Fire in Hyampom still crackling.
Could we flip back through history a hundred-thousand years before Columbus, or ten minutes before landfall, we would fine immense forests scattered across the earth and near the Pacific Ocean, some trees three-hundred feet tall and thirty-five feet around at their base. Most of the forests would appear like a manacured state/federal park, clear of underbrush, deadfalls, dry limbs, needles and leaves turning to duff just waiting for a spark.
The forests, like much life upon this continent, were no accident. That they looked like they were manicured is because they had been (forever) before the penetration of Europeans. Forests were full of life and were like a supermarket/mall for the natives. Animals, birds, eggs, nuts, excitement and adventure flourished everywhere. Therefore it was a duty for the natives to clean the forests and to encourage life to visit there, and it was an honor to "talk for" the forests in ceremony and prayer. Loving earth with a deep respect has always been the "way" of indigenous of this hemisphere.
During fall season entire tribes went into the forest and gathered dead limbs and debris, the brush, leaves, needles and cones. They made pilesof the dead and drying materials and covered the piles with bark slabs, abundant on an old windfall where much of the debris was piled. Then they waited for the proper time. At the proper time they took pitch torches into the forest setting the piles on fire.
Why, ten, didn't the fire "get away" and burn millions of acres, maybe for months, since there was no fire crew, helicopters or foam and other fire retardants? It was because the "right time" to burn the forest piles, was during first snow. First snow the wind is usually calm, forest is damp, humidity perfect.
Today the little town of Hyampom in northern California is surrounded by fire and evacuations are constant as fire rushes with the wind and calmly eats its way up or down the ridge, thriving under duff, and sparks of duff are wind-carried across fire lines that a crew of a hundred men have been laboring all week to establish. Spark touches tinder and grows quickly to a threat.
The old timers knew the "first snow" routine and followed it. U. S. Forest Service and modern civilization seem to be attracted to forests matted with undergrowth and deadfalls while spending much money to get control of a fire that should never have had the opportunity to start, by lightning or by match.
Sul'ma'ejote
Monday, July 21, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
ENERGY
There must be someone, somewhere who can and will do something about the world dilemma concerning the internal combustion engine. I have a plan that eliminates the cultured need for oil. Any vehicle can create its own energy to continue to its destination. No gas, no oil, no pollution. Serious-minded and the deeply concerned, please contact me at: DrBabe@aol.com.
Curious please don't contact me. Thank you for your kindness. Babe
Curious please don't contact me. Thank you for your kindness. Babe
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Cuauhxihuitl
On June 15, my Granddaughter, Cuauhxihuitl, left San Jose, CA for Mexico. She is being guided to Machu Picchu. She should arrive there in mid December, and she should be back in San Jose in February, '09. Soon she will join the Peace and Dignity run from Mexico City to Panama. At Panama she will begin, alone, walking to the wonderful city, the roots of her current journey in life. At the moment she is in Oaxaca, visiting the communities of her ancestors. She has found people living in terrible conditions in the mountains. Her next blog should be up soon. It will deal with her experiences in and around the mountains of Oaxaca. You may learn more about this. Her blog is: http://blueturquoiseeagle.blogspot.com/
Many of her friends and relatives here and in Mexico worry about her because hers is a deeper committment than we have experienced, because we love her very much, and because of the out of control political machines in various countries. I am honored and proud to be in the same world with her, so I wish many people would read her blog and begin to understand the powerful forces urging and guiding her journey, while knowing her concerns for humanity.
Sul'ma'ejote
Many of her friends and relatives here and in Mexico worry about her because hers is a deeper committment than we have experienced, because we love her very much, and because of the out of control political machines in various countries. I am honored and proud to be in the same world with her, so I wish many people would read her blog and begin to understand the powerful forces urging and guiding her journey, while knowing her concerns for humanity.
Sul'ma'ejote
UNCHANGING
O' Europe,
Our Mother Earth was always young, before your people came,
came and were greeted as friends,
came but ached to create of our lives and our homeland, an abattoir
Now Mother Earth is old and weak and moans in the heart of night,
and weeps at the dawning
Vast rivers that danced, crashing to the ocean for all seasons,
are dry
and often clouds of dust come from them,
as ancient winds whisper to perishing Earth
Mountains are scarred
and now a victim, they bleed
Forests that dwelled in soft beauty
during the seasons of my Great-Grandmother,
are blotted from earth
by a greedy hand
The vast and beautiful valley of my birth
is divided and is now private possession.
In captivity
it trembles from this gnarled thinking.
O' Europe, you witnessed this vast land
the beauty,
the wonder,
the people balanced with nature
Emerging from imbalance,
you were not prepared to encounter balance
and you identified beautiful life as "neglect,"
then set your unclean selves to improving it
Your son, Columbus, 500 years ago,
began your heinous activiuty by kidnapping my people
to deliver to a Queen
to be used for slaves or living pieces of her museum.
after killing the people of many villages to do so
O'Europe, you and your descendants are unchanging!
Our Mother Earth was always young, before your people came,
came and were greeted as friends,
came but ached to create of our lives and our homeland, an abattoir
Now Mother Earth is old and weak and moans in the heart of night,
and weeps at the dawning
Vast rivers that danced, crashing to the ocean for all seasons,
are dry
and often clouds of dust come from them,
as ancient winds whisper to perishing Earth
Mountains are scarred
and now a victim, they bleed
Forests that dwelled in soft beauty
during the seasons of my Great-Grandmother,
are blotted from earth
by a greedy hand
The vast and beautiful valley of my birth
is divided and is now private possession.
In captivity
it trembles from this gnarled thinking.
O' Europe, you witnessed this vast land
the beauty,
the wonder,
the people balanced with nature
Emerging from imbalance,
you were not prepared to encounter balance
and you identified beautiful life as "neglect,"
then set your unclean selves to improving it
Your son, Columbus, 500 years ago,
began your heinous activiuty by kidnapping my people
to deliver to a Queen
to be used for slaves or living pieces of her museum.
after killing the people of many villages to do so
O'Europe, you and your descendants are unchanging!
Chains
When you speak and your longing is for the ages
to remember the intent of your voice
Speak not of cruel limitations of fractions of time saying "minutes,"
rather speak of "moments"
saying it with all of your beauty
Say not "hours" or "days" or "years,"
rather speak of the soft and natural saying "seasons."
And when you speak of change,
think first of the change in nature from season, to eon, to forever.
Neither speak of the weakest link of the strongest chain
for this only illuminates the flaws of technology.
rather, seek the weaknesses of the rainbow
...and if you discover one,
discuss this with people of good will.
seeking to improve that flaw
Don't waste precious seasons
wondering of weaknesses in technology
Sul'ma'ejote
to remember the intent of your voice
Speak not of cruel limitations of fractions of time saying "minutes,"
rather speak of "moments"
saying it with all of your beauty
Say not "hours" or "days" or "years,"
rather speak of the soft and natural saying "seasons."
And when you speak of change,
think first of the change in nature from season, to eon, to forever.
Neither speak of the weakest link of the strongest chain
for this only illuminates the flaws of technology.
rather, seek the weaknesses of the rainbow
...and if you discover one,
discuss this with people of good will.
seeking to improve that flaw
Don't waste precious seasons
wondering of weaknesses in technology
Sul'ma'ejote
Friday, July 11, 2008
Divided States
April 25, 1973. 30,000 feet over Wounded Knee, Douth Dakota, enroute to Nancy, France, World Theater Festival, The United Nations at Geneva, and the World Court of Justice at LaHaye, with a message:
"America, stop killing our people at wounded Knee and relinquish their homeland to the Pit River people."
THE DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA
My spirit looked down through clouds of time
upon the land of my people
and there was a deepness within all that there is
a silence that did not know peace
For there was our Mother Earth
from great waters in east where sun looks over world
to great salt waters where sun rests and darkness is everywhere
even between the stars
Vast the land
in agony
For Americans have poured filth upon our homeland
the earth of my people
The turtle island of our dreams
Americans hiss through fangs.
"United," "peace," "honor," "democracy." "freedom."
But as my spirit looked
with long eyes upon earth
silence again grew great within my being
for this is what there is,
Ni'lladu'wi (wanderers) have separated earth saying it is "united"
They have severed the separated land, saying again, United States
They have attacked this as with a knife
saying, "Counties of the United States"
within all this
Americans build gnarled houses
and when they gather to eat
the fruits of beautiful Mother Earth.
Americans are separated one from the other
farther, still
The separation and division gives americans no happiness
for they also divide the hearts of my people
and long to own the whole world
Too often they think with gnarled reasoning
and dreams made foul by coveting,
that killing my people is good
for it is a glory to their angry God
of iron words sounding like chains ratteling
My spirit muttered in fury,
"There, upon the earth of my people
in angry uneasiness
is the DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA!"
Returning to the earth of my people
in haste I demanded "why?" of Grandmother
In the closing of day
as geese called softly across slumbering Qatsade (Fall River Valley)
she spoke, saying
"It is because they have
no place to rest their terrified spirits.
"Now is the ripe season to unite
all that has been divided
"We must!
only by so doing
shall we stop the killing of our children
by the Americans some day."
Sul'ma'ejote
"America, stop killing our people at wounded Knee and relinquish their homeland to the Pit River people."
THE DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA
My spirit looked down through clouds of time
upon the land of my people
and there was a deepness within all that there is
a silence that did not know peace
For there was our Mother Earth
from great waters in east where sun looks over world
to great salt waters where sun rests and darkness is everywhere
even between the stars
Vast the land
in agony
For Americans have poured filth upon our homeland
the earth of my people
The turtle island of our dreams
Americans hiss through fangs.
"United," "peace," "honor," "democracy." "freedom."
But as my spirit looked
with long eyes upon earth
silence again grew great within my being
for this is what there is,
Ni'lladu'wi (wanderers) have separated earth saying it is "united"
They have severed the separated land, saying again, United States
They have attacked this as with a knife
saying, "Counties of the United States"
within all this
Americans build gnarled houses
and when they gather to eat
the fruits of beautiful Mother Earth.
Americans are separated one from the other
farther, still
The separation and division gives americans no happiness
for they also divide the hearts of my people
and long to own the whole world
Too often they think with gnarled reasoning
and dreams made foul by coveting,
that killing my people is good
for it is a glory to their angry God
of iron words sounding like chains ratteling
My spirit muttered in fury,
"There, upon the earth of my people
in angry uneasiness
is the DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA!"
Returning to the earth of my people
in haste I demanded "why?" of Grandmother
In the closing of day
as geese called softly across slumbering Qatsade (Fall River Valley)
she spoke, saying
"It is because they have
no place to rest their terrified spirits.
"Now is the ripe season to unite
all that has been divided
"We must!
only by so doing
shall we stop the killing of our children
by the Americans some day."
Sul'ma'ejote
Divided States
April 25, 1973, 30,000 feet over Wounded Knee, South Dakota, enroute to Nancy, France, World Theater Festival, the United Nations at Geneva and World Court, LaHaye, Holland, with a message: "America stop killing our people at Wounded Knee and relinquish the Pit River Territory to the Pit River Nation."
THE DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA
My spirit looked down through clouds of time
THE DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA
My spirit looked down through clouds of time
RESTITUTION
America and Europe, when your God forces you to
pay the indigenous people of the western continent
for your depredations visited upon us,
What is it you intend to make payment with?
How do you make restitution
when all you have
you have taken from us with heinous force?
When the time arrives for you to examine yourself
to see what it is you have of value
you will see that all you have belongs not to you
but was taken from us by heinous force and much lying
It is true many of you
have many objects that you have purchased from each other
but the objects you exchange were taken, under protest,
from the land of my people
It is true many of you
have purchased much land from each other,
but this portion of earth belongs to my people,
a gift from Gteat Wonder
It is true America and Spain
that you have written many laws
proclaiming that this hemisphere belongs to you alone,
and all the resources found therein,
but your laws are a mockery to justice
and whatever you claim yet belongs to indigenous
Oh trespassers
what is it you intend to make restitution with,
when you have nothing of your own,
you are occupying the earth of indigenous, uninvited
and your presence is unwanted throughout the world?
pay the indigenous people of the western continent
for your depredations visited upon us,
What is it you intend to make payment with?
How do you make restitution
when all you have
you have taken from us with heinous force?
When the time arrives for you to examine yourself
to see what it is you have of value
you will see that all you have belongs not to you
but was taken from us by heinous force and much lying
It is true many of you
have many objects that you have purchased from each other
but the objects you exchange were taken, under protest,
from the land of my people
It is true many of you
have purchased much land from each other,
but this portion of earth belongs to my people,
a gift from Gteat Wonder
It is true America and Spain
that you have written many laws
proclaiming that this hemisphere belongs to you alone,
and all the resources found therein,
but your laws are a mockery to justice
and whatever you claim yet belongs to indigenous
Oh trespassers
what is it you intend to make restitution with,
when you have nothing of your own,
you are occupying the earth of indigenous, uninvited
and your presence is unwanted throughout the world?
Sunday, July 6, 2008
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages, THE ONLY TREATY NEVER BROKEN
August 20, 1997, home
THE ONLY TREATY NEVER BROKEN
There is a homeland in NE California just south of the Modoc, west of the Paiute, north of Yosemite and east of Wintu, Yana and Yahi. This part of earth will always belong to my people, the Is/Aw’te (currently misidentified as Pit River). The land area covers 3,386,000 acres of mountains, valleys, rivers, streams, lava beds and high deserts.
Ako Yet (Mt Shasta) and Yetta’jenna (Mt Lassen) are our western “corner stones.” Sa’tit (Glass Mountain) and Ahji tinihowi (Medicine Lake) are our northern boundary. Many people come to Glass Mountain to gather obsidian, for arrowheads, spear points, scrapers for hides, slabbed glass for cutting hair, and medicine doctors use sharp glass for operating on the body. Wadak’joshi (Warner Range) is the mountain range that creates our eastern “wall.” Ah’sit (Eagle Lake) is on the southeastern edge of the homeland.
In 1853, after _ of the native population of California was erased by disease and invasion, the U. S. Congress ordered that treaties be negotiated between the tribes of California and the United States. The U. S. Constitution supports that indigenous surrender of aboriginal title is the lawful means whereby the American government may legally acquire indigenous land. There were 18 treaties negotiated with the indigenous of California but none of them became instruments of law because they were not ratified by the U. S. Senate. The argument against ratification was and remains that by “giving” 108,000 acres to the natives while retaining 8.5 million acres, the agreement would give far too much land to indigenous while denying too much “good” land to settlers and immigrants.
Without the natives surrendering aboriginal title to America, aboriginal title cannot pass from the spirit of the indigenous people to the U. S. Government. The Indian Claims Commission found that aboriginal title is a fact of law, and must be quieted legally. In California aboriginal title is not legally quieted, but remains illegally abrogated and politically smothered.
The eleven tribes that comprise the Is /Aw’te (Pit River) nation have been, since the first opportunity, struggling for justice through racist American courts while using colored, slanted American laws.
We have never understood how it is that we can be denied access to our ancestral domain since the laws of the U. S. Constitution are not satisfied. How can American corporations, American citizens and State Government fan out upon our homeland claiming every inch of it without our consent or without due process of law?
We argue that indeed there are trespassers but none of them are of indigenous origin. We reason that those in trespass should be arrested by U. S. Marshals for their crimes and sentenced by both American and indigenous law.
A young native person speaks from the local jail. It is cold in the cell. Indigenous are in jail because the Sheriff and District Attorney of Shasta County,upon a request from Pacific Gas and Electric Company of San Francisco, arrested 50 indigenous. The indigenous are charged with entering buildings belonging to PG&E without consent of the corporation. We argue that it is the corporate structures that are in trespass as well as the notion of absentee ownership.
Great Power hear the cry of the native heart
In this stone house dark and cold
We want the land and to be left alone
They took it, they wanted the gold
Gold was stolen by the angry whites
From the streams feeding the big river
Now they offer paper promises for all our land
Then call us the “Indian Giver.”
I am peering through a window of this cement house
crossed with hard, cold steel
It is dark outside and the coyote’s whine,
Knowing how the lonely hearted feel
My mind looks down on native land,
And two small weed-grown graves
Upon mom and dad who tried to raise
Strong-hearted native braves
****************
And I remember the words of my daddy long ago:
“My son, remember always that the Americans
for as long as the seasons change
will not honor a paper with our people
Honor may not be in their hearts
“Treaties have been made then broken before the ink was dry
“Their speaking-page has never been honest with our people
“There is only one treaty that they have not broken,
our own treaty
“It was not written by the Americans
“IT IS WRITTEN IN THE WIND
and upon the hearts of our people
and within the changing seasons
and upon all rainbows
“This is the only reason why
there is no broken treaty with our people
“You must not forget it is written in the wind.”
Mr. Turn key
Now I’ve got to get back to the land I love
The mountain the river the plain
To live with the spirits in harmony
To defend the land again
The old ones thought there were papers sealed
And signed with dignity’s hand
But there is no treaty and by native right
It is still our very own land
For a warrior does not sell the mother he loves
The mother who gave him life
Any more than he sells his only son
Or the spirit of his tender wife
In the schools I have read many history books
Speaking only confusion and more lies
This earth will always belong to my people
For as long as the sparrow flies
The whites have written many thousand books
To prove this land their own
But for time immemorial my people were here
It is proven by our writing on the stones
Mr. Jailor bring the key to this coyote den
That is cold, unfriendly and dark
Let me go to the place where the sun shines warm
To the singing of the meadow lark
I’ve got to get back to the land I love
To the banks of the big, big river
To the beating of drums and the spearing of fish
And the frying of mule deer liver
And there I’ll live while all around
There is blue and open sky
The fresh air weaving through my thick black hair
And that’s where I’ve decided I will die
With my rifle in my hand and my face to the sky
And the sun all around me thick and thin
The only treaty never broken by the cruel white hand
Is the treaty that is written in the wind.
Sul’ma’ejote
THE ONLY TREATY NEVER BROKEN
There is a homeland in NE California just south of the Modoc, west of the Paiute, north of Yosemite and east of Wintu, Yana and Yahi. This part of earth will always belong to my people, the Is/Aw’te (currently misidentified as Pit River). The land area covers 3,386,000 acres of mountains, valleys, rivers, streams, lava beds and high deserts.
Ako Yet (Mt Shasta) and Yetta’jenna (Mt Lassen) are our western “corner stones.” Sa’tit (Glass Mountain) and Ahji tinihowi (Medicine Lake) are our northern boundary. Many people come to Glass Mountain to gather obsidian, for arrowheads, spear points, scrapers for hides, slabbed glass for cutting hair, and medicine doctors use sharp glass for operating on the body. Wadak’joshi (Warner Range) is the mountain range that creates our eastern “wall.” Ah’sit (Eagle Lake) is on the southeastern edge of the homeland.
In 1853, after _ of the native population of California was erased by disease and invasion, the U. S. Congress ordered that treaties be negotiated between the tribes of California and the United States. The U. S. Constitution supports that indigenous surrender of aboriginal title is the lawful means whereby the American government may legally acquire indigenous land. There were 18 treaties negotiated with the indigenous of California but none of them became instruments of law because they were not ratified by the U. S. Senate. The argument against ratification was and remains that by “giving” 108,000 acres to the natives while retaining 8.5 million acres, the agreement would give far too much land to indigenous while denying too much “good” land to settlers and immigrants.
Without the natives surrendering aboriginal title to America, aboriginal title cannot pass from the spirit of the indigenous people to the U. S. Government. The Indian Claims Commission found that aboriginal title is a fact of law, and must be quieted legally. In California aboriginal title is not legally quieted, but remains illegally abrogated and politically smothered.
The eleven tribes that comprise the Is /Aw’te (Pit River) nation have been, since the first opportunity, struggling for justice through racist American courts while using colored, slanted American laws.
We have never understood how it is that we can be denied access to our ancestral domain since the laws of the U. S. Constitution are not satisfied. How can American corporations, American citizens and State Government fan out upon our homeland claiming every inch of it without our consent or without due process of law?
We argue that indeed there are trespassers but none of them are of indigenous origin. We reason that those in trespass should be arrested by U. S. Marshals for their crimes and sentenced by both American and indigenous law.
A young native person speaks from the local jail. It is cold in the cell. Indigenous are in jail because the Sheriff and District Attorney of Shasta County,upon a request from Pacific Gas and Electric Company of San Francisco, arrested 50 indigenous. The indigenous are charged with entering buildings belonging to PG&E without consent of the corporation. We argue that it is the corporate structures that are in trespass as well as the notion of absentee ownership.
Great Power hear the cry of the native heart
In this stone house dark and cold
We want the land and to be left alone
They took it, they wanted the gold
Gold was stolen by the angry whites
From the streams feeding the big river
Now they offer paper promises for all our land
Then call us the “Indian Giver.”
I am peering through a window of this cement house
crossed with hard, cold steel
It is dark outside and the coyote’s whine,
Knowing how the lonely hearted feel
My mind looks down on native land,
And two small weed-grown graves
Upon mom and dad who tried to raise
Strong-hearted native braves
****************
And I remember the words of my daddy long ago:
“My son, remember always that the Americans
for as long as the seasons change
will not honor a paper with our people
Honor may not be in their hearts
“Treaties have been made then broken before the ink was dry
“Their speaking-page has never been honest with our people
“There is only one treaty that they have not broken,
our own treaty
“It was not written by the Americans
“IT IS WRITTEN IN THE WIND
and upon the hearts of our people
and within the changing seasons
and upon all rainbows
“This is the only reason why
there is no broken treaty with our people
“You must not forget it is written in the wind.”
Mr. Turn key
Now I’ve got to get back to the land I love
The mountain the river the plain
To live with the spirits in harmony
To defend the land again
The old ones thought there were papers sealed
And signed with dignity’s hand
But there is no treaty and by native right
It is still our very own land
For a warrior does not sell the mother he loves
The mother who gave him life
Any more than he sells his only son
Or the spirit of his tender wife
In the schools I have read many history books
Speaking only confusion and more lies
This earth will always belong to my people
For as long as the sparrow flies
The whites have written many thousand books
To prove this land their own
But for time immemorial my people were here
It is proven by our writing on the stones
Mr. Jailor bring the key to this coyote den
That is cold, unfriendly and dark
Let me go to the place where the sun shines warm
To the singing of the meadow lark
I’ve got to get back to the land I love
To the banks of the big, big river
To the beating of drums and the spearing of fish
And the frying of mule deer liver
And there I’ll live while all around
There is blue and open sky
The fresh air weaving through my thick black hair
And that’s where I’ve decided I will die
With my rifle in my hand and my face to the sky
And the sun all around me thick and thin
The only treaty never broken by the cruel white hand
Is the treaty that is written in the wind.
Sul’ma’ejote
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages, SURRENDER
October 26, 1974, 1:45 pm
Home of Doc and LaVerna Jenkins
Doc: Aw’te Councilman
Since this date, Doc’s words have been plagiarized but mostly by tribal people who possess little ability to make any language blossom like these words.
Home of Doc and LaVerna Jenkins
Doc: Aw’te Councilman
SURRENDER
Some of the Tribal Council and supporters were headed for Battle Mountain, Nevada for a conference that might unite the Paiutes, Shoshoni’s and our people
LaVerna Jenkins baked dose mesuts (deer ham). It was just one degree past wonderful. In the discourse around the table, Doc softly spoke some of the strongest words that have ever come to us:
“AMERICA ALWAYS SAID THAT I WAS A BEATEN INDIAN…
THAT I WAS DEFEATED
BUT,
AMERICA CANNOT SHOW ME MY TERMS OF SURRENDER.”
Some of the Tribal Council and supporters were headed for Battle Mountain, Nevada for a conference that might unite the Paiutes, Shoshoni’s and our people
LaVerna Jenkins baked dose mesuts (deer ham). It was just one degree past wonderful. In the discourse around the table, Doc softly spoke some of the strongest words that have ever come to us:
“AMERICA ALWAYS SAID THAT I WAS A BEATEN INDIAN…
THAT I WAS DEFEATED
BUT,
AMERICA CANNOT SHOW ME MY TERMS OF SURRENDER.”
Since this date, Doc’s words have been plagiarized but mostly by tribal people who possess little ability to make any language blossom like these words.
Choice
Old legends of many indigenous on this continent speak of earth being all used up and tragedy finally turning earth into a second moon. Those legends also instruct the plan for humanity to adopt that will make earth, again, a good place to live. As all legends the thought ends with choice. Therefore, we must choose very carefully.
Sul'ma'ejote
Sul'ma'ejote
Saturday, July 5, 2008
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages, Listen! The beating drums of the gathering nations
Memorial Day 1970
4-Corners
LISTEN!
Listen! The beating drums of the gathering nations
Great Mystery, Great wonder
The-one-who-makes
the flight of the eagle
the clouds over forest and mountains
the salmon to return to rumbling waters
is speaking to many hearts
The time is ripe
as earth is ripe in spring
to gather all people together
In hanging shade of weeping willow
Grandfather of all nations spoke,
“The time now is as the time long ago
when we gathered in the peaceful valley
to prepare to run the buffalo
Earth was young then
Standing on a hill top
The eyes could see rivers of black buffalo
Across the gold and green of the grass land
My heart knew much excitement
“In the evening near the dancing fire arrowheads were made
the lance was polished
knives were honed
bows were tested for strength
“Through the night there was much dancing
and speaking to Great Wonder, Great Spirit
“Silver of first light there was excitement in our hearts
The excitement grew as the sun grew,
looking over the mountain at the people gathered there
“My pony was prepared
Soon we mounted and moved out to the rivers of black buffalo
“The hunt was good
“Arrows returned with food for the people
And the feast lasted many suns
“That was long ago
but my heart still remembers
“My heart thought the times of great excitement were lost forever
“Now my eyes are dim
My heart has worked for many seasons
But! My heart is excited as before the hunt
for time is good
Earth will belong to the nations again
Just as it was long ago
“I am prepared!
I will stand wit my nation and all nations
I will glide across the valley
like the shadow of a great eagle
upon my pony
upon native land I will again be human”
Brother sun looked strong upon the land when Grandfather ceased speaking. Shade was good. As is the “way” with our people we waited for Grandfather to continue. He was silent., but his heart was pounding like the life of earth. His heart listened to the gathering nations. His heart listened to the thunder of thousands of buffalo, running. His heart heard the moccasin walking upon native land. The buckskin, the people, the earth, again.
Grandfather’s feelings were in our hearts also.
Sul’ma’ejote
4-Corners
LISTEN!
Listen! The beating drums of the gathering nations
Great Mystery, Great wonder
The-one-who-makes
the flight of the eagle
the clouds over forest and mountains
the salmon to return to rumbling waters
is speaking to many hearts
The time is ripe
as earth is ripe in spring
to gather all people together
In hanging shade of weeping willow
Grandfather of all nations spoke,
“The time now is as the time long ago
when we gathered in the peaceful valley
to prepare to run the buffalo
Earth was young then
Standing on a hill top
The eyes could see rivers of black buffalo
Across the gold and green of the grass land
My heart knew much excitement
“In the evening near the dancing fire arrowheads were made
the lance was polished
knives were honed
bows were tested for strength
“Through the night there was much dancing
and speaking to Great Wonder, Great Spirit
“Silver of first light there was excitement in our hearts
The excitement grew as the sun grew,
looking over the mountain at the people gathered there
“My pony was prepared
Soon we mounted and moved out to the rivers of black buffalo
“The hunt was good
“Arrows returned with food for the people
And the feast lasted many suns
“That was long ago
but my heart still remembers
“My heart thought the times of great excitement were lost forever
“Now my eyes are dim
My heart has worked for many seasons
But! My heart is excited as before the hunt
for time is good
Earth will belong to the nations again
Just as it was long ago
“I am prepared!
I will stand wit my nation and all nations
I will glide across the valley
like the shadow of a great eagle
upon my pony
upon native land I will again be human”
Brother sun looked strong upon the land when Grandfather ceased speaking. Shade was good. As is the “way” with our people we waited for Grandfather to continue. He was silent., but his heart was pounding like the life of earth. His heart listened to the gathering nations. His heart listened to the thunder of thousands of buffalo, running. His heart heard the moccasin walking upon native land. The buckskin, the people, the earth, again.
Grandfather’s feelings were in our hearts also.
Sul’ma’ejote
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages
500 YEARS
1492—1992
DWELLING AMONG SAVAGES
By:
Darryl Babe Wilson (Sul’ma’ejote)
Foreword by:
Erik A. Matilla
1492—1992
DWELLING AMONG SAVAGES
By:
Darryl Babe Wilson (Sul’ma’ejote)
Foreword by:
Erik A. Matilla
Friday, July 4, 2008
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages, Table of Contents
500 YEARS DWELLING AMONG SAVAGES
Table of Contents
Listen!...The Beating Drums of Gathering Nations
America Always Said That I
The only Treaty Never Broken
Retribution
The Divided States of America
Chains and Weakness
Unchanging
Ahwah’Neeche
Purchase
Basket of Peace
Tita’ji
Grandmother Spoke a True Saying
Our Leaders
The Owl People
The God who Can not Smile
The Trees of Peace
A Momentary Passing of the Winter
Et’wi (eagle)
Kinder and Gentler
Flag burning
There Would Be No More War Forever
Oro! Plata! Oro! Oro!
Splashes of Red
500Years Dwelling Among Savages
A Search for Justice
It’spo’ee’otisi
Too Good for Indians
My Spirit Shall now Listen
Obeying Instructions
They Came, the Europeans
American Principles
When the Last Shot is Fired
Where Killing and Hate are Brothers
With an Iron Finger
I did not Understand
Shadow of the Castillion, Tongue of the English
Maliss
Noo’ke’lak’ada
During the Full Moon of October, 1986
A Communication
But for Our Dreams
Now Earth is Dead that Lived for all seasons
A Texture of Much Strength
Because it is a Momentary Dream
Table of Contents
Listen!...The Beating Drums of Gathering Nations
America Always Said That I
The only Treaty Never Broken
Retribution
The Divided States of America
Chains and Weakness
Unchanging
Ahwah’Neeche
Purchase
Basket of Peace
Tita’ji
Grandmother Spoke a True Saying
Our Leaders
The Owl People
The God who Can not Smile
The Trees of Peace
A Momentary Passing of the Winter
Et’wi (eagle)
Kinder and Gentler
Flag burning
There Would Be No More War Forever
Oro! Plata! Oro! Oro!
Splashes of Red
500Years Dwelling Among Savages
A Search for Justice
It’spo’ee’otisi
Too Good for Indians
My Spirit Shall now Listen
Obeying Instructions
They Came, the Europeans
American Principles
When the Last Shot is Fired
Where Killing and Hate are Brothers
With an Iron Finger
I did not Understand
Shadow of the Castillion, Tongue of the English
Maliss
Noo’ke’lak’ada
During the Full Moon of October, 1986
A Communication
But for Our Dreams
Now Earth is Dead that Lived for all seasons
A Texture of Much Strength
Because it is a Momentary Dream
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages, Foreward
It was at the home of Ramsey Bone Blake, in the late summer of 1984 at Fall River Mills, that I listened as Babe was explaining to Grampa Ramsey our plans for a great gathering at San Wolfin Springs, during the full moon of October that year. He had already explained how, as a U. S. Marine, he had been taught to assemble an Atom Bomb and then discussed the principle of the “implosion” that initiated the nuclear reaction. “When we gather all of the nations together during the full moon of October we will create a great implosion that will echo around the world, Babe told his Grampa. I noticed that Ramsey was growing alarmed as Babe stepped further and further into the metaphors he was creating to make us understand his ambition to absolutely honor the spirit of Native sovereignty. I intervened, “Grampa Ramsey, Darryl is only speaking figuratively.” Ramsey looked puzzled for a moment, but his face softened and then he asked, “Oh you mean he is speaking in parables?” When we answered him “yes” his wonderful smile returned. “My goodness, I thought you meant that you were going to blow all those people up!”
Always the truth is at issue as it was at Grampa Ramsey’s that day. Or perhaps more accurately, “meaning” is at issue. The genocide of 95% of California’s indigenous population between 1850 and 1870 certainly “means” something radically different to the survivors and their offspring than it does to the millions of immigrants, the wanderers, who have streaned into this western paradise since the killing began. I encourage the readers of 500 Years Dwelling Among Savages to focus carefully on this issue. It is not that “truth” is relative (one thing to an Igorot and another to an Irishman), but that we may either honor or dishonor “truth” by the measure of the disposition of our free wills. If I say, “You speak the truth,” I acknowledge my belief that your words are well intended. Those victims of the second great killing (after the Arawaks and the Caribs), the Tenochas (Aztecs) and other Nawa speaking people of the Valley of Meshiko, understood this perfectly. Deeply embedded in their language was the conviction that poetry itself was the only truth on earth. The Nauhatl trope, in xochitl in cuicatl (flower and song = poetry), suspends the concept of poetry (by extension of the concept of”truth”) between two metaphors from which meaning pulses, allowing us a fleeting experience of naming something as ambiguous as truth without fixing the terms of its existence in language.
This quincentenary year the great divide which polarizes the Native and Euroamerican populations of America over the myth of Columbus again spells out the ambiguity of truth. A purely historical approach to the problem of Columbus, with which, admittedly, many native people have engaged, can only reduce to the polarity of Columbus as oppressor versus Columbus as civilizer. Such an argument can only be met with protest –protesting the eulogizing of a historic scoundrel or the defaming of a historical hero. In either case the speaking subject utters the protest from within the paradigm, according to the rules of the “discourse of Columbus” as this functions within contemporary culture. Two “histories” are thus written, both serving, as all histories do, the interests of the present by a measured program of emphasis and de-emphasis, evaluation and devaluation. It is a methodology which can only provide an empty position at either end of a discursive formation that is over determined from the moment of its inception. The threat of the historical argument to Native people is exactly that it will do nothing to dis-empower the myth of Columbus – and that myth continues as the rationale to further destroy the remaining pockets of Native culture in the Western Hemisphere. Tragically, the Native person who can only protest the historical object “Columbus,” unwittingly empowers the myth which already operates as a worm which devours Native culture
Erik A. Mattila
Always the truth is at issue as it was at Grampa Ramsey’s that day. Or perhaps more accurately, “meaning” is at issue. The genocide of 95% of California’s indigenous population between 1850 and 1870 certainly “means” something radically different to the survivors and their offspring than it does to the millions of immigrants, the wanderers, who have streaned into this western paradise since the killing began. I encourage the readers of 500 Years Dwelling Among Savages to focus carefully on this issue. It is not that “truth” is relative (one thing to an Igorot and another to an Irishman), but that we may either honor or dishonor “truth” by the measure of the disposition of our free wills. If I say, “You speak the truth,” I acknowledge my belief that your words are well intended. Those victims of the second great killing (after the Arawaks and the Caribs), the Tenochas (Aztecs) and other Nawa speaking people of the Valley of Meshiko, understood this perfectly. Deeply embedded in their language was the conviction that poetry itself was the only truth on earth. The Nauhatl trope, in xochitl in cuicatl (flower and song = poetry), suspends the concept of poetry (by extension of the concept of”truth”) between two metaphors from which meaning pulses, allowing us a fleeting experience of naming something as ambiguous as truth without fixing the terms of its existence in language.
This quincentenary year the great divide which polarizes the Native and Euroamerican populations of America over the myth of Columbus again spells out the ambiguity of truth. A purely historical approach to the problem of Columbus, with which, admittedly, many native people have engaged, can only reduce to the polarity of Columbus as oppressor versus Columbus as civilizer. Such an argument can only be met with protest –protesting the eulogizing of a historic scoundrel or the defaming of a historical hero. In either case the speaking subject utters the protest from within the paradigm, according to the rules of the “discourse of Columbus” as this functions within contemporary culture. Two “histories” are thus written, both serving, as all histories do, the interests of the present by a measured program of emphasis and de-emphasis, evaluation and devaluation. It is a methodology which can only provide an empty position at either end of a discursive formation that is over determined from the moment of its inception. The threat of the historical argument to Native people is exactly that it will do nothing to dis-empower the myth of Columbus – and that myth continues as the rationale to further destroy the remaining pockets of Native culture in the Western Hemisphere. Tragically, the Native person who can only protest the historical object “Columbus,” unwittingly empowers the myth which already operates as a worm which devours Native culture
Erik A. Mattila
500 Years Dwelling Among Savages, Introduction
“500 Years Dwelling Among Savages” is the title of compiled thoughts that usually came to me at dawn. It is neither poetry nor Philosophy, neither wisdom nor prophecy. It is a collection of thought that often came to me through my Elders, and sometimes came in dreams.
The resistance presentation was put into my numen by talking with Elders or Councilpersons to emerge later when haydutsila (thought thinking and producing a product) ground off the rough edges.
My spiritual brother, Erik A. Matilla, wrote the forward. He now resides with his family in Southern California.
I will continue my crusade to correct errors in anthropology and the meaning of our languages. For instance, the identity of the people is not Achumawi, but Itam Is (First People), neither is it Atsugewi, but Aw’te (The people created to dwell here). My mother emerged from Itam Is, my father from Aw’te. Today the society-at-large calls the Aw’te, “Hat Creeks,” and the Itam Is, “Pit Rivers.” There was no “Pit River” before 1858. Anthropology named it “Pit River.” For all of the seasons before that it was (thus remains) It Ajuma (The Big River).
I will post many thoughts from this manuscript expecting that someone somewhere will collect them so our spirit of resistance will not perish. I begin with the message in my brother’s foreword which was a dream of Grampa Ramsey Bone Blake to somehow gather the chiefs and head men from the tribes upon this hemisphere to show: Jeu himal, jeu hataji, jeu Is: One mind, one heart, one people.
Let us begin with the manuscript’s foreword by my brother.
The resistance presentation was put into my numen by talking with Elders or Councilpersons to emerge later when haydutsila (thought thinking and producing a product) ground off the rough edges.
My spiritual brother, Erik A. Matilla, wrote the forward. He now resides with his family in Southern California.
I will continue my crusade to correct errors in anthropology and the meaning of our languages. For instance, the identity of the people is not Achumawi, but Itam Is (First People), neither is it Atsugewi, but Aw’te (The people created to dwell here). My mother emerged from Itam Is, my father from Aw’te. Today the society-at-large calls the Aw’te, “Hat Creeks,” and the Itam Is, “Pit Rivers.” There was no “Pit River” before 1858. Anthropology named it “Pit River.” For all of the seasons before that it was (thus remains) It Ajuma (The Big River).
I will post many thoughts from this manuscript expecting that someone somewhere will collect them so our spirit of resistance will not perish. I begin with the message in my brother’s foreword which was a dream of Grampa Ramsey Bone Blake to somehow gather the chiefs and head men from the tribes upon this hemisphere to show: Jeu himal, jeu hataji, jeu Is: One mind, one heart, one people.
Let us begin with the manuscript’s foreword by my brother.
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