The Nest of An Eagle

Pieces of news ||

House when we first moved in--6 years ago

The World Journey has a new home

As of now, the World Journey now owns the home of the sacred fire and the nest of the Four Directions Unity Bundle Sacred Pipe. We have purchased the house and land. Now we are home. A long time now the sacred bundle has longed for a home. So here we are, just miles from Libya, Tunisia, Egypt and Sicilia, at home with what the Arabic ancestors of this island called "the daughter of the wind".

We are scheduling appointments for private work in our home. This will close up pretty soon. Starting in July, there will be direct flights from all over Italy to Pantelleria. About 85 minutes flying time. This will go on until the middle of September.

House as it is May 2011

I express and feel a deep gratitude to the mystery life for this new home for the work.

Twenty-Eleven feels like my kind of year.

Fragments of Italiano||

Coffee in Italy

If you put more than half the cup, the tiny espresso cup, with coffee, the Italian do not like it. If you want more than half (really a little less than half), it is time to go to a bigger cup. Myself, I will fill up, sometimes, the little cup. They think I am a barbarian.

Its is a strange experience living in the land of the Pope, of the old Romans. When I was a boy I read a very detailed biography of Julius Cesear, I liked him, he made a lasting impression. Finally, here on Pantelleria Island I stood eyeball to eye ball with the old emperor. On the island they found hidden in a water cistern a carved-from-life bust of the old Roman. It was on display locally, mounted on a pedestal approximating his height. I thought it was an interesting linkage. Probably, he never had a cup of coffee. He almost certainly sipped the wine of Pantelleria. When he was in Egypt. It is also likely that he ate cooked grains prepared in earthen pots made from the clay of Pantelleria, right where my home is. For some reason, I have always ended up living directly on lands that have ceramic quality clay once used by the ancient people there before me. Here the clay is red with volcanic dust content. In Taos it was pale gold clay with mica fragments all through it.

The wind does not talk, it only sings.

(State of The Indian)

While the gangsters of AIM rose in promise and fell into drunkenness and self-worship, I made my own journey of awakening around the great circle of american indian communities and families. Alone. Alone like the wind. I kept moving. I moved wherever a positive feeling could carry me. I did not run with the thunder. I sometimes ran with the rain. Now I am far away from where I started. I am in another world. I have started a new circle, one that could carry me around the earth…a long sacred circle.

I am my own record keeper. My own historian. My own banker. Rather than main stream, I have made my own blue highway through time, looking for dreamers. Looking for people interested in waking up, as I call it. It is lonely work for the dreamer and for the seeker.

Even so, there seems no other way. The list of American Indians who could do this work is very small, microscopic in fact. There is another small number that is before the public eye. They are not the right ones. They are sexy and talented and toxic. They are obsessed with their own reflection in the light. It has mostly been embarrassing to see American Indians in public presentations. They are not the right ones. Rather than putting forward the keepers of the truth, they divert the attention to their own desire to be on parade. It is pathetic. While there are exceptional men and women within the Red Nations, they are not put forward. Sometimes the gap between those people and the ears of the world is just to great. Given the real problems present inside tribal communities, the rants for money and celebrity of gangsters like Leonard Peltier or drunkards and woman haters like Russell Means, the modern world has the wrong idea entirely. On the other side is jealousy, envy and paranoia about any tribal person who feels moved to speak out on sacred matters, on ceremonial ideas. There are volumes of historical reasons why this paranoia exists. Yet, in the end, only the hand that placed it there can remove that shadow. So I belive there is no one else to blame in this world except the face that looks back at you in the mirror. I have lived in such a way as to be satisfied with who that man is.

I am aware that it seems quite impossible at times. It is easy to believe that anyone could do this except me. I have accepted all along that I have a chance. I made a good education in these sacred matters. I went all around the country and found teachers. Every teacher was a child of the middle way and powered by spirits of peace, living lives close to this mother earth. So I came to believe I had done the right things and had a chance.

I understand very well the noise that comes from strangers and observers. Many of these people are what we called snakes, or obstructions. The hissing of snakes that are suspicious and afraid is not so important, it has no real weight, even though it can seem frightening and intimidating at times. Standing up and holding such ideas as I do, in the manner that I do it, I have expected exactly these problems. At the end of the day, so far, I believe I have moved forward. As we clean out the truth of this long journey, we have to pass through the mud as well as the light.

So I walk alone in the darkness before dawn. I understood all along that it would have to be this way and I accepted it. Years later I have no regrets but realize how much such a choice weighs. It is no less than the weight of the planet.