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Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes. Now you can have a party.

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Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go. Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short. Then, you must do this: help the next person find their way through the dark. Conflict Resolution From Holy Beings.

In a world long before this one, there was enough for everyone, Until somebody got out of line. We heard it was Rabbit, fooling around with clay and the wind. Everybody was tired of his tricks and no one would play with him; He was lonely in this world. So Rabbit thought to make a person. And when he blew into the mouth of that crude figure to see What would happen, The clay man stood up. Rabbit showed the clay man how to steal a chicken. The clay man obeyed. Then Rabbit showed him how to steal corn. Rabbit felt important and powerful.

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The clay man felt important and powerful. And once that clay man started he could not stop. Once he took that chicken he wanted all the chickens. And once he took that corn he wanted all the corn. And once he took that wife, he wanted all the wives. He was insatiable. Then he had a taste of gold and he wanted all the gold. Then it was land and anything else he saw. His wanting only made him want more. Soon it was countries, and then it was trade. The wanting infected the earth. We lost track of the purpose and reason for life.

We began to forget our songs. We forgot our stories.


We could no longer see or hear our ancestors, Or talk with each other across the kitchen table. Forests were being mowed down all over the world. And Rabbit had no place to play. My path is a cross of burning trees, Lit by crows carrying fire in their beaks. I ask the guardians of these lands for permission to enter. I am a visitor to this history. No one remembers to ask anymore, they answer. And with what trade language? I am trading a backwards look for jeopardy. I agree with the ancient European maps.

There are monsters beyond imagination that troll the waters. I would rather not speak with history but history came to me.

Hummingbirds at the feeder in 4k - 5 in a series

It was dark before daybreak when the fire sparked. The women and children left behind were set afire.

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And then history was gone in a betrayal of smoke. There is still burning though we live in a democracy erected over the burial ground. This was given to me to speak. Every poem is an effort at ceremony. I asked for a way in. Once the world was perfect, and we were happy in that world. Then we took it for granted. Discontent began a small rumble in the earthly mind. Then Doubt pushed through with its spiked head.

And once Doubt ruptured the web, All manner of demon thoughts Jumped through— We destroyed the world we had been given For inspiration, for life— Each stone of jealousy, each stone Of fear, greed, envy, and hatred, put out the light. No one was without a stone in his or her hand. There we were, Right back where we had started. We were bumping into each other In the dark.

Then one of the stumbling ones took pity on another And shared a blanket.

mourning after dawn hummingbird series book 5 Manual

A spark of kindness made a light. The light made an opening in the darkness. Everyone worked together to make a ladder.

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A Wind Clan person climbed out first into the next world, And then the other clans, the children of those clans, their children, And their children, all the way through time— To now, into this morning light to you. Listen to the poem read by the author at Poetry Foundation. I believe in the sun. In the tangle of human failures of fear, greed, and forgetfulness, the sun gives me clarity. When explorers first encountered my people, they called us heathens, sun worshippers. After dancing all night in a circle we realize that we are a part of a larger sense of stars and planets dancing with us overhead. When the sun rises at the apex of the ceremony, we are renewed. There is no mistaking this connection, though Walmart might be just down the road.

Humans are vulnerable and rely on the kindnesses of the earth and the sun; we exist together in a sacred field of meaning. Our earth is shifting.

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We can all see it. I hear from my Inuit and Yupik relatives up north that everything has changed. Animals are confused. Ice is melting. The quantum physicists have it right; they are beginning to think like Indians: everything is connected dynamically at an intimate level. When you remember this, then the current wobble of the earth makes sense. How much more oil can be drained, Without replacement; without reciprocity? I walked out of a hotel room just off Times Square at dawn to find the sun.

It was the fourth morning since the birth of my fourth granddaughter. This was the morning I was to present her to the sun, as a relative, as one of us. It was still dark, overcast as I walked through Times Square. I stood beneath a twenty-first century totem pole of symbols of multinational corporations, made of flash and neon. Though I was not at home, bundling up the baby to carry her outside, I carried this newborn girl within the cradleboard of my heart.

I was on a train stopped sporadically at checkpoints. What tribe are you, what nation, what race, what sex, what unworthy soul? I could not sleep, because I could not wake up. No mirror could give me back what I wanted. I was given a drug to help me sleep. Then another drug to wake up.

Then a drug was given to me to make me happy. They all made me sadder. Death will gamble with anyone. There are many fools down here who believe they will win. You know, said my teacher, you can continue to wallow, or You can stand up here with me in the sunlight and watch the battle. I sat across from a girl whose illness wanted to jump over to me. I said, but not aloud. I would have been taken for crazy. We will always become those we have ever judged or condemned. This is not mine.