DESTINY

01-17-08


DESTINY

One summer day I was in my homeland. The wisest tribal man in my life-experience, Craven Gibson, sent for me (nobody knew Cravens age). In the old way this “sending for” is accomplished not with telephone but with hayy (thought). He “threw” a thought that was “caught” and delivered to me. “Young man, where you goin’? Craven wants to see you.” I went to his crooked little home out on the flat land of Atwum (Big Valley). Because his tired home sagged and the old hinges on the door did not work well and earth got in the way, his front door did not open all of the way, but scraped the ground, hard. My old truck screeched into his yard. The door of his home was open. As I walked up to it he “hallowed” me in for coffee. Soon we were talking politics and I learned that he had some advice for the American President. He wrote his advice with pencil on a piece of frayed, brown grocery bag. He wanted me to deliver it “Next time you see him.” He somehow thought I often had lunch with,could run in and out of the Presidents office at any time, and that I could reach that office as if it was just around the corner instead of 3,000 miles away!
He handed me the paper as he talked. I took the wrinkled piece of grocery bag, folded it then put it in my shirt pocket. We continued the visit. The conversation had a sharp edge every time politics was mentioned.
Soon he mellowed and he talked of legends and destiny. His legends were often about the moon. To him, his destination and destiny seemed like the origin story that began “Before there was something, there was nothing.” In this instance his “vastness” was a huge play pen with a few stars for light. The way he explained it, his destiny was a forever dreaming about eternity.
Then we got back onto a hard subject and talked about how fragile and damaged earth is since the foreigners came here, beginning to harm earth in their first moments, and how they dreamed of damaging earth the more. The profit motive to the strangers seemed much more important than earth, life and future. He worried.
Southeast Asia was being bombed by the American administration and it was now implementing a full-blown carpet bombing. Foliage destruction in the form of Agent Orange was freely used. The future of soldiers on either side was studded with doubt. The old wise man often baffled me because he could “see” the world the way it is and his thoughts often confronted those things that he felt were totally out of balance. Before we left the yard for coffee at his crooked table - that was kept from rocking by a paper match book under the short leg, I opened the thought to the American President. He had written his note in pencil, printing each word. His words pushed hard into the paper:

“There is no power in destructive, only in creative.”

His message may reach its destination one day. Tribal members found him in his yard looking up. Today I “see” him walking with destiny through eternity, moving within his destination, and wonder what any American President would do with his truth. I wondered if any President would ever be brave enough to look with the eyes of their hearts into the eyes of Craven’s heart. I wonder and worry. We shall see.

TWO MOON

Another time Craven sent for me. As instructed, I arrived at his home moments before full-moon splashed like a sunrise across Atwum and the coyotes began to sing all around. He spoke long about legend and the moon. In the course of the evening he told how the moon was an earth at one time and how it had all of the life of this earth. He called the moon before it turned into the moon, first earth.
He told of the war that took place on the first earth between two “thinkings.” One “thinking” looked upon first earth and said, “This is mine and I’ll use it all for myself.” The other “thinking” said, “No. You must save earth for coming generations.” The two “thinkings” got into a big argument that turned into a war.
The side that wanted to save earth used up its half trying to defend it, and the half that wanted earth for selfish purposes, used up its half with bombs, bullets and destruction. One day first earth caught on fire and there was not enough water to put it out. “First earth burn all up.” He took me out and we looked at the full moon hanging there in the darkness. He showed me the craters and the scratches. “Do you see that war?” I did.
We went back into his home. He sat at the table near his coffee cup and pushed his palms and crooked, warn fingers together, hard. There was a long silence, then he began, “Look at this erth with you heart. See two sides like first erth. Many big arguments, who gets it to use for selfish. It damaged and those using erth for self use it more fast. Mebee all burn up soon.” The power of my spirit looked upon a burning earth and chills raced up and down my spine and around the back of my neck.

“Craven, then there would be two moons?”

“Two moon, no erth.”

The chills raced faster. I rushed home. With chills still racing across my heart I grabbed my writing pad and wrote down his words vowing to write a book about our conversation there under the summer moon. I did: Two Moon.

Sul’ma’ejote