“El ESPIRANZA!”
Mati Waiya and Luhui Isha, Chumash, are intensely committed to a dream of gathering their Chumash and all people, so they might look upon Mati’s building of original tribal history, something he accomplished himself. He is expecting his cultural labor to become an inspiration that urges many other tribal people to begin using their hands and their dreams given to them by elders, and our original histories and begin building villages, tomols (plank canoes) and dance arenas; to carry water to sprinkle upon earth like rain-dreams, and to continue to revive the greatness of the Chumash Nation. For it is true. Chumash come from great people, therefore, Chumash are great people. Now we see Mati’s unique and rare effort in building a Chumash village with muscle and love, care and concern. He is supported with a startling will that is guided by fresh dreams from Pukamuka (wise and beautiful ancient ancestors who walked earth before us). Kim Rudner (Australia) said of his spiritual efforts, “I think it is a powerful gift. It is an inspiration for other tribes. I would hope someday a village could be created to use full time.” Wishtoyo has arranged the Medicine man/woman Summit at this creative, lively, culturally breath taking site. We are here for that Summit.
In the frightening days when Kennedy was murdered in Dallas and Johnson stepped up the carpet bombing of Viet Nam, a very old and wise Councilman from my tribal people dwelling near Mt. Shasta, gave me a note to “Give to the President (Johnson) the next time you see him.” It was written on a piece of brown paper bag he got while grocery shopping, and with a pencil he found while walking home: “There is no power in destructive, only in creative.” Maybe the President passed the note to Mati, “The next time he saw him,” because there is a glorious, seemingly ethereal essence here at Wishtoyo. At the moment I am at my cabin in the nearby hills. There is a Woman’s and men’s Talking Circle happening out on the grass. I must hurry, The Medicine man from Surinam is speaking through a translator. He leans forward, chin out, back straight, his words, intense. He is rigid and the pain, humiliation, anger and feelings of helplessness are etched on his face and pronounced in creases around his mouth and in the rigidness of his spine. Oh, no, he relaxed. He becomes silent. The next speaker is up. I found an empty chair at the circle. Soterro and Theo are already here. Kim is over in the medicine woman’s circle.
At the continental brunch (I asked for potatoes. They said “This is Continental! “Can’t you make Continental Potatoes?” Luhui Isha did - maybe the first Continental Fried Potatoes in this world). Then, there was a women’s/men’s Circle where we compared notes and prepared for the gathering just down the hill at Wishtoyo. The emerging, frightening reality is that the logging, road building, gold mining and oil drilling is destroying the rain forests. This activity must cease because the Medicine People harvest medicines from the rain forests that are used to combat diseases that have been rampant and mutating since Columbus and his mercenaries penetrated our homeland. No rain forest, no medicine. “Progress” and “Success” seem to be gruesome machines designed to watch us all die from diseases preventable but that are viciously curtailed by “Progress” destroying the medicines that will provide a cure for us. The medicine people are in terror of why “harvesting” the rain forest persists.
Dreaming in the essence while looking over the expansive blue ocean dancing far beyond the horizon, we revel in the depth of beauty all around Wishtoyo, with secrets snuggling into the many recesses the eternal ocean creates as it is busy carving cliffs and sandy beaches here in Malibu, the southern most end of the Chumash home land. We stand in awe. Wishtoyo is a Chumash village being constructed by Mati Waiya, almost single handedly except for a few friends and family. His wife Luhui Isha, the blessed, is there standing with him, too. Mati said he was blessed when Luhui Isha came into his life. Not only Mati was blessed, the landscape the dawn, the ocean and the stars were blessed, too. Mati showed us the tule and willow huts he constructed almost alone and almost all by hand, which are of better quality than Robinson Caruso. Of Wishtoyo, I am confident my Elders would say, tijtawa (genuine).
With excited pride Mati pointed out land marks in the landscape and out across the ocean. I failed to see the landmarks on the vast ocean until he pointed southwest and said there is where a pod of whales visited Wishtoyo. “They were going north.” Sometimes a big tail would splash and sometimes a big, shining, black body would rise. My mind saw that and marked it with a “thought” buoy. It was beautiful. “We, (he and Luhui Isha) were so excited and honored to see that, right at our front door.” With bubbling pride Mati continued to point out landmarks while hawks and sea gulls wheeled upon the wind. A mild sun made each little ripple on the ocean sparkle and danced towards the horizon. A ship, almost invisible because of the distance, moved slowly north.
The Medicine man/Shaman Summit that we are attending is near Malibu, and a few miles upon the hill at the Cal-amigas ranch. This gathering is most spectacular and necessary. The medicine men/women are from Hawaii, Costa Rico, Colombia, Brazil, Surinam, The Amazon Basin, Africa, and other places where rain forests grow the medicinal plants. Their concern is deep. The logging, road building, oil drilling, and gold mining are destroying the forest which also destroys medicinal plant life. Too, they worry how to protect the medicine knowledge they now have, from exploitation. Interpretation and translation was necessary, so we listen mostly and never had a moment for one-on-one conversations (with a translator in the middle). We had several men’s circle, women’s circle and mixed circle discussions. I watched the eyes and body language of the medicine people as they discussed their fears and hopes. Worry and concern were etched by creases on their faces and the urgency of the moment was in the jut of their chin or the stiffening of their spine as they talked.
Then, suddenly it was time for a feast and the last dance before we went home. Startled I looked around wondering where all of the five days went. I felt we were building rainbow bridges between South and North America and we were just beginning. We can’t go now! Hummingbird, in the legend, prepared to put a bouquet in the center of the sun so there always would be rainbows for children. At dawn he collected the bouquet from the meadow. At sunrise he dashed to the sun, planted the bouquet and darted home. Mission accomplished. It seems we are still in the meadow picking flowers and are not yet prepared for a sun-journey. It is the last dinner and the last dance! Next year, Mati and Luhui, can we find little moments for one-on-one discussions and a chance to dream and gather flowers together once again? That may make for a more perfect journey to the sun.
Of Mati, my son, Soterro, said, “He is one of the few who carries a good thought.” Theo hollered from the kitchen, “He is hope.” I looked at him for clarification and he said, “El Espiranza!” I cherish the way Mati and Luhui carry their hearts in their hands and all of their dreams in their hearts. On the last day some of us were comfortable sitting in the shade of a huge round structure where the fire pit lives. The structure that the Boy Scouts helped Mati build has a smoke hole in the roof. “We can see the moon through that hole,” Mati said.
After al fresco dinner at Wishtoyo, and near sunset, the Chumash dancers entered the already crowded fire pit arena, dancing. Soft drumming guided the feet and the rhythm of the traditional dancers while sleepy sun dropped behind the horizon and the drums found a more rapid beat. The shadowy fire pit arena could not hold all of us and yet have room for dancers even though we chinked in at every angle. Then the Aztec/Mexica dancers entered the firelight, moving us closer to each other. Next, the Hawaiian dancers filed down into the fire arena, causing us to snuggle closer, still. They danced and they drummed and they dreamed –we all dreamed. Dreams danced in sparkling eyes all around the fire pit arena. It was beautiful. It was precious. It was most comforting, safe and marshmallow-sweet. I cried, but not alone. After composing myself I looked. Happy moon was peering through the smoke hole. A little later the drums and clappers stopped. Last dance was over. Dark. We gobbled food scattered across several tables nearby, then we departed to our cabins on the hill, headlights searching ahead.
Mati and Luhui, while planning for the next Summit, please allow us time to dream all together. The mighty ocean will provide us with good thoughts. The warm breezes will stir our creativity. Soft autumn sun and sweet Mother Earth will touch the wisdoms our Elders left for us, moon and songs from the universe will shift our understanding and Earth Mother will provide love. Our job then will be to fold these delicate and necessary ingredients together with a spoon full of our dreams. After we slightly knead it, we’ll cook it marshmallow-like at the fire pit and share our bounty with each other and everyone. Then we will dream the evening down and at dawn look upon a beautiful rainbow of our own dreaming. Then, in time of need the precious medicine people can come to us or we can go to them, like the Wishtoyo legend says, walking upon the rainbow.
But first we must stop logging the rainforest and destroying medicinal plants, prevent any more roads through its landscape, and arrest the relentless tactics of gold diggers because the damage they each do today threatens the medicines we need tomorrow. It is a simple equation. The medicines gathered from Mother Earth are more necessary to future than a mountain off gold.. “Progress” and “Success” must amend their priorities.
This Chumash dream created a beautiful event and wrapped it delicately around the concerns of our medicine people – our healers and Doctors. They need protection and love, too, and so do the rain forest , and the children of our future.
A moment ago I asked Theo what he thought the first time he saw Mati and Luhui Isha at Wishtoyo. “The guy with bones in his nose?” “Yes.” He said, “I was happy to see them and I hoped they were happy to see me.”
They were, absolutely!
Dr Babe
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
SILVER DAWN OF THE SWINOMISH, 2011
[I wrote this for my grandchildren so they might see, touch and taste what I did. Maybe it will cause the hair on their neck to stand up. I wrote it so I would never forget, too ]
SILVER DAWN OF THE SWINOMISH, 2011
It is true, it is true,
It is true, it is true
they came in a dream in a whispering canoe
They came as one heart hearing an ancestral drum, beating
I looked and there was a great greeting, a great greeting, a great greeting,
Paddles thrusting, rising, shining, dipping, thrusting
as it has been for every generation of our lives, trusting
Muckleshoot and Quiluete, S’Kokomish, Sonomish, Suquamish too,
Puyallip, Samish and Lummi true,
Shinnocok, Kyuqot, Sliammon then
Hamoloco, Nanoose, Naniamo again and again,
Slipping through the silver dawn they came,
as a dream, as a dream, as a dream they came,
Dandalia, Bella Bella and Warm Springs slid by
Our ancestors singing under dripping skies,
Sauk Suiattle, Alaska, Santa Barbara, see,
they came as a dream for you and for me
The paddles splashed, a thousand cameras flashed,
and the multitude was crying,
While the universe wrapped around us all
and was sweetly sighing
The mist appeared then came a constant sprinkle
The same that fell a million years ago,
making sweet, little hearts tinkle.
Great Powers of the universe leaned close
whispering one to another,
“It is a good way, yes it is a good way, yes it is a good way,
little sister and brother.”
Esquimalt, Quinault, Queets and Umatilla; Esquimalt, Quinault, Queets and Umatilla; Esquimalt, Quinault, Queets and Umatilla….
Darryl Babe Wilson (Grampa Babe)
(Read this again listening to the heart-beat of the universe. Also, please know that my capacity as a writer is faulty. To include every tribe, nation and person is sometimes difficult).
SILVER DAWN OF THE SWINOMISH, 2011
It is true, it is true,
It is true, it is true
they came in a dream in a whispering canoe
They came as one heart hearing an ancestral drum, beating
I looked and there was a great greeting, a great greeting, a great greeting,
Paddles thrusting, rising, shining, dipping, thrusting
as it has been for every generation of our lives, trusting
Muckleshoot and Quiluete, S’Kokomish, Sonomish, Suquamish too,
Puyallip, Samish and Lummi true,
Shinnocok, Kyuqot, Sliammon then
Hamoloco, Nanoose, Naniamo again and again,
Slipping through the silver dawn they came,
as a dream, as a dream, as a dream they came,
Dandalia, Bella Bella and Warm Springs slid by
Our ancestors singing under dripping skies,
Sauk Suiattle, Alaska, Santa Barbara, see,
they came as a dream for you and for me
The paddles splashed, a thousand cameras flashed,
and the multitude was crying,
While the universe wrapped around us all
and was sweetly sighing
The mist appeared then came a constant sprinkle
The same that fell a million years ago,
making sweet, little hearts tinkle.
Great Powers of the universe leaned close
whispering one to another,
“It is a good way, yes it is a good way, yes it is a good way,
little sister and brother.”
Esquimalt, Quinault, Queets and Umatilla; Esquimalt, Quinault, Queets and Umatilla; Esquimalt, Quinault, Queets and Umatilla….
Darryl Babe Wilson (Grampa Babe)
(Read this again listening to the heart-beat of the universe. Also, please know that my capacity as a writer is faulty. To include every tribe, nation and person is sometimes difficult).
O’SIAM(honored relatives) SWINOMISH IT WAS A DREAM OF OUR ANCESTORS, SINGING
8-2-11, Santa Cruz
ITSPO’EE’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)
O’SIAM(honored relatives) SWINOMISH
IT WAS A DREAM OF OUR ANCESTORS, SINGING
It was the 22nd annual inter-tribal canoe gathering, this time rotating to Swinomish, Washington, July 25 – July 31. Aurelia Washington, Swinomish canoe journey coordinator said. “We are reintroducing our traditional practices and the ways of our ancestors. The spirits among our children have come alive and they are enthusiastic about singing and dancing.” On the day of the canoe landing the pavilions were full and rain was sweet but constant. Some of us were very soggy, but it was a welcome soggy as we watched a dream unfold.
My sons, Theo and Soterro Garcia, my cousin Bruce Gali and I, departed Freemont on a marathon run up I-5 to Seattle, then to La Connor and the Swinomish homeland. The drive took all of my strength and I was weary , but, there has never been an Aztec King or Prince nor Tribal Chief, more honored with respect than we were. From the moment we arrived at the Swinomish reservation, we were taken good care of. Our cabins were beside the Swinomish Sound, the fire circle was just out the back door and our food was catered. I was beginning to enjoy the pampering. Over in the big tents the volunteers were usually flying low and in three directions but they were most courteous, giving us directions, explaining some of the all that we did not understand, or simply welcoming everyone. The atmosphere was syrupy sweet. The Staff were usually on a mission, flying under the radar, yet they took a moment to point lost souls in a good direction so we could focus on the best things in life – seeing the power of spirit and pride dancing in everyone’s eyes. Itspo’ee’otise smiled.
The medicine people brought their thunder and “doctored.” The Medicine Man worked on my flu/pneumonia one evening and at dawn at the fire circle I first noticed the sickness was going away. Stacey, a young woman who simply took my heart and danced into the future, had a damaged hand. The same Medicine Man doctored her. Her American doctors said she never would have feeling. “As The Medicine Man moved his hand about 2-inches above mine there was a tingling. Then I knew I would have feeling again.” Such was the magic dancing in every eye, every heart, every moment at Swinomish.
In my youth, in the safety of a mountain valley snuggled between the Great Mountains (*Ako Yet and Yettajenna), at the north end of the Sierra range and under the safety of silver pines, Grandmother spoke at the dancing fire about dreams.
“It is known, if you want your dream to come true, you will take dream to the great river and place it there on the water. Dream will go out. It will travel the great oceans touching many lands. Dream will gather knowledge and wisdom. Then it will return to you and it will be real.”
Standing beside the great silver-misty waters in the homeland of Swinomish at dawn, a dream appeared. A river of long canoes swept by, paddles flashing. As the gathering watched the last canoe vanished around a distant point. It was like watching a dream go softly away. Then silence as prayers and dreams and wishes followed the fleet that followed the stars, “going out” into forever. Then we retired with our own thoughts into our own solitude.
“What a beautiful way to gather wisdom.” One thought said to another. “Yes, we need only wait for the great river of canoes to return.”
“That is how it was in the days of our ancestors. Patience was all that was necessary to live, to dream and live again.”
Apnui (that time when spring is turning to summer and flowers are yet in the meadow: Flowered Summer), Mr. Ray Williams from Swinomish came to my apartment in Santa Cruz with Lauren Texieria from California Indian Storytelling Association (CISA). It must be noted that the National Endowment for the Arts issued CISA a grant making the national and international communications and networking programs to continue with the gathering at Swinomish. We talked about canoes from the Pacific Rim gathering at Swinomish. As he talked my mind saw many long canoes landing on the shore, it experienced happiness and joy. My heart watched a great history unfolding. I imagined many Chiefs giving oratory like Chief Seattle, long ago. I “watched” the medicine people gathering thunder and power, sending it with the fleet to return in the proper season. It was a dream, it was a marvelous dream.
Then my thoughts turned to the establishment of League of Indigenous Storytellers (LIVS) which is emerging as an organization sans perimeters, a bold step, a necessary step, and a move towards storytelling and indigenous history that may attract the best stories the world has ever produced. The purpose and contents of the LIVS document will be openly discussed at Swinomish.
***********
My body cringed thinking about the long drive from Santa Cruz to Seattle, but we packed our bags and turned north. North, ever north we streaked. Finally a big sign, “Seattle ” and we knew we were close to Swinomish. We got some last minute instruction on our cell phone, and eased into La Connor and the Swinomish reservation. Soon I was in bed. Sooner yet I was sleeping. Sooner still I was dreaming.
Dream took the hand of my heart saying, “Come, quietly.” Instantly we were at my Granddaughter’s home in San Jose, California. We slipped into her bedroom. She was sleeping among piles of long, black hair. One eyelash fluttered then she smiled. Satisfied that she was dreaming about us, dream and I magically returned to Swinomish. Dawn, there was a fire circle and sage with much tender and emotional communications between California and New Zealand, Swinomish and Australia, Canada and Hawaii. It was a courteous ceremony and most delicate.
One day after lunch there was a stampede as many people rushed to Tilalip to see the first wave of canoes. My deeper thought were of the canoes returning with great wisdom and knowledge. Destiny was so easy to dream about with seagulls spinning nearby, eagles flying far over the sound and pelican “Vs” searching for a soft landing.
And I again heard my ancestors speak about original people of this hemisphere:
“Jeu hataji (one heart),
Jeu telamji (one spirit),
Jeu himal (one mind),
Jeu tasokjami (one dream)
Jeu Awt’e (one people)”
The day of the canoe landing at Swinomish, we gathered on the shore and waited with bubbling expectation. A voice hollered, “Look!” A great canoe slipped across the silver water, rippling to shore. canoe stopped, The power man hollered, “May we come ashore?” 5,000 hearts as a single voice whispered, “Welcome.” It is true. It was the fulfilling of a great prophecy. It was the fulfilling of our history. It was the fulfilling of our deeper dreams. Gedin’ch’lumnu (This is the way it was meant to be).
Chief on shore spoke, “You are welcome to come ashore, to stand and sing by the fire. Earth is our mother. Please come join us. You have traveled far. We will dance for you. You will eat with us. We are sisters and brothers dreaming under the stars.”
Dream like ether entered the secret chambers of our hearts, looked around at the beauty and wonder of a moment that lasts only a moment but lasts through eternity, too, knelt there and cried.
In my youth grandmother spoke in council. Although we were “warrors” in our hearts who should be chasing grizzly bears and running down antelope, we listened because grandmother often spoke of children. Again she spoke of our dreams.
“Hisnawa (young warriors). Your hearts know dreams. Your hearts know dreams are real and true. Always look to the greater truth and the greater dream and your heart will know happiness. Trust your dreams. Trust your ancestors from where your dreams emerged. Then one day our dreams will sit in council around a fire larger than the sun. Do not forget.”
There is a truth. We are each created different. The elders said, “From the moment stars were sprinkled in the night sky long ago, our destinies were sprinkled there also. Because of this we are similar, yes, but like snowflakes we are each different from one another because our destinies are never created the same.”
As the long canoes silently approached our hearts beat as with a single drummer and our greater dreams danced with Great Powers that stir the universe, and the many universes in the vastness beyond our understanding
My imagination looked and saw a great canoe upon the shining water and watched that canoe with our dreams in it vanish into tomorrow around a distant spit. Coming home they slipped, across the water, canoes from many tribes and nations. I imagined one returned that carried our dreams out long ago. Then my mind decided they each harbored this cargo which is essential to life, and my life enjoyed their power surge, their song and the drumming.
At morning fire, during lunch breaks and at meetings convened specifically for it, the boundless LIVS documentation was discussed and at this moment somewhere in the world (maybe upon the vast ocean in a canoe) its necessity, value, and purpose reaches an urgency effecting all indigenous and many who are not considered indigenous. The positive power surges out with velocity.
The gathering was magic. The canoes gathering was more magic. But we had to get our rented car back to Fremont, CA. Protocol was still in motion and our hearts were bound to sweet friends but we ripped ourselves away like new Velcro, and soon we were on I-5, hurrying south.
There is a term in my language that is used when people are having an exceptional visit and one party must leave. To insure your return and to let the host know the depth of your deeper feelings and your want to return one day soon, the ancient ones in my homeland said: Ina’lum’qotmi (I must go but I leave my heart with you).
As we moved down I-5 past Tilalip I looked back and whispered ina’lum’qotmi to everyone who produced the glitter that made this golden adventure sparkle, from the oldest person on the Swinomish Senate to the youngest dancer in the protocol.
Darryl Babe Wilson
(Grampa Babe)
ITSPO’EE’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)
O’SIAM(honored relatives) SWINOMISH
IT WAS A DREAM OF OUR ANCESTORS, SINGING
It was the 22nd annual inter-tribal canoe gathering, this time rotating to Swinomish, Washington, July 25 – July 31. Aurelia Washington, Swinomish canoe journey coordinator said. “We are reintroducing our traditional practices and the ways of our ancestors. The spirits among our children have come alive and they are enthusiastic about singing and dancing.” On the day of the canoe landing the pavilions were full and rain was sweet but constant. Some of us were very soggy, but it was a welcome soggy as we watched a dream unfold.
My sons, Theo and Soterro Garcia, my cousin Bruce Gali and I, departed Freemont on a marathon run up I-5 to Seattle, then to La Connor and the Swinomish homeland. The drive took all of my strength and I was weary , but, there has never been an Aztec King or Prince nor Tribal Chief, more honored with respect than we were. From the moment we arrived at the Swinomish reservation, we were taken good care of. Our cabins were beside the Swinomish Sound, the fire circle was just out the back door and our food was catered. I was beginning to enjoy the pampering. Over in the big tents the volunteers were usually flying low and in three directions but they were most courteous, giving us directions, explaining some of the all that we did not understand, or simply welcoming everyone. The atmosphere was syrupy sweet. The Staff were usually on a mission, flying under the radar, yet they took a moment to point lost souls in a good direction so we could focus on the best things in life – seeing the power of spirit and pride dancing in everyone’s eyes. Itspo’ee’otise smiled.
The medicine people brought their thunder and “doctored.” The Medicine Man worked on my flu/pneumonia one evening and at dawn at the fire circle I first noticed the sickness was going away. Stacey, a young woman who simply took my heart and danced into the future, had a damaged hand. The same Medicine Man doctored her. Her American doctors said she never would have feeling. “As The Medicine Man moved his hand about 2-inches above mine there was a tingling. Then I knew I would have feeling again.” Such was the magic dancing in every eye, every heart, every moment at Swinomish.
In my youth, in the safety of a mountain valley snuggled between the Great Mountains (*Ako Yet and Yettajenna), at the north end of the Sierra range and under the safety of silver pines, Grandmother spoke at the dancing fire about dreams.
“It is known, if you want your dream to come true, you will take dream to the great river and place it there on the water. Dream will go out. It will travel the great oceans touching many lands. Dream will gather knowledge and wisdom. Then it will return to you and it will be real.”
Standing beside the great silver-misty waters in the homeland of Swinomish at dawn, a dream appeared. A river of long canoes swept by, paddles flashing. As the gathering watched the last canoe vanished around a distant point. It was like watching a dream go softly away. Then silence as prayers and dreams and wishes followed the fleet that followed the stars, “going out” into forever. Then we retired with our own thoughts into our own solitude.
“What a beautiful way to gather wisdom.” One thought said to another. “Yes, we need only wait for the great river of canoes to return.”
“That is how it was in the days of our ancestors. Patience was all that was necessary to live, to dream and live again.”
Apnui (that time when spring is turning to summer and flowers are yet in the meadow: Flowered Summer), Mr. Ray Williams from Swinomish came to my apartment in Santa Cruz with Lauren Texieria from California Indian Storytelling Association (CISA). It must be noted that the National Endowment for the Arts issued CISA a grant making the national and international communications and networking programs to continue with the gathering at Swinomish. We talked about canoes from the Pacific Rim gathering at Swinomish. As he talked my mind saw many long canoes landing on the shore, it experienced happiness and joy. My heart watched a great history unfolding. I imagined many Chiefs giving oratory like Chief Seattle, long ago. I “watched” the medicine people gathering thunder and power, sending it with the fleet to return in the proper season. It was a dream, it was a marvelous dream.
Then my thoughts turned to the establishment of League of Indigenous Storytellers (LIVS) which is emerging as an organization sans perimeters, a bold step, a necessary step, and a move towards storytelling and indigenous history that may attract the best stories the world has ever produced. The purpose and contents of the LIVS document will be openly discussed at Swinomish.
***********
My body cringed thinking about the long drive from Santa Cruz to Seattle, but we packed our bags and turned north. North, ever north we streaked. Finally a big sign, “Seattle ” and we knew we were close to Swinomish. We got some last minute instruction on our cell phone, and eased into La Connor and the Swinomish reservation. Soon I was in bed. Sooner yet I was sleeping. Sooner still I was dreaming.
Dream took the hand of my heart saying, “Come, quietly.” Instantly we were at my Granddaughter’s home in San Jose, California. We slipped into her bedroom. She was sleeping among piles of long, black hair. One eyelash fluttered then she smiled. Satisfied that she was dreaming about us, dream and I magically returned to Swinomish. Dawn, there was a fire circle and sage with much tender and emotional communications between California and New Zealand, Swinomish and Australia, Canada and Hawaii. It was a courteous ceremony and most delicate.
One day after lunch there was a stampede as many people rushed to Tilalip to see the first wave of canoes. My deeper thought were of the canoes returning with great wisdom and knowledge. Destiny was so easy to dream about with seagulls spinning nearby, eagles flying far over the sound and pelican “Vs” searching for a soft landing.
And I again heard my ancestors speak about original people of this hemisphere:
“Jeu hataji (one heart),
Jeu telamji (one spirit),
Jeu himal (one mind),
Jeu tasokjami (one dream)
Jeu Awt’e (one people)”
The day of the canoe landing at Swinomish, we gathered on the shore and waited with bubbling expectation. A voice hollered, “Look!” A great canoe slipped across the silver water, rippling to shore. canoe stopped, The power man hollered, “May we come ashore?” 5,000 hearts as a single voice whispered, “Welcome.” It is true. It was the fulfilling of a great prophecy. It was the fulfilling of our history. It was the fulfilling of our deeper dreams. Gedin’ch’lumnu (This is the way it was meant to be).
Chief on shore spoke, “You are welcome to come ashore, to stand and sing by the fire. Earth is our mother. Please come join us. You have traveled far. We will dance for you. You will eat with us. We are sisters and brothers dreaming under the stars.”
Dream like ether entered the secret chambers of our hearts, looked around at the beauty and wonder of a moment that lasts only a moment but lasts through eternity, too, knelt there and cried.
In my youth grandmother spoke in council. Although we were “warrors” in our hearts who should be chasing grizzly bears and running down antelope, we listened because grandmother often spoke of children. Again she spoke of our dreams.
“Hisnawa (young warriors). Your hearts know dreams. Your hearts know dreams are real and true. Always look to the greater truth and the greater dream and your heart will know happiness. Trust your dreams. Trust your ancestors from where your dreams emerged. Then one day our dreams will sit in council around a fire larger than the sun. Do not forget.”
There is a truth. We are each created different. The elders said, “From the moment stars were sprinkled in the night sky long ago, our destinies were sprinkled there also. Because of this we are similar, yes, but like snowflakes we are each different from one another because our destinies are never created the same.”
As the long canoes silently approached our hearts beat as with a single drummer and our greater dreams danced with Great Powers that stir the universe, and the many universes in the vastness beyond our understanding
My imagination looked and saw a great canoe upon the shining water and watched that canoe with our dreams in it vanish into tomorrow around a distant spit. Coming home they slipped, across the water, canoes from many tribes and nations. I imagined one returned that carried our dreams out long ago. Then my mind decided they each harbored this cargo which is essential to life, and my life enjoyed their power surge, their song and the drumming.
At morning fire, during lunch breaks and at meetings convened specifically for it, the boundless LIVS documentation was discussed and at this moment somewhere in the world (maybe upon the vast ocean in a canoe) its necessity, value, and purpose reaches an urgency effecting all indigenous and many who are not considered indigenous. The positive power surges out with velocity.
The gathering was magic. The canoes gathering was more magic. But we had to get our rented car back to Fremont, CA. Protocol was still in motion and our hearts were bound to sweet friends but we ripped ourselves away like new Velcro, and soon we were on I-5, hurrying south.
There is a term in my language that is used when people are having an exceptional visit and one party must leave. To insure your return and to let the host know the depth of your deeper feelings and your want to return one day soon, the ancient ones in my homeland said: Ina’lum’qotmi (I must go but I leave my heart with you).
As we moved down I-5 past Tilalip I looked back and whispered ina’lum’qotmi to everyone who produced the glitter that made this golden adventure sparkle, from the oldest person on the Swinomish Senate to the youngest dancer in the protocol.
Darryl Babe Wilson
(Grampa Babe)
Saturday, January 8, 2011
CULTURAL SEDITION/TRIBAL TREASON
05-28-10
CULTURAL SEDITION/TRIBAL TREASON
Don’t say “THE INDIANS GOT A RAW DEAL” because the suggestion in that phrase proclaims everything is over, in the past, too far back to be worth remembering. That is simply not true. The “raw deal” is in the past but it is more in the present and has every intention of traveling into the future for as long as Americans need to parade around the world claiming justification in assaulting with imbalanced and fetid premeditation to kill and/or damage all of the indigenous nations and the physical world they are born into.
Psychological warfare against unblemished and humble people is insidious, deceptive, and immoral.
Cultural Sedition is rebellion against the authority of the Tribal council and giving allegiance and assistance to a different form of governance. And in America it means that a native must accept the authority of the a strange and fictitious Government (America) while denying ancient tribal authority. America is happy when the thoughtless native body denies old tribal laws and switches to new American fabricated laws, which seems to validate America while making the strong suggestion that American laws are better than the “Old way.” This seditious activity is exhilarating to the American concept because tribal people are condemning the power and wisdom of their own tribal rule that has developed as a gift over a time span civilized society cannot comprehend, while it clings to the “all mighty (and off balance) American dollar” program.
Tribal treason is parting from tribal guidance by a traditional council. Treason: violation of allegiance against one’s sovereign or country. Any betrayal of trust of confidence (in a sitting government) and consciously or purposely acting to aid its enemies. (indigenous government workers and supporters fit smugly into this category)
Not long ago those being charged with sedition or treason were routinely destroyed, and sometimes their family, too. This activity was used to fortify the power of the Kings and Queens of Europe and off shoot governments, like that created by the U. S. Constitution.
Treason and sedition, both death penalty accusations, were and remain a very serious activity. Point a finger, say the word “sedition” and by noon there is a hanging on a nearby tree, a barn burning with horses in it and a home burning with a family in it. Point a finger, say the word “treason” and watch someone shot at sunrise and listen to screams of animals and humans while the home and barn burn, yet many indigenous find glory in nonchalantly committing both treason and sedition on a daily basis.
It is extremely necessary for the notion “America” to eliminate tribal authority and it pampers those individual indigenous committing treason and sedition in their daily routine who, without thought to spiritual retribution, accomplish the American mission.
Let us look at the Bureau of Indian affairs and the Secretary of the Interior as they collude to institute both Cultural Sedition and Tribal Treason among the established tribal people of the western hemisphere in an action (the 1934 Indian Reorganization Act) that, on the surface, appears to give back to natives those things previously confiscated, but in reality, confiscates pride, honor, respect, responsibility and tribal dignity, by changing indigenous allegiance from ancient laws and rules to the fabricated laws and rules made by a hand full of seditionists, laws and rules later establishing America
That, Act authored by John Collier, is a prime example of government promoting cultural sedition and tribal treason. This plot, the product of nefarious collusion by the U. S. Congress, Interior Secretary and Indian Commissioner, intends to and does eliminate sitting tribal councils and bypasses that tribal authority (established for many, many generations of dignified rule) and institutes a paper government. The paper government is then “recognized” by the American government because the government creates the rules for tribal function. It then appoints “Chiefs” and “Chairmen,” (who immediately become agents for the American government), then “Chief” or “Chairman” hurries to Washington to have drinks on the government. At that time “Chiefs,” inebriated by “power,” sign papers that will never get back to the tribal people. Homelands and tribal authority are signed away before the next round of drinks from a Great White Father.
The government lauds the appointed “Chiefs” as “The only smart ones, the only deserving.” The government proclaims the “Chiefs” are so much smarter than the old, slow, decaying process of tribal consensus.” Consensus may take time processing. So it seems in this fast moving American world it is necessary to make quick decisions and absolutely unnecessary to have basic understanding and thorough discussion of the subject.
On the surface the social propaganda displays an American government having concern for native societies and native activities within those societies. But the reality is that B.I.A. and Secretary of Interior, charged with guardianship of all natives, but adhering to the wishes of Congress, persuades, induces, tricks natives into performing both tribal treason and cultural sedition before it will “recognize” them, giving government created programs in exchange for tribal allegiance and cultural dignity. One of the requirements is to hold original tribal laws and rules in contempt while adopting a “constitution” (of paper rules) designed by the American government’s agents.
Within the new government constitution (a contract) is the urgency to abandon the ancient tribal process that established “leaders,” and in responsible positions, install any irresponsible tribal member, some who cannot read and who often display a crude and fractured inability to neither comprehend nor understand.
Being appointed by the President (and not even suggested by the natives), the Commissioner and Secretary have allegiance and responsibility only to the wishes of Congress, and indigenous needs are ignored. In the scope of that venue, any remnant of values the natives have left from previous administration grabbing is usurped by BIA and delivered to Congress.
The act of America, encouraging indigenous to join its systematic destruction of their own culture (a culture which is responsible for the health of earth, an appointment by Great Powers), appears to somehow strengthen the American fabric, but it does not. In the final analysis, the government acquires a welfare-state, frightened and weak native population that strongly resembles a people afflicted by cultural autism - while the tribe hastens to defend itself against the accusation, by those not displaying credence to American rule, that “the only smart ones” just surrendered established tribal authority to the American administration for trinkets and beads.
These government-made indigenous creatures filter into the government and become a lethal disease to the indigenous body and the diseases (like the diseases coming with Columbus and Cortes) infects all tribal structures hastening their decay. Too, the autistic events of ceremony in English supply anthropology with more reasons to condemn the native cultures as “extinct.” Native cultures are not extinct. Indigenous cultures have been abused, ridiculed, condemned, massacred, assaulted and ignored (like the indigenous languages), but yet they survive.
Denying ancient wisdom is a spiritual crime and those committing the offense will have to, according to a tribal council man, “Justify your actions to the Great Powers of the Universe, as we continue this Journey of life.” However, to consciously and deliberately abandon “the way” of previous generations while causing future generations to be born into a physical and political situation of spiritual limitation and atrophy, as promoted by trespassing America and its intruding laws, may never find relief. We shall see.
Sul’ma’ejote (AKA)
Darryl Babe Wilson
CULTURAL SEDITION/TRIBAL TREASON
Don’t say “THE INDIANS GOT A RAW DEAL” because the suggestion in that phrase proclaims everything is over, in the past, too far back to be worth remembering. That is simply not true. The “raw deal” is in the past but it is more in the present and has every intention of traveling into the future for as long as Americans need to parade around the world claiming justification in assaulting with imbalanced and fetid premeditation to kill and/or damage all of the indigenous nations and the physical world they are born into.
Psychological warfare against unblemished and humble people is insidious, deceptive, and immoral.
Cultural Sedition is rebellion against the authority of the Tribal council and giving allegiance and assistance to a different form of governance. And in America it means that a native must accept the authority of the a strange and fictitious Government (America) while denying ancient tribal authority. America is happy when the thoughtless native body denies old tribal laws and switches to new American fabricated laws, which seems to validate America while making the strong suggestion that American laws are better than the “Old way.” This seditious activity is exhilarating to the American concept because tribal people are condemning the power and wisdom of their own tribal rule that has developed as a gift over a time span civilized society cannot comprehend, while it clings to the “all mighty (and off balance) American dollar” program.
Tribal treason is parting from tribal guidance by a traditional council. Treason: violation of allegiance against one’s sovereign or country. Any betrayal of trust of confidence (in a sitting government) and consciously or purposely acting to aid its enemies. (indigenous government workers and supporters fit smugly into this category)
Not long ago those being charged with sedition or treason were routinely destroyed, and sometimes their family, too. This activity was used to fortify the power of the Kings and Queens of Europe and off shoot governments, like that created by the U. S. Constitution.
Treason and sedition, both death penalty accusations, were and remain a very serious activity. Point a finger, say the word “sedition” and by noon there is a hanging on a nearby tree, a barn burning with horses in it and a home burning with a family in it. Point a finger, say the word “treason” and watch someone shot at sunrise and listen to screams of animals and humans while the home and barn burn, yet many indigenous find glory in nonchalantly committing both treason and sedition on a daily basis.
It is extremely necessary for the notion “America” to eliminate tribal authority and it pampers those individual indigenous committing treason and sedition in their daily routine who, without thought to spiritual retribution, accomplish the American mission.
Let us look at the Bureau of Indian affairs and the Secretary of the Interior as they collude to institute both Cultural Sedition and Tribal Treason among the established tribal people of the western hemisphere in an action (the 1934 Indian Reorganization Act) that, on the surface, appears to give back to natives those things previously confiscated, but in reality, confiscates pride, honor, respect, responsibility and tribal dignity, by changing indigenous allegiance from ancient laws and rules to the fabricated laws and rules made by a hand full of seditionists, laws and rules later establishing America
That, Act authored by John Collier, is a prime example of government promoting cultural sedition and tribal treason. This plot, the product of nefarious collusion by the U. S. Congress, Interior Secretary and Indian Commissioner, intends to and does eliminate sitting tribal councils and bypasses that tribal authority (established for many, many generations of dignified rule) and institutes a paper government. The paper government is then “recognized” by the American government because the government creates the rules for tribal function. It then appoints “Chiefs” and “Chairmen,” (who immediately become agents for the American government), then “Chief” or “Chairman” hurries to Washington to have drinks on the government. At that time “Chiefs,” inebriated by “power,” sign papers that will never get back to the tribal people. Homelands and tribal authority are signed away before the next round of drinks from a Great White Father.
The government lauds the appointed “Chiefs” as “The only smart ones, the only deserving.” The government proclaims the “Chiefs” are so much smarter than the old, slow, decaying process of tribal consensus.” Consensus may take time processing. So it seems in this fast moving American world it is necessary to make quick decisions and absolutely unnecessary to have basic understanding and thorough discussion of the subject.
On the surface the social propaganda displays an American government having concern for native societies and native activities within those societies. But the reality is that B.I.A. and Secretary of Interior, charged with guardianship of all natives, but adhering to the wishes of Congress, persuades, induces, tricks natives into performing both tribal treason and cultural sedition before it will “recognize” them, giving government created programs in exchange for tribal allegiance and cultural dignity. One of the requirements is to hold original tribal laws and rules in contempt while adopting a “constitution” (of paper rules) designed by the American government’s agents.
Within the new government constitution (a contract) is the urgency to abandon the ancient tribal process that established “leaders,” and in responsible positions, install any irresponsible tribal member, some who cannot read and who often display a crude and fractured inability to neither comprehend nor understand.
Being appointed by the President (and not even suggested by the natives), the Commissioner and Secretary have allegiance and responsibility only to the wishes of Congress, and indigenous needs are ignored. In the scope of that venue, any remnant of values the natives have left from previous administration grabbing is usurped by BIA and delivered to Congress.
The act of America, encouraging indigenous to join its systematic destruction of their own culture (a culture which is responsible for the health of earth, an appointment by Great Powers), appears to somehow strengthen the American fabric, but it does not. In the final analysis, the government acquires a welfare-state, frightened and weak native population that strongly resembles a people afflicted by cultural autism - while the tribe hastens to defend itself against the accusation, by those not displaying credence to American rule, that “the only smart ones” just surrendered established tribal authority to the American administration for trinkets and beads.
These government-made indigenous creatures filter into the government and become a lethal disease to the indigenous body and the diseases (like the diseases coming with Columbus and Cortes) infects all tribal structures hastening their decay. Too, the autistic events of ceremony in English supply anthropology with more reasons to condemn the native cultures as “extinct.” Native cultures are not extinct. Indigenous cultures have been abused, ridiculed, condemned, massacred, assaulted and ignored (like the indigenous languages), but yet they survive.
Denying ancient wisdom is a spiritual crime and those committing the offense will have to, according to a tribal council man, “Justify your actions to the Great Powers of the Universe, as we continue this Journey of life.” However, to consciously and deliberately abandon “the way” of previous generations while causing future generations to be born into a physical and political situation of spiritual limitation and atrophy, as promoted by trespassing America and its intruding laws, may never find relief. We shall see.
Sul’ma’ejote (AKA)
Darryl Babe Wilson
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