred in this? Why do the Sacred lands remain in government hands, under the careful manipulation of the broken treaties? When the remains or the Sacred burial sites of Our people are violated, why are there are loopholes in the laws with no valid protection? What of the Sacred bundles, the innumerable 'artifacts' held captive in displays, the Holy and Sacred elements of all Tribes, the pieces of Our people that lie in museums? Where is the Sacred in that? Where is the Sacred in the way that the lands, waters, and the wildlife are treated? Why are there stale rationalizations by the government, by the corporations, by big money? Is anyone listening, looking, caring about what is really happening? I hear my Papaw's voice within me to remember. To dance the dream To dance the Sacred The shuffling steps of the Ancestors Become my heartbeat The shimmer of the air The wind, my breath The dirt beneath my feet Holds me close to Creator The water to nourish me Fill my body, fill my soul The stones sing as Papaw said they would The spiraling smoke carries my prayers to Creator Do you hear the cries The Earth as she heaves and aches beneath us The longing to be honored and respected? The voices of the Ancestors Do you hear the Sacred, taste it, breathe it, embrace it? When we walk as our Ancestors did With respect, with honor, with one voice of the Sacred We will all dance the dream and the songs will be heard. © Orannhawk
Peltier by Bob Schmidt
All Rights Reserved
"A great general [Sherman] has said that the only good Indian is a dead one, and that high sanction of his destruction has been an enormous factor in promoting Indian massacres. In a sense, I agree with the sentiment, but only in this: that all the Indian there is in the race should be dead. Kill the Indian in him, and save the man”. ~ Capt. Richard H. Pratt
Historically speaking, it is a genocidal blueprint, distorted, fraudulent, whitewashed and thoroughly embraced from one generation to the next. When we as First Nations people speak up against the atrocities, when we stand as warriors against the repression, many view it as an action against god and country. Sit in your churches once a week and perhaps on your holidays, steal our culture, steal the bones of our Ancestors, pass on your racist hate to your children and claim you are the righteous ones. Where is the Sacred in this?
He spoke to me of the Ghost Dance, of the Sacred Vision. He spoke to me of the Sacredness of who I was, of who I would be, despite mistakes that I would make. He sang into my heart the knowing, the reason why we must all hold our connection with the Ancestors, with the breath of All that is. The Sacred breath that is within us all, the pulse of life within each grain of sand, each leaf, each branch, each drop of water, each animal, each rock.
Banner Graphic: www.firstpeople.us
MY SISTER ~k.maloy
I have a Sister with hair and eyes of black
We have walked parallel paths, but it seems hers has been a harder road.
While I played in magical summer back yards, she was foraging for food to keep from starving
While I was safe in my home, she was in a place unimaginable to me
So much pain, abuse and hurt
While I went to school with others who shared my culture and experiences,
She was taken from her family to a place where she was stripped of all her culture
Of her beliefs, her family, her language.
While my mother lovingly brushed and braided my long brown hair, my Sister had her beautiful black hair roughly cut off at the hands of those who abused and shamed her – in the name of their God.
While I danced with freckled skin after a hot bath, her tender red skin was scrubbed by strangers until it bled.
Still, we are both women -- women with joys and pains, children and grandchildren, dreams and desires.
Whatever I have, she is welcome to and she shares what she has with me.
We are bound in Spirit, my Sister and I.
We hold each other, we cry and we laugh together.
We share our sorrows and they are less, we share our joys and they are increased.
We are part of each other in a way almost closer than blood.
When I look into the mirror, I see her there. When I pray, she is by my side.
I cherish my Sister and give praise to the Creator for directing our paths in such a way
That we could become
Sisters.
The Ritual
WHISPERING MAGIC WITH WISDOM
The words here make no sound because they come from another mind far away in another town.
Plans are made, without making a sound that comes from listening to thoughts that are so profound.
To listen is a gift that comes without giving.
Thoughts heard are much louder than words that are spoken.
To have the touch is felt from the heart without touching.
Feeling what someone needs is to know without knowing.
The past is forever repeated, as history proves by continuing to repeat.
Falling down will be remembered, getting up reminds us to still move forward just a little more tender.
The trick of the touch is, knowing how to use it. The touch of the trick is being proud to use it.
So for the wisdom of some who think they don’t have any,
I reach out my hand to make contact; I have the touch, and pass it to you.
Searching life’s emotions, knowing not where it goes, brings wonders for all to behold.
Listening is harder than talking. Talking more without listening brings open thoughts without understanding.
Wisdom comes from listening which gives more knowledge from thoughts, other than your own.
Funny that the things we think are important for our children to know, they probably all ready know it.
Funnier thing is they just want us to listen as they talk about what they already know.
Albert Einstein once said: “There is no such thing as time, because by the time we say it that time has already past.” Theoretically speaking, that being true, we have all the time we need to listen to our children, watch them fall down, help them up, and speak of things they think they already know. Perhaps at some point in time, some little ray of light we call knowledge, (one or two words), shines through a tiny crack in the wall they have built around them, and it fires a spark to further their thought process. When it sinks in, they wonder how we got smart so fast. Just wonder never say it. But we know when they know.
So what’s the big rush? Since there is no time to measure we have plenty of what cannot be summarized.
John Lennon once said: “Life is what happens while we are busy making other plans.”
When you have a true connection, an honest bond, we run through each other's mind like a creek flows, following the path of least resistance provided by Earth Mother. Like the creek, when we see as we look it is easy to find the true natural path. Take away the troubles, worries, fears, just listen and give love.
Everything is going someplace. Nothing ever goes away, it only changes.
So as these words become a part of the memory for those who read this to help us guide our children and for them to guide theirs, it is my way to put a spine on the end. We always need to smile.
You know what THEY say. Who are THEY anyway? THEY must mean it is more than one. After THEY said it, do they become THEM? Thinking of making some t-shirts with only the word “THEY” on them. I would need to give out many, because THEY are more than just one. Yet what if I was wearing it and I was all by myself, then something bad happened. Wonder if everyone would point at me and say there THEY are, and I would have to go running. Maybe I should put THEM on the back then when I ran away the people would say; “Hey that’s THEM, THEY don’t even know THEM. Then I could turn sideways and just side step away from those. Who are THOSE anyway…just wondering!
Have a little faith in everyone, especially yourself.
~ White Wolf
