OUR LEADERS

SAM SPRING, WESTERN HEMISPHERE, It Ajuma,Autumn, 1984

In Chile they shoved the tattered poor
to the long grave
dug with angry machines

And while

holding automatic weapons upon them
manufactured in the United States of America,
demanded,

"Now. You. Tell us who your leaders are!"

The poor red people wailed with weakened breath,

"Our lesders are need and hunger."

O'America
when you finally force me to kneel at the long grave,
know that my leader is a dream of freedom from American values
and I have agreed with my dream
never to compromise our private
and healthy respect for each other

No matter what the demand
No matter what the threat
No matter what the odds

Sul ma ejote

GRANDMOTHER SPOKE A TRUE SAYING TO OUR LIFE-FORCE

April 23, 1990, 846 am, U. C. Davis

GRANDMOTHER SPOKE A TRUE SAYING TO OUR LIFE-FORCE

Strange beings entered our homeland
without permission from our Council
They attacked our lives and our villages
without warning or declaration of war
They destroyed the delicate balance
placed among us at the moment of the origin of earth

Within their citadels and protected by stone walls
the Americans huddle and plot
Within their books of knowledge and history
they scribble half-truths to feed the thoughts of their children,
and ours also
Within their hearts there is a torment
which they blame upon the existence of our indigenous people
Within the tombs
where they hold council and plan strategy,
they plot to farther injure the wounded lives of the indigenous,
thinking if they damaged us the more they can find forgiveness
for their horrible crimes committed upon us and our homelands

Why?

As chool (sun) continued its journey over earth
And fire exploded in sparks
As a youth dropped a chunk of wood onto the sleeping coals,
Ju’wa (Grandmother) spoke:

“It is because Nilladuwi have no history except
for that which they agree between themselves
They cannot be proud of their existence
They do not know where they are
They cannot humble their terrified lives”

Morning winds moved the tree tops
During the approaching day an infant cried
Jahom (dog) barked an answer to parting yodel of Jamol (coyote)
Grandfather returned from his morning “thinkings” beside the great river
Hawk, motionless in sky searched for movement on the land
River tumbled and crashed and whispered as it moved to outer-ocean
Mountains vibrated with songs of the universe
Dose (deer) moved softly in the shadows of the pine, browsing
A child peered through the smoke-hole of the lodge
eyes bright, liquid, deep, as the eyes of a fawn
Far to the south there were clouds billowing and there was thunder

“If I could start from the beginning I could tell you many things
but there is no beginning
All that is made was made by a song of Quan (Silver Fox) long ago
so long ago it is hard to remember

Before there was anything there was nothing.
no stars
no Milky Ways
no suns
no earths
no moons

All that there is was made with a song by Silver Fox long ago.”

Children laughed in the distance, dogs danced in the dust
Elk bugled from mountain meadow
Mountain lion moved softly through the morning shadows, dreaming
Fox dreamed a dream also
Salmon moved from outer ocean to rivers
Grandfather prepared a song
Warrior prepare the net
Grandmother sang the song.
Salmon glistened in the great river
and smoked over smoldering fire

“Children, you must know
Since we are the first people upon this land others are jealous
We was many things
We was first people
Merkans (Americans) cannot point to a time when they was here first
and this makes them very angry

“As you move through life
Remember always that all things, the origin of all that is,
is in the songs of long ago
The songs that we must remember and must sing
we must sing with softness, a whisper
For to brag is not our way and it is not the way of the universe.”

My life-power led me to the great river to reflect on the words of Grandmother
My power then led me to the great libraries of the world
to reflect upon the words of the invading beings, in solitude
And here is what I discovered:

It is true that truth lives within our songs
It is true that all that there is,
is within our understanding
It is true that earth is damaged, and we, also
It is true that the way to heal earth and ourselves
is through our songs and our understandings
It is true that we each are as important to life
as each snow flake is important to winter

Did this information come to me through the great libraries of the world?

No!

It came from the songs of the great river
that reflect the words of Grandmother
as morning sun smiled across earth
and copper/honey children laugh with dancing dogs

This is how it is

Sul’ma’ejote

Basket of Peace

Note: This story can be translated into other languages, such as Spanish and the thousand indigenous languages from Mexico to Patagonia. Too often we neglect to realize that indigenous are hemispheric and not just from California or other spots across America.

TITA’JI
(BASKET OF PEACE)
Kuyokuk
Yukon
Porcupine
Snake
nChinawa nChinawa is an indigenous name for the Columbia River
Yellowstone
Powder
Pecos
Missouri
Mississippi
Cheyenne
Platte
Ah’juma Ah’juma is an indigenous name for Pit River
Klamath
Tombigbee
Sacramento
Patomac
Peace
Colorado
Athabasca
Dubwana
Sascatchewan
Nottaway
Manicougan
Rio Grande
Yaki
Santiago
Cohos
Orinoco
Apaporis
Branco
Negro
Amazonas
Napo
Ucayali
Sao Francisco
Paranha
Salado
Chico
Sul’ma’ejote Sul’ma’ejote is an indigenous name for Fall River

In the season of summer, in early mist when village was just waking, there was Enun (sister) sad and tired from worry. Tired creases were painted upon her face in the shadows. There was agony within her. Enun would not speak of this, but the village knew there was enmity between herself and her Apawi (brother). There was an injury as jagged and sharp as a razor-thin obsidian slab. It was bitter and it had been this way for many seasons. There was no medicine the people could do to bring them closer, for theirs was a wounding of their spirits.
Season changed from summer to Autumn. Autumn’s spirit painted the leaves of the forest russet and red and gold, yet peace was not known to their dwellings. As pine trees danced in the winds of winter and mountain tops whispered through a blanket of snow, there was no peace. As snow turned to freshets and moon and sun spoke softly over the world of a new season coming, and geese flew high in blue sky calling to the world, to people and to all of life, peace was yet a stranger between them.
This is how it was. Enun searched within herself.
Her nights were of no sleep and her days were only agony. Her world melted without song. Quickly she grew old. Apawi walked within a black shadow whenever she was near. It seemed that there was no way for friendship to travel with them, hand in hand, as it was in the season of their laughing youth.
When there was no way to be kind to her apawi and in the season when she weakened, she had a beautiful dream. Dream spoke,


“You must make titaji.”

“Make a basket?” Her spirit questioned dream.

Once again dream spoke,

“You must gather roots from huge dancing pine, strip them and wind strips into twine, then go to the rushing waters and select good willow for ribbing and take bark from red bud. Gather these things in the season of fresh spring. As you gather, here is the song you must sing:

Apona’ha meemoo’ischi’ee (Great Wonder, we are your children)
Apona’ha meemoo’ischi’ee (Great Power, we are your children)
Apona’ha, meemoo’ischi’ee (Great mystery, we are your children)
Apona’ha meemoo’ischi’ee (Great Spirit, we are your children)

After you have gathered these things, cure them by hanging them near roof in your dwelling. Do not stop singing, for as you move upon the world by day and you dream while stars dance, you must think about the peace and friendship that will belong to you and your brother when basket is finished.”

Enun did as instructed. She gathered the material for the basket in the appointed season. She placed her material in her dwelling near roof. She sang to Apona’ha every moment.
The season came for her to begin weaving. Her heart grew sweeter with each sunrise

Darkness. As she was beginning to sleep thinking peace and friendship, there danced across her vision the design of tita’ji.

With new happiness the spirit of her hands began working basket. Apawi looked upon her with dark curiosity. From her dwelling the people learned this song that never changed. When spoken to of what she was making, she said, “Tita’ji.” They began to think she was growing into childhood again and thought she was speaking truths and maybe doing that which was child-like harmony.
She sang “Apona’ha” and her basket grew. Enun began to wonder, “When giving this basket to my brother, will all be well between us?”
She hummed “Apona’ha,” and little song weave its way around and through the dwellings of village even as her twine wrapped itself around the ribs of tita’ji.
As fire danced she looked over tita’ji, a pattern of love. Enun’s spirit grew big and warm. A tita’ji given to her in a dream that would bring everlasting peace to her and her brother. Tita’ji would be finished next sun. She smiled a beautiful smile then dreamed.
As she breathed softly and last spark blinked out and village was deep in dreams there came a vision to her and a peaceful voice said,

“You must place tita’ji upon waters of rushing river.”

Startled she wondered, “Is this a terrible dream? Is this a bad message? But if I put tita’ji upon the rushing river won’t tita’ji go away to outer ocean?” All these things she thought quickly within herself.
It was long before sleep crept within her to curl up like a little mink. Again a sharp vision flashed across her dream and a voice said,

“You must place tita’ji upon waters of river. To have peace and friendship there first must be trust. Before trust appears there must be faith. Before faith approaches there must be a knowing that there is peace and friendship. You must sing the song. You must keep fire burning, always. Feed fire with branches of trees that have not touched the earth, that are yet pure. Do not allow fire to die.”

Enun was surprised but as she listened again to words sent to her from outer world and received by her spirit, she began to fathom the depth of faith it will take to have everlasting peace. Then she slept a beautiful sleep.
First light, song floated over village, over rushing river, over land and around the world.
Enun completed tita’ji and placed it with tenderness upon rushing river’s water. Her people watched it being captured by tumbling current. They stood quietly as it rounded distant bend. Their hearts were sad for their enun who lost her tita’ji upon river. They wondered within themselves why it was none of the warriors tried to retrieve it.
None but she and the whispering power knew that this could not be done.
Enun returned to her dwelling. She sang gift song. She gathered wood to keep fire alive.
Sleeping, a vision flashed across her dreams and a voice said,

“Enunja (little sister), when tita’ji fashioned with dreams and song touches the shores of all countries of our world, it shall bring peace there.
Tita’ji will travel through all of the turmoil of humankind’s own making and when it has delivered peace to every land, it will return to your hands by traveling up river to the place where you put it upon its journey of peace and friendship.
You must not allow fire to die. You must not stop singing. When tita’ji returns take it to your apawi and say,

My spirit’s brother, this is for you. It has traveled all the world and has brought peace to all the lands it has encountered. I made it for you from a dream given to me by Great Mystery. Let this be a symbol of my trust in Apona’ha that there can be everlasting peace between us.

You must say to your people gathered there watching as tita’ji moves from outer ocean up river to your hands,

My people. Remember the song Great Wonder gave to me and I gave to you? Let this be a lesson that we are a people of peace and we have peaceful dreams to dream, and all else we must not allow to hinder our spirits.

We must sing the song for all seasons.”

- - - - - - -

Looking closely, the eyes of my heart sees:

Enunja. She yet tends the fire and sings the song. It has been this way for almost too many seasons. With every sunrise she practices the message that she will deliver to the people upon arrival of tita’ji. That precious song weaves its way through each of our indigenous nations. Faith moves within her creation even as fire yet dances and warms darkness. With the special indigenous faith given to them while they were still a dream of fertile spirit and willing seed, our sisters, mothers and grand mothers, filled with faith, wait, peering down river

Native nations watch technology, the God of invading forces, raise its ugly head and seeing nature in repose, attacks it thinking that natural life is a wild thing that needs conquering. The warriors and Elders, with payer and thought, attempt to repeal the injury. We have lost battles and we have lost wars but we have not been defeated, for the war that we fight is for nature and against encroachment and we cannot afford, for the sake of the world and the universe, to surrender.

A fragment of this story came to me from White Mountain Apache. Then, when she was a sparkling youth, the mother of my twin boys, Danell Rene Garcia, made her first basket which she described as “ugly!” I thought it was beautiful. It had long strands sticking out at random around what appeared to be a nest damaged as it fell to earth. Later I listen to a basket weaver telling how she made baskets from dreams. Those things propelled this story into this form. Since then I have carried this story to many people asking if it is their story. Most people shake their heads saying it sounds familiar but they are not sure if it is of their people, but they all understand the message.

Each autochthenous nation might lay claim to this dream, all “own” it. Looking to the beauty of the message, it matters not from which nation it emerged, but that it did. My mind’s eye sees Enunja weaving tita’ji. It is alive in her dreams. It identifies the separations between individuals of our villages and it paints a vivid picture of the degree of faith we must have simply to keep our peace until baskets returns up our many rivers.

I am awed by the courage and strength that our women are required to have. And after perceiving this story I cannot fathom the duty that is theirs alone. Those beautiful woman-flower-people waiting beside the rivers, tending fires, peering down river in bursting expectation, singing in a thousand indigenous tongues,

“Apona’ha mee’moo’ischi’ee.”


Sul’ma’ejote
For:
The daring and doing California Indian Basket weaver’s Association (CIBA)
And Basket Weavers of sterling dreams everywhere in the world

AHWA’NEECHEE

U.C. Davis 1990
September 08, 2008, San Jose

AHWA’NEECHEE

It came to be
When clouds and sunshine moved by a great power
over the land of the Ahwa’neechee
That my spirit led me to the silence of the forest
and there we wept

Beauty
that most delicate of understandings
And spirit
that most necessary of all things
Trembles here in the mighty valley called Yosemite

In awe the multitudes say,

“Feel! the spraying waters, the silken veil of
an angel”
“Look! there, the sun dancing
upon the morning waters of rushing river”
“Listen! the flowers and trees
singing with the wind”
“Experience! The parting clouds
and sun splashing everywhere”
“Wow! the majestic dome
broken by a mysterious and awesome power”

My spirit looked upon all these things
and it was like studying a painting of a great artist
for it is the greatest artist
holding the universe in her hands

But as my spirit wandered through the valley floor
it began to grow hesitant
For people, that imbalanced life form
attempts at every moment to subdue and weaken
the power that creates beauty

Humanity, that element of an unhappy soul
stumbles across earth
making dirty all that it touches,
making me ashamed of my humanness

Standing in awe of the grandness of nature
humans “ooh” and “ahh” at all they see,
but they cast their filth all about them as they depart

They say, “It is a cathedral,”
as they bring garbage with them to deposit within sweet earth

They say, “It is grand. It is beyond comprehension,”
as they pollute the air with their machinery and their breath

Daybreak, my spirit and I climbed a peak,
and peered north to the sacred mountains of the Yurok,
the Karok and Tolowa, seeing Doctor Rock and Chimney Rock

I thought of the courage of my brothers and sisters
facing armies that long to destroy Tolowa Cathedrals,
Yurok and Karok sacred mountains
and my spirit trembles

Casting my eyes to the great Yosemite Valley floor
I see automobiles of every possible fabrication,
Screaming along the stone path

Casting my eyes to the falling waters
I see every possible form of humanity, the multitude,
in an immeasurable and insulting manner,
rushing in and pushing aside the sacred power

Once again I thought of the threat
to Doctor and Chimney Rocks
and again I wonder what type of creature
Americans are

They do not know Chimney Rock and many will not know its power
They do not know Doctor Rock yet many will condemn it

Yet Americans view the rugged Yosemite calling it “wonderful,”
as they participate in its diminishing
They claim it is “breath taking,”
as their automobiles emit death and destruction
They claim it is “The seat of God,”
as they pollute the sterling water and create mountains of human waste

They do not know Doctor Rock.
They do not know Chimney

Americans know they make the decisions
They think that it is more important
for them to have, have, have
than it is for native people to worship

They think it is more important
for America to “progress”
than it is for the Tolowas to sing with the winds
that beautiful song whispering
along their familiar mountains at dawn

They think it is more important
for one American to make decisions
than a nation of Yuroks and Karoks as they seek their balance
within the universe, in soft conversation with that
great spiritual power that they were born into

Where are the Ahwa’neechee?
Where has their spirit gone this day?

Where will the Yurok, Karok and Tolowa be
when the sacred spirit if Dr Rock and Chimney
are disturbed
and seek a peaceful place to dwell?

And that is why
when the clouds and sunshine moved over the
Ahwa’neechee homeland and the beautiful Yosemite Valley,
my spirit led me to the silence of the forest
and there we wept

For the beautiful spirit of resistance that is our heritage since America

Sul’ma’ejote (aka) Darryl Babe Wilson

FIRE!

Fire in Hyampom still crackling.

Could we flip back through history a hundred-thousand years before Columbus, or ten minutes before landfall, we would fine immense forests scattered across the earth and near the Pacific Ocean, some trees three-hundred feet tall and thirty-five feet around at their base. Most of the forests would appear like a manacured state/federal park, clear of underbrush, deadfalls, dry limbs, needles and leaves turning to duff just waiting for a spark.
The forests, like much life upon this continent, were no accident. That they looked like they were manicured is because they had been (forever) before the penetration of Europeans. Forests were full of life and were like a supermarket/mall for the natives. Animals, birds, eggs, nuts, excitement and adventure flourished everywhere. Therefore it was a duty for the natives to clean the forests and to encourage life to visit there, and it was an honor to "talk for" the forests in ceremony and prayer. Loving earth with a deep respect has always been the "way" of indigenous of this hemisphere.
During fall season entire tribes went into the forest and gathered dead limbs and debris, the brush, leaves, needles and cones. They made pilesof the dead and drying materials and covered the piles with bark slabs, abundant on an old windfall where much of the debris was piled. Then they waited for the proper time. At the proper time they took pitch torches into the forest setting the piles on fire.
Why, ten, didn't the fire "get away" and burn millions of acres, maybe for months, since there was no fire crew, helicopters or foam and other fire retardants? It was because the "right time" to burn the forest piles, was during first snow. First snow the wind is usually calm, forest is damp, humidity perfect.
Today the little town of Hyampom in northern California is surrounded by fire and evacuations are constant as fire rushes with the wind and calmly eats its way up or down the ridge, thriving under duff, and sparks of duff are wind-carried across fire lines that a crew of a hundred men have been laboring all week to establish. Spark touches tinder and grows quickly to a threat.
The old timers knew the "first snow" routine and followed it. U. S. Forest Service and modern civilization seem to be attracted to forests matted with undergrowth and deadfalls while spending much money to get control of a fire that should never have had the opportunity to start, by lightning or by match.

Sul'ma'ejote

ENERGY

There must be someone, somewhere who can and will do something about the world dilemma concerning the internal combustion engine. I have a plan that eliminates the cultured need for oil. Any vehicle can create its own energy to continue to its destination. No gas, no oil, no pollution. Serious-minded and the deeply concerned, please contact me at: DrBabe@aol.com.
Curious please don't contact me. Thank you for your kindness. Babe

Cuauhxihuitl

On June 15, my Granddaughter, Cuauhxihuitl, left San Jose, CA for Mexico. She is being guided to Machu Picchu. She should arrive there in mid December, and she should be back in San Jose in February, '09. Soon she will join the Peace and Dignity run from Mexico City to Panama. At Panama she will begin, alone, walking to the wonderful city, the roots of her current journey in life. At the moment she is in Oaxaca, visiting the communities of her ancestors. She has found people living in terrible conditions in the mountains. Her next blog should be up soon. It will deal with her experiences in and around the mountains of Oaxaca. You may learn more about this. Her blog is: http://blueturquoiseeagle.blogspot.com/
Many of her friends and relatives here and in Mexico worry about her because hers is a deeper committment than we have experienced, because we love her very much, and because of the out of control political machines in various countries. I am honored and proud to be in the same world with her, so I wish many people would read her blog and begin to understand the powerful forces urging and guiding her journey, while knowing her concerns for humanity.

Sul'ma'ejote

UNCHANGING

O' Europe,
Our Mother Earth was always young, before your people came,
came and were greeted as friends,
came but ached to create of our lives and our homeland, an abattoir

Now Mother Earth is old and weak and moans in the heart of night,
and weeps at the dawning

Vast rivers that danced, crashing to the ocean for all seasons,
are dry
and often clouds of dust come from them,
as ancient winds whisper to perishing Earth

Mountains are scarred
and now a victim, they bleed

Forests that dwelled in soft beauty
during the seasons of my Great-Grandmother,
are blotted from earth
by a greedy hand

The vast and beautiful valley of my birth
is divided and is now private possession.
In captivity
it trembles from this gnarled thinking.

O' Europe, you witnessed this vast land
the beauty,
the wonder,
the people balanced with nature

Emerging from imbalance,
you were not prepared to encounter balance
and you identified beautiful life as "neglect,"
then set your unclean selves to improving it

Your son, Columbus, 500 years ago,
began your heinous activiuty by kidnapping my people
to deliver to a Queen
to be used for slaves or living pieces of her museum.
after killing the people of many villages to do so

O'Europe, you and your descendants are unchanging!

Chains

When you speak and your longing is for the ages
to remember the intent of your voice
Speak not of cruel limitations of fractions of time saying "minutes,"
rather speak of "moments"
saying it with all of your beauty

Say not "hours" or "days" or "years,"
rather speak of the soft and natural saying "seasons."
And when you speak of change,
think first of the change in nature from season, to eon, to forever.

Neither speak of the weakest link of the strongest chain
for this only illuminates the flaws of technology.
rather, seek the weaknesses of the rainbow
...and if you discover one,
discuss this with people of good will.
seeking to improve that flaw

Don't waste precious seasons
wondering of weaknesses in technology

Sul'ma'ejote

Divided States

April 25, 1973. 30,000 feet over Wounded Knee, Douth Dakota, enroute to Nancy, France, World Theater Festival, The United Nations at Geneva, and the World Court of Justice at LaHaye, with a message:

"America, stop killing our people at wounded Knee and relinquish their homeland to the Pit River people."

THE DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA

My spirit looked down through clouds of time
upon the land of my people
and there was a deepness within all that there is
a silence that did not know peace

For there was our Mother Earth
from great waters in east where sun looks over world
to great salt waters where sun rests and darkness is everywhere
even between the stars

Vast the land
in agony
For Americans have poured filth upon our homeland
the earth of my people
The turtle island of our dreams

Americans hiss through fangs.
"United," "peace," "honor," "democracy." "freedom."

But as my spirit looked
with long eyes upon earth
silence again grew great within my being
for this is what there is,

Ni'lladu'wi (wanderers) have separated earth saying it is "united"
They have severed the separated land, saying again, United States
They have attacked this as with a knife
saying, "Counties of the United States"

within all this
Americans build gnarled houses
and when they gather to eat
the fruits of beautiful Mother Earth.
Americans are separated one from the other
farther, still

The separation and division gives americans no happiness
for they also divide the hearts of my people
and long to own the whole world

Too often they think with gnarled reasoning
and dreams made foul by coveting,
that killing my people is good
for it is a glory to their angry God
of iron words sounding like chains ratteling

My spirit muttered in fury,

"There, upon the earth of my people
in angry uneasiness
is the DIVIDED STATES OF AMERICA!"

Returning to the earth of my people
in haste I demanded "why?" of Grandmother

In the closing of day
as geese called softly across slumbering Qatsade (Fall River Valley)
she spoke, saying

"It is because they have
no place to rest their terrified spirits.

"Now is the ripe season to unite
all that has been divided

"We must!
only by so doing
shall we stop the killing of our children
by the Americans some day."

Sul'ma'ejote