ORO!

July 26. 1991, U. C. Davis

ORO! PLATA! ORO! AZTECA ORO!

Simulations with the European invasion of the western hemisphere, was the discovery that there was much gold and silver here. Columbus stumbled upon a land that was totally unknown to Europeans or the Bible, and remains, after 500-years, unfamiliar to those Europeans who have failed to cultivate a natural, spiritual sense with it.

While October 12,1492, is not the beginning of native history on this hemisphere,

It is the beginning of something: Assault, by strange beings with intentions of committing grievous harm to the people, the landscape and the earth. It must not be, in the clear thinking of indigenous, a moment of Discovery. It must be viewed as heinous invasion. It must be viewed as an instance of unwanted penetration, and the beginning of a planned and tragic rape that may have no ending.

Arrogant land-famished Americans and Europeans, coupled with foreign greed and basic stupidity maintain the position that our homeland was empty, just begging for someone to “discover” it, and for a strange God to place a heavenly population here. Those thoughts are imbalanced and dated. Now natives struggled to put forth an ancient paradigm presenting the “real” purpose for the earth and earth’s populations. This knowledge is in our legends.

One truth is that this hemisphere was not waiting for anybody to come from anywhere to “discover” it. All of the necessary elements of this hemisphere were established at the origin of earth, feathered into the purpose of the universe. Earth was then populated with the correct types, balanced and intentionally placed numbers of humans and wildlife. That balanced dream is disrupted, seeking desperately to correct it self. Greed, coupled with the “American Dream,” are the root cause of the imbalance this hemispheric homeland is experiencing.

The Intense and unnecessary confrontation that occurred in the Bahama Islands between the invading Europeans and the native people in 1492 was and remains today, one of value. That is the single most abrasive element in the thought pattern of the invading Europeans, their gnarled interpretation of value. The invading population placed no value upon wisdom and knowledge. They severed the heads of the knowledge and shoved swords through the hearts of wisdom, while destroying the wonders of the landscape. Value to the native people was and remains in thought, dream, purpose, responsibility and integrity.

As Cortes marched into Mexico attacking the diseased-weakened people (diseases that spread quickly from the first voyage of Columbus and his unclean pirates) dwelling there with the intention of destroying them to the last child , and taking Aztec gold to the King and Queen of Castile/Aragon while claming all of the earth for the crown, as did all of the early search-and-destroy elements (under the disguise of adventure), he was directly in confrontation with the values native people placed upon everything. His was a singular, money-oriented value system where everything was measured in money equivalency. Native’s valued gold and silver for there beauty. Natives valued life and earth’s life with an intense awareness of its creation, its spiritual power and its personal needs.

When Pizarro entered Panama and the areas of south America that he Violated. He managed to learn that the natives worshipped earth for its beauty of purpose, and not for the nuggets in the streams.

Then Pizarro invaded Peru. He found a divided feuding people in civil unrest. In the north Atahulapa was established. Huscar, his brother , established rule in the south. They were not of balanced minds. Each brother wanted the Peruvian kingdom for himself. They fought. Pizarro sided with one then the other. When the war had depleted the supplies of each brother and diseases from Europe had weakened the population long before his arrival, and there was a wounded, desperate society, Pizarro stepped in with a few men and guns and took Atahualapa prisoner.

In exchange for his freedom, Atahulapa provided Pizarro with $8,000,000.00 in gold of dazzling jewelry design. Pizarro accepted the jewelry, Atahualapa remained in chains( The Americana ,1911, PAZ-PUB, Pizarro)

The Value system of the European (Americans) is yet in direct conflict with that of Native People of this hemisphere. It seems that EuroAmericans have a great emptiness within their spiritual power since they have continually demonstrated an inability to understand the beauty, and purpose for life and earth. The strangers exchange earth for money, rendering it real estate and property, similar to that mentally hovering over slaves. It is a constant wonder to traditional indigenous people how or why this thinking is allowed to exist in the universe. That thought patters in far out of balance and has no healing purpose.

The life-spirit of earth, universe and native people cannot be separated. When native people are denied access to the earth and the earth’s spirit’s for vary long, earth begins to wither inside like a walnut that appears healthy, but when broken into one finds it has been rotting to black powder all along.

“The problem of the Indians is rooted in the land tenure system of our economy. Any attempt solve it with administration or police measures, thought education or by a road building program is superficial and secondary as long as the feudalism of gamonales continues to exist. Gomonalismo necessarily invalidates any law or regulation for the protection of the Indian. (Mariatiqui,1974, “seven Interpretive essays on Peruvian reality.” AustinU.,pp 23).

Gun-controlled Democracy is as much in confrontation with the native people in America as is the disturbed gamonales thought elsewhere upon this continent. Like beheading flowers in the meadow with a double-edge sword, Democracy has invaded the native nest and now demands that the original people participate in democratic enlightenment, or perish. It is not spiritually healthy for native people to either believe in or participate in that foreign rule. We are in balance when we adhere to our own systems and when we exercise our own “way.” More and more natives must compare our history with that of the foreigners, turn away from imbalance, and employ our “way” for the benefit of our existence, and deny all else.

From the end of the barrel of the democratic gun comes the command ordering natives to obey foreign rule and participate in a “Democratic” native election. In the original native way, the true power to disagree with any subject was to stay away and not be “counted.” Calculated, deliberate absence remains the most powerful “no” vote upon this continent, a thousand forms of “Democracy” and an array of military cannons notwithstanding!

With the “new” Democratic way in native country, a “no” vote is not counted in an absence but their absence conveniently turns into an act of agreement. “It takes a pretty smart native to understand the ways of the white man.” Grampa Ramsey Bone Blake, Elder, said long ago:

“The white man don’t sleep. They stay awake and think and plan all day and night. They are awake always and they have made machines that stay awake longer than they can. They are against us. Those machines take very good care of white people, but they are against us!”

This clash of cultures and of value systems must be examined, dissected and corrected within the native numina. For government to attempt to be of any assistance to the “problem” by creating new layers of bureaucracy or pretended self-determination programs (programs that emit from the established, moldy bureaucracy), is futile. Upon this hemisphere the original native system of values and original world-view must be understood and accepted by all people, free from any influence from outside interests. Somehow soon the concerned natives must gather and seek solutions for the many problems. The “invasion mentality” in America and in European societies, have no desire to accomplish this for natives, anywhere. Mother Earth and native people cannot wait another 500-years for the invading population to awaken while bureaucratic rules of little meaning pile like dead limbs on the forest floor. We must free ourselves from participation in democracies and bureaucracies and re-establish the natural rules that govern this hemisphere. All else will continue as chaos.

The last wave of Elders departed, including Grampa Ramsey. Their “power” rests within the universe, their hearts are held by Mother Earth. I search the horizon for knowledge-bearers. The vast horizon is vacant. Feeling abandoned, my spirit trembles. But I take refuge in Grampa’s dream:

“There was a gathering. One Chiefs from many tribes, from circle [North Pole] to Patagonia. They talk and sing in spiritual way – in prayings, in thoughts, in many language. No need know many language, but understand. Each thought *it’spo’e’otise, each prayer real with meanings to earth, to stars.

End of meeting ripple cross earth. Cleansing. Water good once more. Air good to breathe. Te’ca’te (Mother Earth) sickness, heal. Native real, again. Real language. Real “way.”

Foreign people look to himself, examine. Correct, stay in land. If no correct, must go, take pain, too.”

*it’spo’e’otise: When the eyes of your heart look into the eyes of my heart seeing only good, and the eyes of my heart look into the eyes of your heart seeing only good, then the words between us can only be genuine.

Although some of us labored to bring Grampa’s beautiful dream to life, it did not happen. That great gathering and thinking did not materialize. The “real” law is yet to be presented to clear-minded indigenous. Those indigenous upon a honeymoon with Americana may never make the necessary adjustments. There are many accomplishments still in the future of native people from this hemisphere which will cause a struggle and confrontation with those powers that long to keep the indigenous in a subservient position. Quetzalcoatl is to return on Reed-1 and assume his position in the governing of the native people. His re-entry into the homeland is yet in the future. Reed-1 occurs every 52 years. Potentially he can return at any time.

Perhaps Grampa’s dream will soon present itself. We must be prepared for this and many other events. We must seek our native values and sharpen them to a shiny edge. We must re-claim our many languages and employ our native spirituality in its pure form, as it was just 500 years ago. Yes, the native nations can and will become whole again. Any delay in accomplishing this task must be accepted as neglect by the indigenous ourselves. Nobody can do it for us. Nobody but ourselves can keep us from accomplishing it.

Gold and silver cannot purchase a value that is the completion of a blessing, a touching, a healing. They cannot purchase life. They cannot buy happiness. They cannot displace sorrow and sadness. They cannot become a measurement of all that is good and may continue to be a gauge for all that is evil. Here in part is a presumptive letter from Columbus to the King and Queen of Castile/Aragon. It is 1492, October 13. It is penned at an island of the Bahamas, the homeland of the Lucayo indigenous. Columbus has been upon the western continent for only moments and he has no idea where he is, except west of Europe.

“Most precious King and Queen,

“As I promised in our encounters upon the European continent, I have touched the earth of a western land. The people are friendly and they will give me whatever I desire. Should I ask for the land and the mountains and the trees and the rivers, they would obey my wish. For the promotion of your greatness this land is discovered. It is yours your most precious majesties.

“I have claimed all that is known in this most beautiful land and all that is unknown for the crown of Castile/Aragon. There is no opposition to your claim! Indeed the native people are happy to be part of this gift to my King and Queen. The natives seem to know your happiness is of the utmost importance.

“All that I have touched today belongs now to the crown that put me upon this happy journey. All that I touch tomorrow and the many tomorrows shall be your possession also. It is your possession my King and Queen. It shall forever be part of your gracious kingdom, even as I shall remain, your most humble servant. When I encounter the Great Khan, I shall inform him of your just claim to this land.

Cristobol Colon, October 13, 1492, Cathay.”

(Parker, John, Discovery, Charles Scribner and Sons, New York, 1972)

This was not a happy encounter for the indigenous. Diseases and the assault-to-commit-great-harm Columbus and Cortes dropped, like a bomb upon the indigenous, instantly mushroomed in intensity and the variety of diseases that they and their pirates escorted, spread like fire among the natives and across the golden plains from the Atlantic to the Pacific, south to Panama and into South America from the Aztec to the Inca and Patagonia, north to the Inupiak and Eskimo and Aleut. The diseases and the attack-mentality mass-murdered natives between these poles, and the many diseases have now mutated to thousands more through the centuries. That vicious mentality and the life-rupturing diseases are alive and intend to invade all that they touch as they multiply and divide then multiply again and again. The indigenous must deny “civilization” and re-establish our original purpose and intended destiny. We must, as one body, shed Democracy as if it were the dead skin of a rattle snake, and return to our systems of real and true values. The sweet spirits in approaching generations deserve nothing else. We took the brunt of “civilization’s” viciousness. Let us relieve approaching generations from it all. Their futures will be needed to somehow nullify the ever scattering-outward effects of the mutating diseases.

The oro and plata wrestled from this hemisphere must be returned to the rightful owners and placed tenderly in their hands because upheaval will continue to plague “civilization” until this event happens.

No, there is not an indigenous curse put upon the oro and plata stolen from this hemisphere after a continuous attack of genocide aforethought. The curse came with the vicious and deranged manners of the invading Europeans whose descendants are yet too callous to ask ingress and egress from the hemispherical people and pardon for their clumsy activities. Activities that may not find pardon in Hades. Sul’ma’ejote

Invasion

[At some point Historians should cease the bad habit of pouring liberal doses of whipped cream over the gruesome recipe of American history. Changing the heinous invasion of this hemisphere from assault to destroy all of life to a fairytale whispered by children about Kings and Queens is not healthy for students who give credence to history as presented by the school board but find later that their “take” on Americana is fabricated to soothe the masses engaged in that activity which has produced only spiritual, physical and moral carnage. A variety of diseases and death came from Europe. At first there were a few death-carriers, then waves and waves. The many bad habits of European thought were transplanted here, too.

The great “American Dream” now builds a dozen penitentiaries to every one university. Today earth and life are sick and perishing in the night, yet we are informed we must continue the path of “progress.” Indigenous Elders see the unhappy end to this earth and issue “warnings.” The warnings are never heard, like the wind blew the worried, “meaningless” words away].

IT IS LONG PAST THE TIME TO CEASE PRAISING

THE “RIGHTS’ OF DISOVERY

AND START INVESTIGATING

THE “WRONGS” OF INVASION.

[After engaging in the study of American Indian Law at a prestigious university, I came to this conclusion, since none of the study was founded upon indigenous law and rule and wrote]

THE WHITE MAN WRITES INDIGENOUS HISTORY

ON A SCRAP OF PAPER

WITH A PENCIL

BUT WRITES AMERICAN INDIAN LAW

ON THE JAIL HOUSE WALL

WITH THE END OF THE BARREL

OF HIS GUN

Sul’ma’ejote

Sul’ma’ejote,

Santa Cruz, 2009

Invasion

[At some point Historians should cease the bad habit of pouring liberal doses of whipped cream over the gruesome recipe of American history. Changing the heinous invasion of this hemisphere from assault to destroy all of life to a fairytale whispered by children about Kings and Queens is not healthy for students who give credence to history as presented by the school board but find later that their “take” on Americana is fabricated to soothe the masses engaged in that activity which has produced only spiritual, physical and moral carnage. A variety of diseases and death came from Europe. At first there were a few death-carriers, then waves and waves. The many bad habits of European thought were transplanted here, too.
The great “American Dream” now builds a dozen penitentiaries to every one university. Today earth and life are sick and perishing in the night, yet we are informed we must continue the path of “progress.” Indigenous Elders see the unhappy end to this earth and issue “warnings.” The warnings are never heard, like the wind blew the worried, “meaningless” words away].



IT IS LONG PAST THE TIME TO CEASE PRAISING

THE “RIGHTS’ OF DISOVERY


AND START INVESTIGATING

THE “WRONGS” OF INVASION.


[After engaging in the study of American Indian Law at a prestigious university, I came to this conclusion, since none of the study was founded upon indigenous law and rule and wrote]


THE WHITE MAN WRITES INDIGENOUS HISTORY
ON A SCRAP OF PAPER
WITH A PENCIL

BUT WRITES AMERICAN INDIAN LAW
ON THE JAIL HOUSE WALL
WITH THE END OF THE BARREL
OF HIS GUN

Sul’ma’ejote





Sul’ma’ejote,
Santa Cruz, 2009

Owl People

OWL PEOPLE 

 

            Long ago Great Spirit rested on a mountain top and looked over the land.  Sunrise had just splashed across earth.  It was beautiful.  It was beyond grand.  It was home.  He was happy, but there was not a wisp of morning smoke, not a whiff of juniper fire.  He looked again seeing the land was vacant of people.  He worried.  He Came down from the mountain and walked the land, nothing.  Jopka (Mink) and Kasu’kui (Pine Martin) slipped  by.  Great Spirit called them to help find the people.

            Earlier, Mink and Martin were running through the land.  They saw elk, panther, eagle and salmon.  They watched the herds of deer and antelope.  They scurried in eating scraps of salmon  bear left.  They darted away from wolverine.  They watched the flowers  blossom and they listened to all of the sounds of nature, but they did not see people.

            “This morning, as many other mornings, I failed to smell the juniper fire the people use for making breakfast,” Mink said.

            Martin thought for a while.  He was trying to recall if it was time for people to gather at the bend of the big river to catch salmon, or to gather in the big valley and dig roots.  Maybe they were farther up having a rabbit drive.  “You know, I have not seen any of their tracks either,” he said.

            “Okay, it’s time to find the people,” they both blurted, while jumping from the shade of the oaks onto the golden grass of the valley.  “Let’s start right away.”

            “Let’s split up, we can cover more ground that way,” mink suggested.  Martin agreed.  “I’ll go to the eastern mountains and look for tracks.  If I find any I will return here, to the center.  You go to the western cornerstones looking for tracks then return here to the center.  We will meet here in the passing of five suns.”

            First martin climbed the tallest pine tree he could find and looked all around.  He was looking for campfire smoke.  He looked far down the river and far up the river.  Nothing.  He looked far to the east and far to the west.  Nothing.  He ran down the tree and began searching from mountain to mountain for tracks.  Mink worked the eastern range searching north and south.  Nothing.

            Mink moved like a shadow along the earth, looking under logs between the rocks and whenever he met hummingbird or crow he asked about the people.  Thus he traveled the eastern range finding that no other being had see people lately.  After searching for five days finding no people he returned to the center.

            Martin traveled the land and searched from tree tops looking for smoke or “sign” everywhere.  Along the western boundary he found nothing.  Every time he saw a passing bird or a beetle he asked if they saw any people.  He met Et’wi (eagle).  Eagle said he would fly high in the sky and look for smoke or tracks.  Eagle returned to Martin saying there were no tracks or other evidence of people.  On the 5^th day Martin returned to the center.  There waiting was Mink.

            They had a big talk and decided the best thing to do was to keep searching for the people, there was an urgency now.  Eagle would search from the sky and report anything he found.  After days of searching from high in the sky and finding nothing, he was getting discouraged.

            “I know they are still in this land but I do not know where,” Mink said.  “Then lets keep searching for them.  Maybe they are hiding in earth,” Martin said.  They set out together.  They were going to search caves and caverns, all of the crevasses and canyons, all of the volcanoes.  They  assumed the duty to find the people.

            They searched and searched.  They grew weary, rested and searched again.  They looked everywhere.  Mink squeezed into the smallest holes and cracks.  Deep in the earth he listened hoping to hear the people singing.  Silence, but for earth breathing. 

            Martin climbed the trees talking again with birds, nothing.  He ran down the tree and searched the trail.  Mink popped out from nowhere.  They talked and continued the hunt.  Then, there near the fork in the trail they found a people track!  It did not look good because there was an owl track there, too.  Hurrying they scurried to the owl cave.  It was concealed with a lot of brush growing at the entrance.  They crept up, ever alert and listened ever intently.  Silence.  A flutter of powerful wings overhead caused them to dart for safety.  They peered between the leaves of grass and watched a huge owl land near the entrance, quickly look in all directions then strut into the cave.

            “Shall we follow?” asked Martin.  “NO!” replied Mink.  “That owl might catch and eat us both!”  You stand watch here.  I will slip into the cave and hurry back as soon as I learn something.”  That sounded like a great plan to Martin and he agreed to hide, watching.  The plan was if another owl returned to the cave, Martin would hurl a stone into the cave.  This would alert Mink to hide or flee.

            Moving along the ground with the silence and swiftness of a snake, Mink entered the cave and vanished into the darkness – a whisper among the shadows.  Some distance in, the cave turned to the left.  Mink moved cautiously now.  He came to the bend in the cave and peeked around a pile of stones.  He saw a big fire and many owls standing around talking and laughing.  They seemed to be fat and healthy.  In the dancing light of the fire that lanced between the owls, Mink saw, lined against the wall, all of the people!  His shiny eyes took in the hideous scene.  He noticed the people were not tied or bound in any way but the people could not move.  He thought about this.

            Mink scurried back to Martin and told him the scene.  They decided the situation called for more study so Mink returned to the cave and settled in the shadows where he could see everything but not be seen.  It puzzled him why the people did not try to get away since they were not bound.  They all seemed dazed or frightened.  They could not or would not move.

            It must have been time for dinner.  Some of the owl people went to the back wall and drug two people close to the fire.  The people did not resist.  The owl people tied them to a long pole and roasted them over the fire.  Soon the owl people were feasting.  Mink studied the situation then realized all of the people had the bones of their arms and legs removed.

            Mink also thought that maybe the reason the people failed to cry out was because they were already dead but he could tell by the shine of their eyes they were alive.  He was puzzled and carefully watched.

            In horror he watched as the owl people cut off the tops of the heads of the people and scooped the brains out.  The owl people shared the brains as they grunted and mumbled and passed the brains around.  They used brains for dissert.  They licked their fingers and made sucking noises.  It seemed the owl people took the brains out of the people they were preparing to roast.

            A fat owl marched in.  He had a snake in each hand.  He was loud.  He bragged.  Mink heard him say, “Put this snake in the brain.  That way if they ever try to get away they will have to crawl like a snake and we can catch them easy.”  They placed the snake where they just extracted the brain and closes the skull and propped the person back against the wall.

            Mink watched as they took the brains out of some people and placed a snake in there, closed the skull and leaned the people against the wall.  He could not tell how many people had brains and how many had snakes.  They all looked alike, but he thought he saw a difference in the shine of their eyes.  Then, again, since it was bad lighting in the cave he dismissed the thought.

            Soon Mink returned to Martin and told him all he had seen.  They thought and thought.  “Did you see anything peculiar about the owl people? Martin asked.  Mink said “Yes! There is something peculiar about them!  After each meal the owl people sit around the fire backwards.  They lean against one another, chinking themselves so they won’t fall into the fire and they can sleep warm.

“There are many owl people,” Martin said, “Yet we must think how to free the people.  Great Spirit gave us that duty.  They thought maybe they could scare the owl people away but there were only two of them and many owls.  They thought to get the Bear Clan to help them but the bears were down river concentrating on salmon.  Antelope people?  No.  Rabbit people?  No.  Owl people would kill rabbits and dry them and save them for winter.

            Every idea seemed to end in a negative note so they decided to save the people themselves.  They thought and thought.  Day was breaking when Mink finally hit upon an idea. 

            “When the owl people are full of flesh and are sleeping backwards to the fire I can slip in there and tie the long hair and long feathers at the nap of their necks one to the other.  When they wake up they will all be tied together.”

            “Great! I will make a huge mask, a demon mask, and after you have the owl people tied to each other I will rush into the cave screaming and making all the noise I can.  Owls will get scared and fall into the fire,” Martin exclaimed.

            And so it was.  Mink, silent as a shadow, placed fresh wood on the fire then tied owl to owl in that circle while Martin was busy running through the forest gathering limbs and bushes and paint to create a hideous mask.  He painted a face that was frightening.  It scared him just to look at it.  He admired his artistic talent.

            The owls were sleeping.  All was quiet except an occasional snore or a smacking of the lips.  Solitude, again.  Mink gave the signal to Martin.  In the cave he ran, screaming his most terrifying scream.  From his perch on a big rock, Mink was banging antlers together while banging them on a big rock making a terrible racket.

            An owl woke up.  There coming at him was a terrible devil.  It was going to kill him and he knew it.  He tried to jump up and run but something had him from behind.  Then all the owls jumped up, all thinking the devil had them from behind.  They thought they were surrounded by a tribe of vicious, hungry devils.  They struggled with each other in the panic to flee.  In a big fuzzy ball they fell into the fire.  They died in this manner.  The cave was smoky and smelled bad.

            Quickly, the other part of their plan had to be put into high gear because sometimes owls fly by the tribe and they  had to hurry before a flock of owls returned.  Martin had fashioned arm and leg bones from Elderberry branches.  Quickly they placed the fabricated arm and leg bones into the people and led them to safety.  They hurried back and fixed more people.  Soon all of the people were out of the cave and hiding in the forest.  Some of them trembled in fright of the owl people but some seemed to be unconcerned.  Their eyes were not right.  They were alive and their eyes shined, but not properly.

            Those people must be the ones the owl people took their brains and replaced them with a snake, Mink said.  Martin agreed.  “We should have taken the snakes out before we placed the arm and leg bones back in them.  Still, the people were safe now.”

 

            There at the council fire the ancient one stood, saying,  “This narrative tells us why, hisnawa (young warriors), indigenous nations are divided today.  And this is how it came to be the strangers invading our homelands found so many of our people upon this land to work with them while they were destroying us.  This is why some of our people led the Army and Conquistadors to the hiding places of our mothers and children and watched while the babies were being butchered and fed to the angry dogs.  This is why our people led the soldiers to our ceremony.  The army came and marked that place red with our blood for all seasons.  Mink and Martin thought they were helping our people long ago, and they did, but they should have left those with snakes for brains in that cave.”

            Within myself I wonder if the owl people also represent the corporate body, education, or both,  because after 500-years the “American dream” longs to destroy us to our last breath.  The old ones said, “If you want to see, don’t look with the eyes connected to your brain.  That way you can only look.  To see, look with the eyes of your heart.”  I look with the eyes of my heart upon the indigenous people.  There are many divisions and separations.  There are many lonely, too.

 

Sul’ma’ejote

1973, Redding

               

Justice

[ I am returning to “500 Years Dwelling Among Savages.”]

 

Holland, summer, 1972.  UN Conference on Human Environment at Stockholm, Sweden just concluded.

 

The place where dwells the seat of “justice”

that has not the spirit

to defend innocent people from deadly assault

 

A SEARCH FOR JUSTICE

ZUIDER ZEE

 

Little home of Zuider Zee

            resting uneasy under grey clouds

            trembling with each cresting of the waves

 

For many seasons

            you were to my dreams

            a place of beautiful wonder,

                        a land dwelling only in stories told to me by my mother

                        in the dancing light of whispering fire

                        when I was a small child

                        in the darkness long ago

 

But as time grew older

            the fairytale lands became real places

and my people remained threatened

            by invading armies of much agony that

                        burned our homes

                        plundered our water and forests

                        and destroyed the lives of  our children

 

They changed the land of our dreams

            into a place that our Grandmothers cannot recognize

            although they struggle to do this

 

In our search of many seasons for justice

            we learned of the great house of much peace

            resting upon earth

                        among the gardens in the land of many tulips

 

The Council

            around the flickering fire of evening spoke,

 

“We have exhausted all of the laws of the Americans

            none will give us justice

            none will give us consideration

 

“We have exhausted our patience

            with the grey words of the Indian Bureau

            and all of the American Presidents

 

“We must wait no longer for justice to be delivered to us

            for with each passing day

            there are many new laws

            that remove us farther from truth, as a stick floating down stream moves away

 

“Officers of the United Nations

            refuse to stand beside us in out correct position of never being defeated

            and never saying, “surrender”

 

They, working with Americans, elect to deny us our sovereignty

            and to acknowledge that we will never surrender

 

“Let us send a messenger

to the land of flowers and windmills

where people wear shoes made from the trees in the forest

 

For there is a palace there, we are told,

            and justice is not denied to any people

            for it is the council-heart of the world

 

“We have given Americans too many seasons to be true with us

            now we must go beyond the boundaries of America

            seeking that dignity which is ours by birth

 

“We must make America face us

as the world sits in judgment

and we bring our charges and lay them before the law-people

who live only for justice for all nations

who dream only of freedom for all children

who spend their days and their nights

            thinking only of

            equal sharing of powers that are of earth.”

 

This is how my tribal council thought as the coyotes yodeled and stars danced blue and red in the night sky and moon looked through the tops of the tall pines, thinking

 

This is how my people thought as we gathered beneath the seasons wondering of our future

 

Soon the power led me across the great eastern salt-waters

 

To the land where the heartless statue

            of the one called Napoleon

            stands upon every corner of the city, Paris

 

To the place where Hitler and ignorance smiled

            at the death of the poor and the Jewish people

 

To the place of many agreements-that-have-no-binding-of-the-heart, Geneva

 

To the land of the fighting people of Lyon

 

To the beautiful rolling hills of the sweet people,

and that place has been known for all seasons, Larzac

 

To the land of tulips-of-all-colors, to the shores of Zuider Zee, and peace

 

Aztec, Mayan, Mohawk, Hopi, Navajo, Itam Is

 

Together we walked towards

            the huge building of red stone

            called by many people, palace-where-peace-dwells

 

My thoughts whispered to my being

 

            “Here, after many seasons

            my people will finally find justice”

 

We spoke to a man-of-no-spirit but who held a gun

We spoke to a man-of-no-knowledge but who stood behind a power desk

We spoke to a man-of-no-understanding

            but who said he knew all there was to know

            about world justice

            and native homelands were not nations

 

We spoke to a man who said many times, “can’t”

.

And the old black man sweeping floors

            was the only one in the palace

            with enough dignity to know what he was doing

 

O’Holland, you must no longer honor America’s interpretation of justice

            or you will always be a frightened thought of peace

a trembling people doubting truth,

a confused purpose in a small land

pretending to have direction and destination

 

Sul’ma’ejote

MOON WHERE IS OUR PRINCESS?

[another thought about Princess Diana]

 

 

MOON WHERE IS OUR PRINCESS?

 

 

My spirit and myself

waited for moon to appear

for we had many questions to ask him

about Princess Diana

Moon, we are told, knows the answer to any question

 

Moon’s halo shimmered upon the eastern horizon of the world

Me and my spirit waited

like mountain lion waits the moment to strike

the alert deer in the open meadow

with moon brightly frosting the land silver

 

Moon journeyed silently nearby

we spoke saying,

“Moon, your heart knows of our sweet Princess

Tell us all that you know of her today

for our destines hesitate”

 

Moon looked upon us

ceasing his journey around the world saying,

 

“She is most precious

it is said she now dwells in the Greatest Circle

 

When your hearts weep and tingle in their wakefulness,

know this for all seasons

 

“Diana, the moon Goddess

causes my heart to tingle and weep also

for it has been said to me by Great Wonder

that there may never be another Princess for all seasons

 

“And I  then will dwell

upon a lonely path around the world

around the sun,

around forever

around eternity

and around a greater greatness still, alone

 

weep for me also

 

for you have only lost a Princess

but I have lost my Love, my Princess and my Goddess

and have nothing more to worship with deep tenderness

Perhaps it is time for me to cease to shine.”

 

My spirit and I held moon close whispering,

 

“Moon, you shall not journey alone

for we shall travel with you around eternity

and in our wandering

we shall remember the blue flash in her eyes

when she turned away from the huge house-of-cold-stone,

her sparkle as she smiled upon the multitude,

her tenderness as her gaze met the lame and meek of the world,

and her dreams as she peered deep into the glitter of the universe.”

 

Moon wept with us as one aching heart

then continued to journey around eternity and forever

 

We,

hearts tingling with lonesome agony and a vast emptiness

followed moon,

coaxing him upon his terrified but necessary path.

 

 

Sul’ma’ejote

 

09-10-97  Tucson, Arizona

1997 ANNO DIANA

April, 2009, Santa Cruz, CA


[The mother of my twin boys was killed in an automobile wreck over ten years ago and our pain was often not below the surface, yet. There was no tender, caring woman figure in our lives. We started following the path of Princess Diana because she just seemed to fit into our thought patterns. One day we learned that she was disarming land mines so children would not step on one and blow their legs off. With that news we put Diana upon a pedestal and we watched her while worshiping her. In our thoughts we could “see” Diana boldly walking into an old mine field, finding mines and disarming them. Somehow she took on a role as a super hero. Princess, Invincible. One morning the news spoke about a terrible car wreck that killed Diana. Our hearts fell out on the ground and pain-filled flashbacks of the twins’ mother slid slowly across our thoughts, amid the emptiness that came in thick waves causing a chill. A few of the thoughts that emerged with that finger-tingling tragedy are here with].

September 10, 1997, 3:51 AM, Tucson, Arizona

1997 ANNO DIANA

Cloaked in sadness, my life-spirit took me to the solitude dwelling between the stars and there we worried.

The silence in the vastness of forever caused an understanding to focus upon the worry. There, in the presence of the awesome power of all of the universe, I made a decision to cause an offering while seeking relief.

My dream wrapped a thought, a poem and a song
Around our princess
And presented her to Great Spirit,
then to Great Power,
then to Great Wonder,
then to Great Mystery

Thought presented her to the known and the unknowable,
and that which is within and beyond our imaginations

The poem presented her to
that which rests beyond the most distant stars of eternity.

The song insured that she will ever remain ageless,
magically preserved, the blossom that will not wilt, forever

A soft yet thundering voice boomed from the Catalina Range, whispering:

“There was Anno Domini
now there is Anno Diana
and so it shall be
Brother, build not a statue upon earth
nor within the confines of your heart for Princess,
but within the wonder of the universe.”

*Ina’lum’qotmi, Diana.

Sul’ma’ejote
*ina’lum’qotmi: you must go but you must take my heart with you

“I WANT TO DIE WITH MY HUSBAND!”

The University of Arizona, Tucson, 1997

 

Soft pink whispered across the silhouette

Of the Catalinas

Brushed by an artist of great ability

A single sweeping stroke

 

[California destruction, removal, and survival, c. 1850]

 

“I WANT TO DIE WITH MY HUSBAND!”

 

She did not know how

or why her homeland belonged to nilladuwi (rootless people, wanderers, Americans).

She did not know how the strange and ferocious beings

            could claim earth, earth that had forever belonged to everyone, equally.

She did not know why the wanderers killed

the people of many villages

because, it was the wanderers who trespassed into the homeland

committing acts of war.

She did not know the crimes the little children committed,

            making “justice” a rifle ball through their little hearts.

A victim and a witness to high crimes,

            She wept in the night, frightened.

Yes, it was true, yala’li (evil spirit) swept through the land butchering entire villages,

            but why?

Yes, it was true

            Inalludiwi moved into the homeland

            claiming all that they wanted, even children,

But why? And how?  Who could be doing this great sinfulness?

Why must the people be assaulted again and again,

            damaged badly then marched away from the homeland

by horrible men on horses, the thousand men with shiny rifles?

And why to the west (Legends say that out in the salt waters to the west there is an island where dead people dwell). 

Why to the west but to enter the land of the no-longer-living?

Woman could not stop trembling.

 

It was snowing this November.  The regular army, the Pit River Rangers and Kibbie Guards rounded up the remnants of the people and, after collecting them at Fort Crook, force marched them over Hatchet Mountain.  There was a foot of snow and more falling.  Slowly moving up the mountain was a herd of cattle that belonged to the army.  Trudging along behind the cattle came the very mottled yet proud and independent people, some bound with rope, others with raw hide thongs.  Guarding the people rode the army and the Volunteers.  Their intentions were to remove the people beyond the west of California

Infants were sick and hungry, freezing to death in the arms of their weary  mothers.  Yet they were forced on.

            The trail at the summit was long and flat and snow drifted, rippling in little ridges by the whipping, biting wind, yet the cattle were forced on and the people shuffled behind.

            A young mother carried her frozen baby over the summit.  Somewhere behind she heard the report of a rifle.  Then the familiar SILENCE.  She was too filled with fear to stop and look.  Fearing to drop her frozen baby, she trudged through the snow because if yali’li knew they would take the baby from her and cast it in the snow, forcing her on by bayonet.

As they moved off the Sierras and down into the Sacramento Valley there was warmth and some of the people thought they might survive, even those bound.  They would have performed a ceremony and a dance but for the sadness wrapped around their helplessness, and the glistening rifles looking at their hearts.

            She carried the frozen baby to Fort Reading and buried it under the river rocks.  She had no ceremony but for the silent tears from a heart torn with agony.  Then she hurried and feathered back in with her people who were  fed like hogs in a pen, hogs without a trough

 

Following urgent messages from Washington, D.C., and grisly, inflammatory headlines from local newspapers, the soldiers marched the people south to Red Bluff and to another corral half-full of natives, natives scraped from the foothills of California.  Again there was no relief.  Again they were fed like hogs.

There, heaving upon the river water, huge cattle barges. 

At daybreak some of the people were herded onto the barge to float to Sacramento while others continued the march.  It seemed the people were condemned to death but had committed no crime.  The Army and Guards separated the men from the women and children, and in silent pain they shuffled onto the barges to settle among the cattle and swine and decaying carcasses.

There was a frightened yet defiant woman, child living in her womb.  She loved her man so much she would not be separated from him.

She forced her way past the guards and onto the barge screaming, “I WANT TO DIE WITH MY HUSBAND!”  They met in the confusion of seeming human debris, him clinging to her, her clinging to a moment of forever, their child in her womb trembling.

At Sacramento all of the people were placed in the hold aboard ship.  When the ship was full it moved slowly towards Alcatraz Island then into the open Pacific, the scream of the defiant woman yet fresh in the wind.

When the ship was beyond sight of land the Captain ordered it to be spun around and around, expecting the natives to become disoriented, then he ordered the crew to throw the natives into the icy water.  There was fierce resistance to that command by the natives that academia has not yet put into words to mature as literature or history. 

A near mutiny by the weakened yet defiant people caused the Captain to put into port at Mendocino Station.  Later the remaining people were marched to Round Valley Reservation near Covelo.  Round Valley Reservation was a concentration camp waiting to be turned into an abbatoir.

Some people escaped the terrible higera and returned to our homeland and spawned our great-grandfathers and great grandmothers who gave birth to our grandfathers and grandmothers.  That generation created the mothers and fathers of those of us surviving today. 

It is said around the campfires in our homeland that some of the people were left on Alcatraz, and those not selected to be exiled to Quapa, Oklahoma, were marched across the Yolla Bolla Widerness Area to Round Valley, many perishing enroute.

Those destined for Oklahoma were placed on rail road flat cars and taken to Needles, California.  At Needles the train picked up more flat cars filled with peaceful Hopis who refused to bear arms for America.  Train lurched eastward.

It is whispered that some of those cast into the winter ocean somehow swam back to Treasure Island, encouraged and led by a bullet hawk “power” that came to them in their time of great need.

 

I often wonder about the people brutally torn from our homeland long ago.  They must have dreamed about returning and of somehow reversing the injury to our homeland and our little nation.

I often wonder who that woman was who defied the army guns, fought her way onto the barge at Red Bluff and proclaimed her love to all of the powers of the universe, to her mottled people huddled there, to all of the military, and to her husband.  I often dream that she was my relation, then I dream dreams proud and filled with love. 

And I often wonder if that young mother, who carried her frozen baby over the winter mountains and into the Sacramento Valley and heard the rifle report on top of the mountain but was afraid to stop and look back, ever dared to have children again.  Somehow I know she did and maybe I am a descendant from her.  Often this possibility makes me cry

Sometimes I, hear that single rifle report on the mountain, see the mother and infant bleeding in the snow, child shot through the head and mother shot through the heart, and thank her for having an older son, Niee Denicee, ten years old, who had a will and a spirit to live and, almost one-hundred years later, give us this oral narrative of his determination to survive.  Of such character are my people.

 

Sul’ma’ejote

Genius cannot be quelled by swords flashing in the sun

September 15, 1998, San Jose, CA

Genius cannot be quelled by swords
flashing in the sun

By
Sul’ma’ejote

Questioning the established form of native history as presented by academics (which includes an array of indigenous beings), and intending to repeal the current paradigm of viewing indigenous narratives as “myth” and therefore subject to rejection as “Old fabricated Indian stories,” one of my goals in life is to bring to the surface of the ocean of misinformation a different interpretation of the meaning and purpose of native oral literature, our histories passed from generation to generation through story, song, and dance.
I have been molded into a student of oral history/original narration/voiced literature, particular to my people who dwell in the northeastern corner of “California.” However, my pursuit of a greater understanding is not restricted to that arena. In a broader sense, my study is etched, like a pattern in sterling, in the western hemisphere, from the polar rim to the tip of South America. But it also includes the whole of the universe because oral literature is a universe-based event.

My tribes are currently known to academics as Achomawi and Atsugewi, and by unclean politics as The Pit River Tribe of California. Contrary to the changes of our identity, I remain Itami is on my mother’s side and Aw’te on my father’s. Politics, that abrasive element that has been created by EuroAmericans that interferes with even their own progress, has caused chaos among many native people of this western hemisphere.

As an Itami is/Aw’te person, autochthonous to the land area currently identified as “California,” I am rooted in history, culture, and tradition through the languages, oral literatures (story telling), and songs of my people – much of which is still protected by silence. As in all tribal homelands, language is the foundation of our identity and explains our understandings, while songs are our connection to the powers that move the universe in an orderly fashion causing us to seek and to entertain greater wisdom and knowledge.

Our oral literature, then, becomes our societal map. It is the spiritual instrument employing the voices of our ancestors that clearly explains our tribal experience from our origin, expanding ever outward to connect us to our destinies and destinations. Today, passing on lessons and legends in narrative form is often called “storytelling.” And the story, if accepted by bold elements of the heart, creates a sterling umbilical cord “attachment” from the listener and the earth to the center of the universe.

After we realize that we are breathing somewhere within the living fluid sphere of the universe, we then can better understand our Elders of ancient knowledge when they explain that ours is a never ending journey, that we are traveling in a vast and boundless season, restricted only by our individual capacity to understand and accept:

“I think there was no beginning,
Because if there was a beginning there would be an ending.
Since there is no ending,
There cannot be a beginning.”
(Craven Gibson, Atwum, 1972).

Craven, one of our Elder tribal councilmen (often slurred by my assimilated/acculturated people as “An old drunk.”), gave me these brilliant and powerful words after I had traveled around much of the world seeking the wise people, those yet close to the earth and nature power, asking if they knew of “a beginning.” At that time I thought that if I knew when the beginning began, I could explain when the ending was going to end – at least to myself.

I found no such explanation on my extensive tour and I was secretly embarrassed to learn that I had to travel only twenty miles from my camp to get the answer to my perplexing question!

The strength and validity of our wise people, both ancient and contemporary, is their direct connection with the powers of the universe and their capacity to feather back into nature when threatened, and equally, their wisdom to shun “civilization” and its spiritually corrosive effects. Often, if we have the capacity to listen and follow (an ability that seems to flourish among the youth of this generation), our wise beings lead us into expressions of life, or reveal information to us that sometimes tests our abilities to accept or to comprehend.

Therefore, the more we allow ourselves to learn and to understand the more that we discover the foundation of our culture is a spirit-based spherical-collage of intricate details (that received its pattern before earth began its journey around the sun) from our own experiences, to the balanced activities of our forefathers, to the intricate and necessary dreams and songs of our foremothers, all stirred together and assembled around the explanations of our purposes to exist, by our current Keepers-of-Wisdom.

It is, then, our cultural interpretation of our origin that gives us direction and causes us to strive for harmony within both our communities and our natural surroundings, while longing to leave a beautiful, wholesome earth for the Seventh Generation from now. Our efforts to accomplish this are put into motion with oral expressions that have been unfolding for thousands of generations, like the wings of an eagle, to mingle with the morning wind in flight. We understand more clearly the function of the universe as we know it and as it has been presented to us by our Elders and leaders through narratives, prayers, thoughts, and other expressions. This has been occurring ever since the universe began its movement towards eternity and our spirit-powers were present to witness that event which invoked each of our destinies.

The moral of the narrative, which often seems an almost tangible fragment of our history, is the energy that propels most native nations through the process of existence – usually in the face of an immense amount of negative power emitting from an invading and foreign politics that intends to deny us our presence upon earth. The oral literatures, the narratives, the lessons and legends each are wisdom/knowledge formulas that came to us wrapped in a mist of necessary presence and remain immeasurable with instruments of technology. In the future we will create greater expressions from our experiences as we continue to invalidate the maize that civilized societies have awkwardly wrapped around us.

Our references expressed around the council fires, presented from ourselves to other native nations, propose that we remain tightly constructed like a water basket and be of one mind and one body in order to stall the foreign exercise of executing extinction upon us again and again. Non-native people may be one of our means of protection in this episode as we all attempt to reject our deficiencies and re-connect with our spiritual selves.

Our historic tribal experiences are created from love and peace, from adventures and trials, and from gift -giving, and from narratives and oral literature. Collectively these activities provide us with a way to survive. Indigenous must again remember that the power in the moral of the story is its value to be understood, accepted, applied, lived, and expanded upon. It is that critical part of our narratives that are passed on in perpetuity by our keepers-of-wisdom that simultaneously validates the purpose of the universe to us, personally, and validates our presence to the universal powers that softly breathe upon us.

Currently there is an exciting adventure that we are experiencing as native people of the western hemisphere ( I do not mean to suggest that this phenomenon is restricted to the western hemisphere, but I am much more familiar with this one-third of earth so I will address that which I know best. Please, this thought must not be translated as an expression neglecting other world events that are wisdom based and therefore the most precious parts of other autochthonous cultures and traditions), but there seems to be an immediate and vast offering from the various native wisdom-banks and seats-of-knowledge explaining that we are a people whose journey through existence began in space-exotic places, often from among the stars and galaxies, or remote and familiar places beyond.

In one of the origin narratives in my homeland it is understood that by magic, Silver-gray Fox, on a rope made of songs, came to this world from the land beyond the stars, evading Old man Coyote. Coyote was always changing things Silver created (In the structure of the universe Coyote was not gifted with the power to create. He did, however, receive the power to change things). Because of this, Coyote became jealous and changed everything that Silver created. (Coyote was not only jealous, he was crazy for creative power).

For millions of seasons in the land beyond the stars Silver could not teach Coyote to behave, to leave things alone, so Silver absconded. When Silver came here there was no here, here. He lifted the center post of his chema’ha (ceremonial round house) and dropped through. He traveled through time and space on that magic rope which he attached to the bottom of his chema’ha. With his magic Silver replaced the center post so Coyote could not discover how he left the land beyond the stars.

But Coyote did discover. Threatening a little grass basket in Silver’s chema’ha with cremation if it did not tell him where Silver went (little basket told in order to stay alive), Coyote came here with his own well thought out method, free falling and screaming through time and space. Of all the places in the vastness of the universe, Coyote just happened to land on the roof of Silver’s new chema’ha, “Crash! Thudd! When we ask our Elders how these things could happen they say (with a giggle), “I dunno. That is just the way it has always been with Coyote.”

Recently the Chumash of Southern California revealed some of their songs, many that have been silent since the original people felt the swords of Missionization. Some of their songs are of their journey through the stars to arrive here. The more the native people mingle with one another in the safety of confidence, the more the songs and narratives will appear that speak of spiritual and stellar travels. The Serrano/Cahuilla are now releasing knowledge about their journey through the stars to arrive here. Their Elders have suggested that it may be nearing the time to prepare to return. Almost every college student is familiar with the travels of Quetzalcoatl, who, in a political action, was put out of his homeland in what now is Mexico, traveling east to become the Morning Star. Many narratives of native nations contain references to stars and traveling to and from distant places, some so distant that it hurts both thought and imagination to follow.

However, history books created by invading populations have portrayed the indigenous of the western hemisphere as morbid, sloven shadows. Colonizers must do this in order to control the lives of the people that they are dominating. This allows the invaders to appear wholesome throughout the process of colonization. The challenge now is for indigenous, with the help of others, to throw off the layers of misinformation that have been piled for centuries upon us, like dead leaves on the forest floor, and annul the history-created distortions that cloud-liketend to accumulate over us. After that annulment we will initiate safeguards against further distorted attacks upon and erosion to our histories.

“This is a good day to live.” Thank you Susan Harjo (Champagne, Native American Portrait of the Peoples, p. 786).

Throughout hemispheric native country there must be a challenging of the established order of history. The indigenous are boldly speaking and singing about “origin.” The prevailing thought is that we are children of the universe, that the whole universe is our “Father,” and that every element within earth combines to be our “Mother.” Too, we must not restrict our dreams or alter our thoughts simply because someone else commands us to do so, verbally, with the printed word, or with a gun.
Threats cannot damage our purpose, our knowledge and wisdom, or our dreams. These gifts were given to us and we are now obliged to pass them to the next generation through narrative, legend, song and dance.

In our future there are both political and social terrains that may be difficult to traverse, but we will because we must. As Carlos Cordero stated,

“We come from great people
And so we must act like great people
Because we are great people”
(Hogle/Wilson, Surviving in Two Worlds, p. 90)

A thousand years ago, all knowledge and information was oral in form and passed from generation to generation by the spoken word or song, writing not yet established. The “word”, then, was the rule and the law. The word was beyond sacred. It was the trust-core of the community of humanity.

*Hisnawa, we must not allow our wholesome spirits to be eroded by employing the tactics of the invading forces, nor should we be dwarfed to the specifications that the colonizing powers dictate. We have more dignity than that. In defense we will accomplish this by reestablishing our proper position in the journey of humankind, and by acknowledging our universal origin as we express our histories in a variety of comprehensive ways.

What does storytelling and California native culture and history mean to me as an indigenous person? Aside from becoming much more personal with the vastness of the universe through recently unveiled native wisdom and knowledge while studying all forms of earth-life, I marvel at the function of entirety while I wander among the stars seeking answers to questions that are yet whispers from eternity to the heart of our life-spirit. I also spend more time worrying about civilization’s relentless assault upon earth’s delicate habitat. But the question is best answered by my 5th grade summer school student, Theresa M. Jolivette (Summer, 1997, Sacramento, CA).

“History is everything.
History is old redwoods, art, animals, battle grounds.”
(Theresa and several of her classmates are featured in “California Cobblestone,” 1998).

Theresa is correct and her expression deserves both to be studied and to be pondered. Our histories are everything. They have been diluted and gnarled by the establishment ever since Eric the Red trespassed upon “The People of the Dawn,” and attacked a group of nine natives, killing eight. “Attacked in turn by a second group of natives in skin boats who fatally wounded Thorvald with an arrow.” (Waldman, Atlas of the American Indian, p. 79).

Historically this defensive act by “The People of the Dawn” is viewed by the masses as savages perpetrating high crimes against a peaceful and adventuring people. That is not so. Eric the Red, his children and his clan were expelled from their Norwiejan homeland because Eric committed heinous crimes. Wandering and angry, they assaulted first and last. That assault upon the native body beginning A.D. 894, continues in a variety of modes up to this moment.

Who will put our literatures and our interpretations of world history into perspective? Who will cause historic truth to surface and to mingle with indigenous knowledge so it can be properly reflected upon? Those among us, *Hisnawa, who cannot be defeated and whose dreams cannot be amended or made mute. Not only do we come from great people, but we emerge from genius, too. All people must know, genius cannot be quelled by swords flashing in the sun.

Sul’ma’ejote/Akon

* Hisnawa: “Young Warriors