A Winter Zombie Land

Finally it has truly snowed in this country... it's not too much,about 2 ft but they ain't used to it so everything is coming to a standstill.
I still remember,with cold chills in my bones,the winters on the Rez. It dropped to the -20's easy. The wind cut through all layers and hair would turn brittle.

There was of course the winter nights when I would be digging the Sweat Lodge out of the snow and getting a fire going.Stepping out from the Inipi at the end with just shorts into the snow and night air. it was always worth it as the stars seemed to sparkle even brighter and good prayers had been shared.

....back to the present and the experience from today's expedition for sledging....

Here in England it doesn't take long to see the frailties and this wonderful pure blanket upon Unci Maka uncovers as well covers.
They were rationing the milk,all bread was gone from every store's shelves and other basics were scarce if not disappeared completely. Everything had pretty much closed down and most cars sat abandoned. adorned with a bloating and softening of form as the snow gently settled on the first surface that greeted each flake.

The sledging was fun... especially having spun about 180 and thus sliding backwards down the hill. soon time passed and the feet of children were being to hurt as the wet,cold snow bit into them.
So with flushed faces,coffee on the mind and icy water seeping under and between the clothing layers we started back. Exaggerated steps took us through the deep snow until upon the road.

As the only 4x4 car I had seen was flaunting it's snow gripping abilities I heard how dampened noises had become. There was no other traffic to be heard and just the sound of feet upon snow and the waterproof pants rubbing as people walked.
We were approaching a bridge that took the road over the motorway and scattered people were walking towards us. It was unusual to see so many people out walking.Most drive their cars everywhere or hide in their little boxes.

It was eerie... I was struck with the feel of them all being the walking dead.They felt soulless and most had expressionless faces.. just the quiet of feet upon snow. I looked ahead and down the long road that led to the village up another hill. Cars lined the side of the road. Dark,shuffling forms moving.

I felt the sense of seeing a future not too far away. I felt so alive compared to these others.
Luckily I had the company of my brother,two of his kids,a friend and two of his also. We had life. we were smiling,chatting.... but all three of us felt the same thing... this was like a Winter Zombie Land.

To plant a seed

Look upon the humble seed.... everything it is, every generation before and the gift of bringing forth in it's life more seeds for the generations to come.

Let it sit within your palm and truly feel the life, the possibilities you hold. It asks only one thing. To be connected with the earth....the Mother to everything.

Know it's roots and from where they grow best. seek such a place and ask our Mother if you can open her so as to welcome this seed. Make an offering and then feel with your hands. Create that place from where new life shall grow.

Offer a prayer and give water, the first medicine to our Mother and place the seed. Ask her to nurture this life and nourish it with the Love only a mother knows. The earth is returned and the seed enters the darkness of the womb and there shall stay. Growing, unfolding like the spiral and circle of life.

Offer prayers to the Sun,the winds and the waters. Ask them to take pity upon this life that yearns to grow. Ask them to bring their gifts, calling out and encouraging the journey to birth from the earth and stand with Creation.

May the Cloud Nations bring the blessing rains and shall they seep into our Mother. Bathing the new life.

May the Four Winds strengthen it when born from the earth.

May the Sun call it from our Mother, giving it's energy to it.

So let a seed rest within your palm and listen to it's dreams... give it a chance to grow into all that it can be and will offer to the world.

Elephants and Rain

I was woken this morning by the sound of children... they were just playing but the way these houses are... it sounded like they had shape shifted into Elephants.
My eyes opened and saw no greeting from the sun.

"What the... it's still night." yep, I had woken as crabby Uncle.

Anyway, my two nephews and their father came downstairs. Curtains were drawn and the sky was still dark... but there,just at it's beginnings was daybreak. I let the crabbiness go (never lasts with me) and made some coffee.I found myself grateful that I was awake as the new day birthed upon the sky and shadows stretched and melted.

It reminded me of a moment with my father. I was coming home from work when lightning flashed and the rains released from the clouds. I was soaked in seconds and cursed all the way home.
I enter our apartment and let out a stream of complaints about how wet I was and that the rain could have waited a few more minutes. What a fool.
My father was sat in the front room and just listened until the moment when I looked across to him and I saw that eyebrow raised... oh no.

"Who do you think you are to complain about the Wakinyan and the rain they bring? That's family. Now get yourself outside and offer some tobacco... apologise to them."

I went outside, we had a roof garden, and stood in the rain with my arm out stretched, tobacco in hand and bare foot, praying.

This morning I was bought the wonder of greeting the day. It was cold and I was tired but I was also blessed. So I thank my nephews for just being themselves and apologise for a moment of crabbiness.

many roads

It's been a long time since I wrote anything........... I'm not sure I'm really ready too yet.
In the space between here and the last entry I have traveled down many roads. No matter their direction,whether toward the setting sun or embracing the dawn, there was no escaping the hill.

The spirits became flesh and the grandma sang as I cried.
They told me to take just that one prayer to the hill.... all night.. that one prayer.
The stars watched over me while the Moon was dark.
The wind spoke as did the frost upon the grass that fled the warmth of day's light.

I still have dust from the road and blood from the prayer.

I have the smell of horses about me and parched lips of the prairie.

I have caused pain.
I bought many smiles...... but I bought pain.
......many roads.

Tongue

I've been coming to this place for several days now... I get ready to write something and then pull away.
Sometimes because richer conversations have been taking place. Filled with discovery, shadows,playful teasing and a long road almost Home.
Sometimes I have hesitated through the power of words.

Words are both spoken and heard but that does not always mean both are in rhythm... words spoken will touch each who listen in different ways, personal ways and I have learned a hard lesson of recent. Words spoken without hearing them first from the heart of they who were going to hear them. Words spoken without the intention nor meaning that they held once heard.

I have written things recently and again learned the responsibility of writing, sharing. My last three posts concerning the BlackHawk incident at WoundedKnee are proof to that and I Pray that growth and humbleness was felt from the first to the last.

I'm learning,I'm slipping back into a quiet. I'm listening.

This is new to me. I have always been an Artist and except from one crazy Christian when I was at Art College, my work has never caused a bad reaction. Art can be very powerful and out of all our senses it would seem the visual is what most use the most. Yet it has been words that have bought me to my knees, wondering and Praying.

One of my Sun Dance brothers posted something on Facebook recently and I re-posted it on mine. It is the story of the warriors bringing their weapons as an honoring... the dark warrior placed a tongue before everyone. This is the most powerful weapon that can lift you back to your feet or bring you to your knees and even get you to put down the Canupa he explained.
Often in Ceremonies the Spirits leave us with the wisdom that the tongue is the most dangerous weapon we have... it's our responsibility as to how we use it.

upon refection and running with the wind

I have sat in reflection. Listened to the voices of the elders who reminded everyone of Wolakota. Our values that make us Lakota. Courage, respect, compassion.. all of them. It's easier now for me to hear that because I have run until my body burned away the adrenaline that had released within me. I clambered steep buttes and threw rocks up into the wind until my arms grew weary and the anger had been released from my heart and hands. I fell to my knees and shed tears into the earth until peace washed over me like a child given comfort by their mother.Those tears were the pain of our history and each was the life of an ancestor who fought to remain Lakota.

Those military in the Blackhawks had no idea our Tribal Leader/Council had not spoken with the people. I am responsible for my own reaction. I acknowledge my anger, my tears and I am responsible for releasing what my body has come to hold. I do not want these emotions spent on other people. People who did not know. I want to bring forth the Wolakota. Respect, courage, compassion.
It takes courage to explore the anger and hurt within. I do not wish to kick the dog, yell at the child, or fight with my neighbor… only to cry and to run, to let it out, and it does frighten me. To face all that. But I must so I do not feel a rage at someone weaker than me, perhaps a woman, perhaps a soldier. I must so that I don't drink or get high and with the pain as an excuse. We all know on the rez the terrible things, the abuse and deaths that come from that.
It was not wrong to run at those Helicopters, not when no one had been told they were coming. There was no time to sit with it and find the calm. In that very moment all the pain was awoken.

But now we can ask..

You who knew only what you saw. The sight of military helicopters approaching. You who felt the strength to make a stand. To protect those who now lay in the embrace of our mother the earth. I wonder, can you feel to invite those men in the helicopters back? Can you feel the strength in preparing a feast and asking those soldiers to sit and share food? Can we invite them and say, My Great Grandmother is in the ground that you wished to land upon? My uncles of the past. Small children who never saw two summers, yes, buried there. It was a time of genocide. Come with us and face that so we all might learn together? Can we offer the Canupa with a Prayer for healing? Can we offer those soldiers a gift of our story, our sorrow, our suffering, our humanness and compassion so that it is a seed within them that will grow?

How far can we find it within ourselves to reach out and offer those things that the world needs if it is to get better for the generations to come... all Nation's generations.

You were brave but can you be braver still and show the way? It's the way our Ancestors walked since we came from our Mother.

If this is our dream, hopes and prayers... a pleading with Tunkasila, that we as a Nation will flourish. That our youth will not seek escape through suicide. That we will truly be sovereign and healthy. Respected and heard. Then what are we willing to do?
Can we as a Nation become truly one? Can we accept those who may only have one drop of Lakota blood? Can we laugh together? Pray together? Sun Dance with the sacrifice of only one Cottonwood? Can we as communities help each other. Care for the elders and young of all families as one family?

There is hope. I see it in the richness of who we are. The programs that are growing, pushing up through the despair. No longer living as victims but as empowering hearts and minds. It's a freedom from the wounds. Not a forgetting but a living for the generations new and yet to be.
It's exhausting to the mind, body and spirit if we remain at war... it spreads to in fighting. It becomes all we know. Whether with our self, family, community or as racism. Gangs are born and divisions built or families feud with other families.
I remember being told by my Ate, who had been told by an Elder, in life as we walk there will be many things that come upon our path. Pick up and learn about all that is good. Leave well alone all that is bad. We were exposed to many things in recent history and much was forced upon us. Today we have the choice. Do we want to hold onto those bad things that were not the Lakota way? Have we grown too used to them? The Lakota way is Wolakota. How we act, the heart behind the words, the way we walk as a two-legged.

Our culture is one of beauty. Our dances. Our beading and Star Quilts. Our songs and Language. Our Ceremonies and Traditions.
This is the time. This is our mother's time. Lets be the leaders of spirit in all that is good. Let our actions be part of the mending of the Sacred Hoop. It will take being warriors that heal rather than shed blood. Walking with the Canupa rather than a gun

communication; a response to the truth of Blackhawks speak

So.. the lights have been switched on, full beam upon the road ahead.
I've been reminded today of something of great importance... communication. Or the lack of it. Or the abuse of it.
Fear, mistrust, old wounds and a proven history can feed the worst in us. It must also be acknowledged for it's seeds were sown somewhere by someone. It can become a finger sweating on the trigger or a gust of wind to a spark.
Great things were born from those Blackhawks. I had mentioned how I had felt happy about it all happening. But what to do with this chance that comes from such spirit and blood rising in a Nation to Nation reality? Things have to change... this has been the warning sign. Who noticed how far the news spread and who fed it with their own agendas? People from CA wanting to come and fight beside the Lakota's. Who is looking for a fight? Who wants blood? Who wants healing? Who wants family,community,national,international and global unity?
Things can start from here. It wasn't the 7th cavalry invading. It wasn't military bullying. It wasn't wrong of the people to run at the Blackhawks. It was a terrible breakdown of communication though.

Iktomi and the Blackhawks speak

Some trips of the soul are without moving yet are powerfully moved by something that happens. Yesterday was such a day for me. It was such a day for many people. A day that carried a message through an act that holds no sense or reason other than something not light. It was dark.. it came in the form of 3 military Blackhawks. Their presence and unknown intention cast shadows over the burial site at WoundedKnee... literally. That was their chosen landing ground... that was the other voice behind the message.
There is no excuse or smoke screen that can hide the depth of this act and the lasting affect it will have. Old wounds picked at and our Ancestors mocked. We bring offerings and Prayers to that land where out Ancestors were murdered. We give of ourselves so their spirits can feel peace. People from all around the world come respectfully to learn, pray and honor our dead. The military bring their arrogance and sacrilege.
This will continue. We must demand they give their reason, they must honor our Nation. This is a mockery of a Nation's sovereignty. It would be seen as an act of military aggression anywhere else so don't be surprised that this is how my heart and all the Oyate's see it.

.....a little further down the road...

I have sat with the Blackhawk messengers and now I am happy. I'm happy because they bought truth. They spoke loudly of the non existent respect for us. They showed that nothing has changed. They showed our men and women's courage when charging towards the Blackhawks and resisting. No bowing down or being bullied.
In the old ways we would send runners. They had offerings for other tribes. This was to let them know we would be passing through... it's called respect. And we were called uncivilized.

So, we await Iktomi to come and tell the reason. We wait for the media web to slant any truth and no doubt show the Lakota to be in the wrong, ungrateful or over reacting. We wait but we do not cower.
I cannot apologize for the taste of this blog being 'us' and 'them' because that is the truth of this incident. But I do know that there are many non Lakota, non Indigenous that are as opposed to this as the Oyate ourselves. There are many who have felt and experienced the divide between civilian and military. Katrina showed that with the National Guard on the streets with guns. Were they going to shoot at the flood water? Were they going to shoot the mother that was labeled a looter? She had baby formula for her hungry child... was she supposed to wait until the store opened a few months later?
A little side road there.. but now heading for the destination again.

I hear that this is going to be taken before the UN Council, good, very good because this is a local issue, a Nation to Nation issue, a global Indigenous issue..... it's about respect and the actions of bullies.

It's time to talk and time for them to listen. It's time for unity as our Mother bleeds into the ocean. It's time for a new way.

Signposts from Tunkasila

Deja vu .
No road trip is without a little detour. Maybe a search for food and a chance to stretch those legs.
That road looks interesting. Oh hey, check that out.. let's go take a look.
Dirt tracks and the mystery of a butte across the way. An artistic photo opportunity, a place to Pray and make offerings. Or maybe the invitation from friends and family to stop in. Take a break and share some stories (the chance of a shower and laundry often does the trick).
The thing I have come to know is that Tunkasila will always let you know.
Sometimes the spirits have made things happen to keep me still. To wait without being aware of waiting (those lights stayed red for years). Other times every light you come to is green.
But the thing I like most are the Signposts from Tunkasila. There are no warnings. Just that moment of Deja vu. It's a moment of catching up with yourself and being shown you are exactly where you are supposed to be...... and then we are off. The road trip continues and no map is a guarantee. Just stay true to the direction in your soul. Steer with passion and compassion. be humble with the gas pedal (unless the real need for speed) and easy on the brakes.
When we are young it is often just us but as we grow, so does the number of passengers.. their life can so often be in your hands.
The road beneath can sometimes be all there is but look up from your feet and meet the eyes.. for the road is never just ours and belongs to all.
Personally I prefer to ride bareback with the Ancestors in the storms.. Thunderous hooves and Lightning Songs....

Clint Eastwood turned my coffee black

Just a random memory that popped into my head.
Finally I reached the age where my mother would let me stay up for a while after supper.This was the time of grown-ups and the door had been opened to me. At last. All my wondering would be answered and I took my spot sitting on the floor beside the little coffee table.
As the TV was switched on and a show was picked my mother went into the kitchen and came back with hot drinks. This was the opening ceremony to 'grown-up time' and I was included. I sipped on a cup of tea (which I never liked,weak and milky). I asked my mother what she was drinking and she offered me a taste... ah, the spell had been cast with the very moment my taste buds were hit with coffee.
I had always been drawn to the smell. There was a little village shop my mother would go to and I was then at the age of holding her hand and having no choice on the days events and journey. But that shop.. that little village haven was thick with the scent of fresh coffee.. I was hooked.
So.. that smell,the first taste.... yes I was a natural born coffee drinker... and proud of it.
Milk and two sugars was my way.. like I knew anything.
And then that fateful night came.
I was alone downstairs,my mother was sick in bed and I sought the comfort of the couch.I'm sure that couch could swallow people. Anyway I searched for a show and found a western.. one of those classic Clint Eastwood westerns.I was armed with the remote and a fresh cup of coffee.. milk with two sugars.. but not for much longer. The scene came when they were all sitting around the fire and eating beans (no doubt) off those metal plates and supping on some good old camp coffee. wait a minute, I don't see any milk.. nor sugar.. hmmmm.. let me try that.
I must admit to the initial shock and hurriedly added sugar.. but that was it. No looking back and the milk was "outa here".
I'm still an avid coffee drinker, less sugar and definitely no milk... that rich taste that's so earthy.
So,thank you Clint.. you turned my coffee black.

Would CrazyHorse have been there?

It was a historical event. The gathering of so many representatives of Turtle island's Indigenous Nations at the White House.
I prayed with thankfulness and made offerings of food and tobacco for our Ancestors. The day was one of reflection and celebration, that's where I wanted to stay but a voice inside was whispering.
Days passed and I found the whisper getting louder. I shrugged it of, I didn't want to be anything but positive in my support for the efforts that could lead to major changes for the better. So much for that.. the voice finally broke through and I heard it ask

"would CrazyHorse have been there?"

It's impossible for anyone to answer that. It did however lead me to sitting with what had transpired that day, especially the words from the US President. This is not about him and nor is it about anyone else that was there but it is about the situation that was started so long ago.

“It’s a commitment that’s deeper than our unique nation-to-nation relationship. It’s a commitment to getting this relationship right, so that you can be full partners in the American economy, and so your children and your grandchildren can have an equal shot at pursuing the American dream.”
US President Obama

American Dream? is that the same dream as an Indigenous person dreams? isn't that the dream of one and the nightmare of another?
It doesn't need to be any clearer when I look back over the never ending and complete disregard for what the Indigenous People's know as sacred. The disputes and struggles continue over many sacred sites which for those pursuing the American Dream want to stake their claim and make their money. Bear Butte in SD is a good example.We were victorious in beating a planned shooting range from being built there (would never have been considered in the first place if Bear Butte was a church) Now another bar is being built there for the Biker Rallies.. alcohol beside a sacred site.. again would be a non started if Bear Butte was a church.
These are just a drop in the ocean that is the conflict between the American Dream and the Indigenous Peoples.
There are fundamental differences between the very nature of these cultures and our relationship to the earth. Everything is for sale,open for exploiting and the American dollar... in God we trust.
So I sat with this and thought about the historical gathering at the White House.. Tipis on the front yard and hearts within the halls. I wondered if the conversation of such hearts and minds that hold our mother sacred would ever truly be heard and understood by the hearts and minds of those in 'power' of the system? A system that is one of extraction and cannot exist beyond being that.
Is it the equal access to the 'American Dream' that should be the path chosen? Should that be the agenda already set? I feel it shows how stuck the US mindset is. All other people demanded equal rights to the 'whites' in the US.. the Indigenous demand and fight for their Traditional rights. This is a huge difference and conflict beyond anything else.
Maybe,just maybe the conversation should become one of listening to the Indigenous wisdom and bring the American Dream into one that embraces all life with acknowledgment and respect without prejudice?
So,as I come to a place of stillness with the question I remember something I saw.. it was about alcoholism among the Indigenous people and there was a man being put into a police car... he turned to the camera.. with tears in his eyes and asked.. "can they bring back the buffalo? the wild mustangs... can they?"
For the sake of all life I Pray that dialogue continues,gatherings around the world between governments and the Indigenous people carry momentum and maybe then the health of the natural world will grow in strength.

Ina and Ate

Today is my Ate's (father's) birthday. He made his journey home 11 years ago, 13 years after my Ina (mother) had.
Those who know me well would most likely say I speak often of my Ate but seldom of my Ina. It's not an expression of loving one more than the other. Both taught me much wisdom.
My Ina did not sit me down and teach. It was growing in her love as a child that taught me.
I was 23 when I finally met my Ate. He gave me my life back, the life my Ina had given birth to.
This was when I realized I wasn't crazy and that there was a place in this world that made sense.
(I have lost count of the times I have written and deleted this blog.... maybe it's a time to keep my memories close but something is wanting to be shared).

I am as a tree. My Ate and Ina's DNA is within me. Unraveling and reaching at both ends. strengthening and expanding. Their blood is with mine.. the rising sap.
Branches with buds now forming, hands to the heavens calling out to the sun and air. embracing, feeding, becoming self made from the elements.
Roots, becoming aware and thus growing in acceptance. Hearing the voices of those who have been before. their lives held deep now in the comfort of our mother's embrace.
I grow, led in the direction of those voices. A darker, richer earth warmed by our mother's heart.
There is the gathering place. There exist the conversations of all Nations born. We are one. We are many. We share in the Inipi of our mother's womb with songs of prayer deep in the heart of the earth. journeying up through the roots of those who are still connected. Those who have felt the stirring of their Ancestors in the blood and land.
My Ate nurtured my roots. The strong ones that had survived. They were watered by my tears as I fell to my knees and wept for our mother.. as I wept for my Ina.. as I felt the meaning of Home.
My Ancestors had never left my side, they never leave anyone's side. It is us who leaves them. It is us who forgets our mother. It is us who stops loving..... come Home. listen to the voices in the earth. Feel the drum that is her heart.Let the wind caress and play with your hair and the Sun feed your soul.

So there it is, for whatever reason, the words to share on the the day that marks the welcoming of my Ate to the world. I wish you could all have met him. To have heard his laughter. To have felt his compassion.... Ate, Toksa ake.

The Fog

Usually when the road is foggy we can switch on our fog lights. Sometimes though the battery hasn't enough juice.
I am recovering from parasites. I know this is very personal to share but Hey! this is a road trip.
It struck me as interesting that i wrote a blog about parasites and leeches before. Now I have experienced both literally (as well symbolically).
Was I asking for this?
I am grateful for this most recent health issue. As grateful was I for the small fella that attached itself to my arm and helped itself to a drink (a whole new twist to "the drinks are on me").
The physical symptoms were not too alarming. Sensations of nausea,low energy,weight loss and of course the most obvious.
I became increasingly low of mood and thought. I wrapped myself up in my Star quilt and withdrew.
One night I grew so tired of this and finally prayed one night to my father. Tears were shed.
My stubbornness caved and gave way to the acceptance I had to seek the help of western medicine. I hadn't been to see a doctor since I was around 8yrs old. it was a big step for me and so I went.
Tests were done and then the doctor asked if I wanted the name of the parasite so I could look it up on the internet. Of course I did. If something had decided to hitch a ride inside me I wanted to at least be on first name terms.
My reward for taking action was some medicine that made my head pound.
But.
That was a passing phase and soon I received the real gift.
The Fog Lifted.
My eyes got their sparkle back.
Color flushed my skin.
Joy to share in conversation returned.
To was mentioned to me about the symbolism of myself having parasites.
I agreed.
It does not merely imply outside parasites (of which there are always many) but also my own. the things that held me back. Robbed me of my nourishment.
Life can be full of tests and none more hidden than our own self inflicted.
Do we live with them or take action to cleanse ourselves.
I know when our bodies are injured we can protect that area by not fully using it. Sometimes we have to. But. Not forever. Maybe fear grows from the injury or comfort? An excuse even, for us not to fully extend ourselves.
Anyway, I am alert, alive and nourished now. I thank the millions of parasites that took a ride with me for a while on this road trip. But. Enough's enough and I had to open the door and kick them out.
The ride is lighter and the road ahead is clearer now the fog has lifted.

Our Mothers are the Earth

This is an old piece I wrote and felt to share it here...

Firstly I would like to offer a prayer of thankfulness; To acknowledge the gift of another day, offering us all the opportunity to feel the love of Creation and to send our love back upon the four winds. To feel the Earth beneath our feet and thank our Grandmother, Mother Earth for all that she gives.

Imagine a mother who holds her children so close in her heart. Nothing but love is in everything she does. The food she cooks; the nurturing of the home as the place that shelters her children when they sleep, hurt, or play.

Imagine her children beginning to take her love for granted, disrespecting the home, taking from it all and giving nothing back. They start to ignore their mother's words, distancing themselves and forgetting to tell her they love her. They never offer a hug or words of warmth. They begin to talk back and put her down, even raise their voices and fists – slamming doors and entering the home drunk, high, and bringing discord and violence into the safety the home was nurtured to be.

Imagine the father, loud and abusive towards the mother. Disrespecting the home with no concern but his own needs. What does he do to influence the children?

Can we still expect the mother to sit quietly and allow herself to be abused? To have her love taken and thrown aside, showing no compassion or love towards her?

Would we blame her if her heart breaks and feels to let go? No matter the love she still holds for her children because now all it causes is a deep pain and tears; wounds that cannot heal.

Could we still demand she remain or would we understand her heart is beyond saving?

Is it when she finally lets go and leaves all behind that we realize the emptiness of life without her. The extinction of a love that was far greater than we can muster.

It is a woman who carries the growing generations to come. It is the mother's milk that feeds us and her love,the first love, that holds us when we are hurt; allows us to grow safe from harm into the individuals we are.

Now realize that this is the story of our Grandmother, Mother Earth as well. We are all her children, we all belong to her and she refuses no one her love and shelter. If we allow her love to fade and continue to allow her body to be raped can we expect anything else but her leaving?

As her children we must know that we cannot divide her up and love just one part, she is whole, as are we. All of her is sacred.

If she does leave, I ask you to acknowledge deep within your hearts that nothing else matters. There is no life if our Grandmother, Mother Earth dies. All life will follow. That is a truth we cannot deny.

As we are towards our women, and as women are back, that is a reflection of the path the human race is walking and creating.

We can change; we can embrace our Mothers, Grandmothers, Sisters, Daughters, and Wives. We can realize that to love is not a weakness but the truest strength. We are all in this together.

Two-leggeds, once walked with Mother Earth as one – Can we afford not to?

"You're not from these parts are ya."

Yeah, like all good road trips there come those moments when you have to pull into a gas station.
That's where I have been since the last blog. Got out, stretched my legs,arms and back. I even managed to touch my toes and to the wonderful sound of a pop or two.. satisfyingly adjusted. realigned and a renewed sense of balance.
I like those stops in the heat of a desert. I soak it in and become one with lizards.. feels good.
Of course not every stop is like that. I remember being on the road with one of my bro's. driving from CA to SD. It was the edge of winter so my bro' bundled up in snow pants, big jacket, hat and gloves. I was almost as bundled but this weather wasn't as alien to me. We gassed and coffee'd up then approached the cashier.
" You're not from these parts are ya."
It wasn't a question, it was a statement of obvious truth. it's then that we notice everyone else was in western shirts, Levis and cowboy boots (yes even the toddlers). It was just a mild day to them except the visiting tumble weeds that we were, all wrapped in deep winter protection.
Yeah we looked funny to them but at least we were honest to our needs.
Sometimes we don't have the choice about where we can take a much needed pause. stretch. Gather and refuel but we can choose to be at peace with ourselves regardless.

Toksa ake

Dear Anna B,
I am only one of hundreds who love you. Only one in the world all of which you love.
To hold on to someone when their journey is calling, I have found, is like trying to keep the sun from setting. Why try to keep the night at bay? Isn't it beautiful to lay beneath the Star Quilt Creation sewed?
That first moment I met you. Hair like the rays of Ra. Eyes as blue as Caribbean seas.
Do you remember how those blue eyes affected the children at Little Wound School? Some asked if you saw everything in shades of blue. Others were a little scared.. but not for long.
You were a warrior. Yes a warrior for you were brave and true to yourself. Stepping into the midst of the Lakota, led by visions. A stranger from the Stars some said. A woman of gifts and an easy target for ridicule. Gracefully you walked with a heart that only knew how to give.
You were a healer. Yes a healer with hands that laid upon many.
You were a bridge that bought many back into connection. Who spoke with loved ones and Ancestors for the comfort and guidance of those here living.
You were a daughter, sister, wife, mother and friend...... you still are all of these things.
There are so many stories you shared.Burning Crosses in the front yard.Witch hunts and Government.Show tunes and miracles.. oh yes and the car that only drove in reverse.
Do you remember the drives home to Kyle? Late night adventures through the Badlands. Spirits catching a ride and strange creatures crossing the road. Cigarettes and Sage. Candy for the Spirits before we took the road.
Thank you for introducing Michael and I.."you two need to meet" and then leaving us in the room. That bought me back to the Inipi.
Thank you for that Christmas where we helped bring it to my Aunties home.
Thank you for those tears shared as I finished my first year of Sun Dance and all the years that followed.
Thank you Anna for being you. In all your humanness. In all your love.
When everyone gathers over these next few days I pray they see the richness of life. Every walk of life was welcomed by you. No one was turned away...... Mitakuye O'yasin .
There is so, so much more to say.... Stop by for coffee and a cigarette anytime.
p.s. pet Boris for me.
Toksa ake

Earthly Love

I was told once by my father,
" As two-leggeds grow through the stages from baby to adult their hearts grow further away from their Mother."
He was talking about our Mother the earth.
It is a physical truth, from laying to crawling to walking. For many it's an emotional, mental and spiritual truth too.
I wonder what fills the hole within them that comes from abandoning the Love of our Mother? It is obvious to many that it's a bloodied path that leads to what all life is facing today.

joy

There is nothing noble in remaining a victim to past traumas.... be present and fully in your life today.
Change the story.
I'm putting down this burden and leaving it to rest at the side of the path... it's time to continue the journey in a healthy way.

The Nature of what feeds us

For some reason I awoke to this conversation going on inside me.
I have searched as a child.I have searched as a young man.I searched with a hunger to find what fed my soul.My body,mind and life.What would heal my traumas and celebrate my gifts.
I am grateful for the many experiences along the road I've traveled.I've learned about the shadows as well the light that lives within all life.Including my own.
People can become addicted to that which seems to satisfy.That which soothes the wounds or gives a place that allows them to feel welcome.No longer outsiders.
Wounded people are easy to feed but careful the Nature of what feeds us.There are forces that thrive on wounds because it carries the scent of desperation, separation from everything and everyone.When we are hurt as children we seek help and we are vulnerable through the pain.When someone,even a stranger relieves that pain and dresses the wound we give a part of ourselves over.
I have experience the darker nature of spiritual ways and I have learned that all it needs is the tiniest opening to enter.But it does need.It then speaks to the wounds,traumas.The ego,the anger,the confusion even the desire.
It brings gifts that empower.A face it wears that satisfies.Maybe fierce because we are angry and want to rebel.Maybe taboo because we want to shock and laugh at that in others.Maybe smouldering and mesmerizing so to seduce the world and then spit it back out.Maybe light even though it could blind.
Careful though the Nature of what we allow to feed us because it will ask much.It can leave us more hungry.This can feel noble.It can feel like grace.It devours as it feeds.It isolates.It speaks of sacrifice but 'It' is what takes rather than what 'We' may offer to give.
It seems even in paths that speak of liberation there are conditions.They just don't feel like it or are not noticed by those on it.
Love and Prayers for everyone as we all walk upon our paths.Feed your soul and let it be fed with that which truly nourishes.

Some journeys strip you of everything

I started my way back to England from the beautiful embrace of red earth and Jungle. Misty mornings. Fiery Moons. Mantra air. Enticing hills and whispered breeze.
Soon I was traveling along a now familiar road to Vizag where it turns from country warmth into city melee all in a moment so brief it startles. Like the seam joining two fabrics so different.
A train awaits me and thousands of others. The train stations alone are an experience of the senses. Collage of rituals, emotions, smells, sounds and colors all wrapped around the dark skin and soulful eyes of India.
I was going to spend the next 12 hours or so riding the sleeper train. I find this such an immersion into the lives here and I welcome it. Every uncomfortable moment as well the adventurous spark.
The train ride was smooth except the man trying to cheat me out of a lot of money for a tiny amount of food. I track him down, he smiles and returns my change and I shake hands with him. It was a moment of human connection an apology from us both for the situation life can put us in and the choices we make.
I find a Rikshaw ( 3 wheeler with a motorcycle engine ) and take off for the Chennai Airport at 4 am. My flight is not until 8:45 pm so the day awaits with a long sigh of a hot sun to come. Not a bad thing.
The numerous soldiers guarding the Airport refuse me entry until 6pm.. Thank God for books I think to myself and become engrossed in two and finish them both.
I have some money but a feeling keeps prompting me to hang onto it... so I do.
A protest of some sort erupts and lots of chanting slogans, suddenly animated soldiers and a separation of two large groups ensues.. I just watch from my chosen spot and then return to the pages of print. I feel to doze off and maybe for a moment or two I do but hunger grabs at me and the strong taste of tobacco in my mouth.
6pm comes around and I am allowed inside... now the fun starts. I approach the check-in desks and inquire about my ticket, it has been changed due to me leaving earlier than planned. No charges we were told when the change was made.
At this point I should mention that the journey to England had been booked, the flight change and then my ticket from London Gatwick to Sheffield where my brother Dimitri was going to be waiting. I had just enough money for something to eat, Rikshaw rides to the Train Station and then the Airport. Also $20 to change into English pounds at London so I could get some Breakfast.
Ok, back to the Airport... they insist that I have to pay money for the ticket change. I argue with all the pent up weariness from book reading under the sun and with the dust. They refuse to listen and just continue to stare at me. I don't have enough Rupees to pay. I remember the $20 and go change it.. I have just enough with a little change left over.. at least I have my train ticket waiting for me in London I think to myself... phew.
Then I begin to feel the sensation of being stripped ( no, my clothes were not being removed ).
Hang on.. I see that I am landing at Heathrow airport and not Gatwick.. Shit! It's too late to do anything about it and now I just want to get on the plane and take it from there. I never felt panic, just a surrender to everything.
So the flights go very smooth and now I am touching down in Heathrow.
I find myself staring at a continuous stream of baggage and still mine does not appear.. minutes go by.. 30.. 40 an hour passes and then it appears. All the thoughts melt away about it being lost or taken by mistake.. I had surrendered again but all was well. The stripping sensation continues.
I find a money exchange and hand over my few rupees. The man laughs and tells me it's not worth it. I would be left with 2 pounds English. I ask him to please change it.. that 2 pounds would be all my money and I needed to call Dimitri and tell him I'm stranded at Heathrow.
I call, his number is in the back of my passport which I rest on top of the phone as I dial. I get through and tell him. It will take him about 4 hours to get to me.. damn I wish I had another book to read.
I set off, hungry and tired heading for customs. I feel it immediately. The man's energy rises as I walk by, he clocks me, zeros in and follows.
" Excuse me sir. Where have you come from? Do you live in India?"
The questions continue and I just reply, no nerves, I'm so tired. He lets me go, his energy subsides and feels satisfied that I am not worth hunting anymore.. a prey that could not feed his first instinct, the hunger for an arrest.
As I enter the main terminal I then make the terrible discovery... where the f@*k is my passport?
It is gone.. I get played about by the people working there but finally I get to go back and check the only place I could think of, the phone booth. It's nowhere to be found.
I report it. I go outside. Roll a cigarette, offer some tobacco to the spirits. Then the sensation of being stripped is complete. I am naked. Everything has been taken from me in that final moment and I ask "why?"
When we find ourselves stripped naked, the world seeming to be becoming faint. When everything falls away as we try and reach for it, like crumbling banks to a river we are in the current of.
The presence of that heart enters and they anchor us once more.I pray my heart is such a gift for all who know me. That when enveloped and dragged under or into a drowning spiral, people will know inside that I will give everything to reach in and hold them.
Dimitri walked up to me, looked at his brother and we embraced... such is the gift of someone's love.

Quiet, Borneo and Leeches

In the quiet moments when I am with my own company I am still flooded with journeys.
The feel of the air here at the Ashram takes me back to last year when I was in Borneo. I enjoy the sensation of everything sticking to me here and I find myself walking through the Rain Forest again. The life wrapped itself around me and I felt a lush dampness from my mother. Her whole body aches and moves with the pain inflicted upon her but I found those places where she breathed as if her body was being massaged, soothed. Always though I feel her heart grieving.
Leeches.. they come to mind when I retrace my steps beside the waters of the Rain forest. I asked Tunkasila once about them, wondering why they had been created, silly I know but I have questions about many things that could be considered so. The best answer came not from God but from a particularly connected woman (maybe not exact word for word)..

" Why be afraid of these leeches when we live in a world full of them?"

...yes the world is full of parasites and leeches, some hide behind smiles, generous offerings and spiritual adornments. Some don't hide at all and in all truth the ways of man have led societies to devour upon each other and Unci Maka our Mother. So yes, why fear the leeches of the Rain Forest? I received my own personal blessing from one and to be honest I was grateful for the experience, another connection made

Burning and Dreamtime

We arrived at the Ashram, a commune embracing a Temple.. it is cradled in the majesty of mountains which all hold the softness of a woman's form and the lush jungle.
A beautiful place which I was soon to be greeted by in the way of being held to the bed and a thick sleep poured over me. I could not resist and nor did I want to as heavy eyes closed to the welcome of Dreamtime.
I am not someone who dreams every night, well certainly not in a way that is remembered.. ha now I was going to be held in stories with my soul's eyes wide open and my psyche played with. She toyed with me, Devi (Day-v), Goddess. I am new to this land, this place of worship to Lalita, her of beauty, the full moon. Kali being the new moon, dark.
I slept heavy for most of the afternoon with dreams of shapeshifting into wolves and running for the shear pleasure upon our Mother, it was twilight and magical.
At night I again was laid down and sleep once more was poured over my body.. at some point I awoke to the extreme sensation of burning.. a fire? a asked myself.. the building is ablaze? No.. I felt once more and now knew it to be from within, I was burning and not with fever but a life, energy that was so intense. I did not panic, nor did I question but instead lay in the flow and was at peace with everything.
I know who I am and I walk the Red Road but also am a child of MotherEarth and as with us all we walk a path with Tunkasila, God.. there are many names as there are for Unci Maka, MotherEarth. I enjoy walking with her and meeting her many children, we share stories, wisdom and life... I am not afraid to sit with others, nor learn and pray with others... I carry the Canupa within and the scars without.

Waking streets, sleepless souls.

I am in a place where each moment is weaved into the next,every thread one of saturated color, power, sensation and emotion... nothing is left untouched.
There was an idea behind this Blog but now it is alive and asking me to follow it's desire.. I follow and I also lead.
I am sitting in a hotel so that I can write this, AC, clean people and professional service.. it holds nothing to the raw streets and I remember this morning before the sun had risen. We stepped out of the apartment we had been staying at and were greeted by smiles and chatter as chai was poured into tiny plastic cups. One of the men was drunk and the others waved him away as if embarressed but he would return, harmless and happy to be in our company, a mutal feeling.
A fire burned in the dumpster, dogs growled at a man passing by and life was filled with morning rituals of sweeping, doorway sitting and the haze of half awake eyes.
I have photo's and will post them here but my mac ran out of juice... sigh.
There are no lulls here, no moments left blank or forgotten but all are speaking in tongues.. some are whispered, others wept, some in the smile of life and then those that reach from the rubble of a home that once was.

The Offering in Death

( A dream when 7 years old)

It was the strangest thing being able to look down at myself from somewhere above yet I was living from myself below at the same time. Strange yes but I was getting used to it as it seemed to happen to me a lot.

I could see my body laid out, serene and wrapped in the softest leather, tied in the manner of ceremony. Each gesture had intention and prayer in the “dressing” of my body.

I became a little scared because I considered myself alive yet definitely “prepared” for something.

I was laid out upon a rack of poles and lifted up on the shoulders of people who were carrying me.

It was hard to know if it was dawn or dusk, the light was both subdued and alive with the language of morning sun or the parting radiance of sunset, a twilight of Creation.

People lined the path, their faces were of the earth, their hair was long and it was hugging the robes that shrouded them. Children stood with elders, men and women were as one. Colors of the flowers, stone and life adorned the leather with designs that told stories and moved between the Spirit world and this one. Feathers flickered and twisted with the wishes of each calling wind. Tied with love and honor in the hair of many.

Elders held staffs of purpose and wisdom , Grandmas held memories that would lead you to the beginning of the people and such love that pain could only melt in their presence.

The path was not so much a well worn passage but a flow of formation that took your senses to a waiting place. There I could see , from above , a frame of poles waiting patiently much like a scaffold.

Prayer flags of color were tied to each pole that were bundles that hung heavy, not of cloth but well tanned leather. Earthy stains gave the color to them and even though heavy they appeared to wave and ripple as a breeze brushed passed them.

So there I lay with my hair long and free from restraints , whispers caught the contours of my face and hung to the leather about me.

I heard the falling tears and felt the prayers gentle and strong.

A single voice carried the songs of ceremony and journey. Beautiful and true , laced with the tears and cracked by the emotion echoing a love so deep from where the words were born. Traveling upward to the wind surrounding, settling upon the currents flow pleading to be carried to the hearts of many and the welcoming of Creation.

As I watched from some place above in the sky I could see the level area where the scaffold waited. I was raised up and the rack on which I lay was rested on it. As I settled into the suspension of stillness the wails and shrills of the women pierced the air and shock the hearts to their very core. The emotions poured fourth , swooping and soaring until they scattered to the four directions.

I had accepted this place but it was just at that moment I awoke , dripping with sweat and more than a little scared. I remember turning over in my bed and reassuring myself that I was awake and in a place that I had almost forgotten.. my bedroom in a house of modern day. I was seven when this dream was experienced.

To Sleep Beside

As bodies sleep there is always conversation,
Souls talk to souls,
Dreams talk within,
Prayers are spoken without words passing from lips,
Bodies move,
Touch,
While sleeping beside.
I am awake while sleeping,
Sleepwalking upon an Ancient earth,
For my Love does not sleep.

In the hands of our Mother

I have been reminded of something my father told me "wherever you are it is still with our Mother,the earth."
So many emotions are swirling within me and I find myself in a quiet moment offering tobacco in prayer. This is a journey that my body has followed,carried by my soul. Nothing is forced, it is a flow and I surrender to it. Maybe all the lessons will not be understood until I am once more sitting in Ceremony with the heated rocks and songs of Inipi but I do know that this is not a detour but a deeper part of the mystery that is life.
The Oyate are never far from me and I can see everyone's faces in the darkness of quiet, a robe that covers me with the same comfort as the Star Quilt when upon the hill.
I am not going to be lost in the past or future but remain in the moment.. in the hands of our mother.

Dawn's Prayer

Dawn's prayer.... When we go up onto the hill and sit with Unci Maka (GrandmotherEarth) and Tunkasila (Grandfather) it is always the coldest as the mystery of night has given way to the beauty of dawn... it always makes my body very aware, alert to the Prayer of a new day... wopila.

From my Soul to canvas

I have found myself in many different and interesting places. At this very moment I am in India. A rich contrast of everything alive, raw and determined like grass pushing through the suffocating skin of concrete.
The very first experience was the warm air of early morning filled with the conversation of many voices to the music of traffic. Not the sounds of western traffic but the melody of horns,whining motorcycles and whistles.
This is a blood stream and all you can do is slip in and trust it's flow.... that's when it becomes an adventure.
I was drawn to a painting I did 4 years ago of Kali (an unaware interpretation not for the purists). I had painted a Lakota warrior first but one night I walked up to it and completely covered him,his image just a memory now. It was brave and without thought, just surrendering to the desire within from a source unknown to me. I say brave because I had remained in the lakota conversation from my soul to canvas and now I felt as if breaking from tradition... it was liberating and left me open for questioning by others.. now I find that the path of kali is one of liberation but I have been left feeling a novice now that I am in the land of her devotion.
I learned at that moment of painting her that I could venture as far as my soul yearned without leaving my path of Lakota Ceremony. Such journeys bring a richness and better understanding toward life and all the other children who share in the love from our mother, the Earth.
So I begin these written footsteps with the most present and will continue forward but the threads I weave shall also be older ones,and maybe ones yet found but that to me is life. I often find moments from the past keeping pace with the moment I am in and each future one... how many breaths are of air already breathed by another or to be the life giver,prayer,tear of a heart yet born?

Liberation