Old Red Dusty Bones

Seven Impossible Things
Once Served by Dusty Old Indian Men

©2008 Turtle Heart
Once upon a time I tried to get my keyboard which is bluetooth to mate with my new mac desktop. It would not. I originally mated it with my macbook pro. It did that in a few clicks and works great. Seemed to me a bluetooth device should be able to mate with several objects, yes? well it would not. Recently I cam home and propmptly dropped it on my italian ceramic tile floor. It came to me at that moment to try it again and it mated right away. This blog this session is being typed the bluetooth keyboard. No cable. Not orgasmic but pretty damned nice to jump away from the cable.

A science fiction writer i never cared much for, but who nevertheless has a ponderous and legitimate following and I would never argue he is for or against good or bad. I never care for people based upon something electrical and chemical which is my feedback mechanism for where I will go and where I will not go.

Anyway, this clever sumnabitch (from my Georgia youth)....said something like this...search a subject and find out what the “experts” say is a big “no way it can ever be possible argument”, one that appeals to you. Sacred Pipes, for example. Or flying through space to other solar systems, or a motor that will carry people around without using coal, oil, uranium, gasoline and so forth. How does the spirit and soul travel from one life to the next, one dimension to the next? I have been in some old Indian places that were a different time, space and place. In my youth I spent so long in Hopi land, way way back with an old, old man. His name was David. He was old with bones like a bird. Big thick glasses. He has looked through his broken eye at the leaders of the world, the United Nations and millions of things have been set free and came about because David welcomed the questions of the waiting world. he gave back to those who asked a picture of a world impossible to describe in words. I rubbed his shoulders and arms. There was a beautiful girl there and a few times he put his hand “on her” and was like a big battery recharging. I carry his sacred mask, his green katsina mask, made of old Buffalo. he gave this to me as a gift. I carry an old stone but it was stolen by a Commache Flue Player from Apache, Oklahoma. he said some one broke in his house and stole it. I nodded my head and didn’t say nothing. I didn’t slap him or scold him. That motherfucker. He was a great painter. I didn’t say nothing. We never spoke again even though I tried to see him a few times afater that. He went and played the Flute for a big statue of a big American Indian in a Big Blanket offering a big sacred pipes. It was done by Xthe Apache Mr. xxxxxyz, and he made the flute song for the dedication at the UN of that sculpted object. He's dead now.

I guess I need to go see that statue because old Doc is dead a long time now as well. When I first saw him it was from a couple of hundred feet away. he was coming out a door in a tan suit. An Oklahoma tan suit. He had a stunning eagle feather headdress on his broad Commache face. I thought he was holdìng an intensely sacred object which i later saw that was a flute he had made. he was the first great American Indian flute player. He was declared a national treasure by the OK government. There are a lot of Indians in OK. They have their own "say so" about Sacred Pipe. Like the Ahnishinabe Sacred Pipe, it is very different all together than the White Buffalo Calf Woman Pipe. Their voice always seems loudest. Those are serious Indians those OK Indians. I wish we heard more from them than we do. I miss those old men. I gave Doc a painting I did of a many little turtles singing and flying around a big eagle feather. He seemed to really like it. I have a few of his prints. And the memory of the stolen sacred stone.....it was an intensely sacred stone and should only be held and opened and read and posessed by keepers of sacred bundles who are protected by the circle of understanding which springs up from the blessings from the old ones. it follows you like the wind. I hope that's how it worked out.

This story contains about ten adventures of some years across the deserts of OK, Arizona, New Mexico set in motion by seven tobacco ties given by an old Indian named HB who himself set a man like me in motion. These are a few of the 108 sacred things.

I sleep on a hollow log
I got up this morning when the wind sang the lights of the sun
the heat makes a song come from the wind
I try to remember which bird first sings in the morning
and also the last ones to sing at the end of the day

I am a stranger where-ever I have been
corrections
the correction way is the way to go
the one they say has to be there
before we can do anything else

and so the impossible thing to prove for me
was to just go ahead and do it.
a sacred fire, a sacred pipe, a dream ceremony, a sweat lodge, a waterdrum, a rattle, an eagle feather, corn, and the sacred stones of the ancient future
(which is a group of certain stones)

I heard someone say it could happen
just this way
while I wait for the smoke to rise...

I ended up believing the old bastard was right.
If you do the math you can change everything.