Thursday, May 29, 2014

Making Heaven My Home : Goodbye Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou 
April 24 1928 everyday right up to   
May 28 2014.

a farewell poem 
by Turtle Heart, Ojibwe artist

“I am on my way to make my home in Heaven
I am on my way to make my home in Heaven”

She was always home, She was never alone
Wherever her dreams have carried her
She looked the world in its worldly eye
She remembered to thank God
Even when she waited alone
For the wind to carry her where her soul was born
Going home into the open arms of the earth
Going home through a gateway of hearts and bones
And sorrow and hope and courage
And just clarity and kindness
A sacred woman
Sacred woman who watched over us
As we stumble along in this dangerous world

Mother, won’t you remember me?
Mother, I am closer to that light
From the open eyed place where you found me
Mother my song is wrapped around me
And my heart growing inside of me
And my sorrow
My sorrow right now
Ready to become gratitude
Just that simple
Just that much love and respect
For where she was, who she was
And what she found out
When she looked at me
saw me looking at you

She told me Creation loves
everyone, she said our hearts are the same
our human hearts
the hearts of our children
the heart of our world
yes, speaking without thunder
and walking without shadows
she told me it was just like this
we are making heaven our home....

(©2014): Turtle Heart. Pantelleria Italy.

Sunday, May 11, 2014

Sacred Women of Nigeria || Broken Mother's Day Twenty Fourteen

Correction Ceremony 2004
Photo Monday 12 May 2014: LINK

A question I have not heard addressed: if (when) the young women kidnapped in Nigeria are “rescued” and returned to their families, what will become of them? Many muslim influenced cultures consider a woman involved in any sort of scandal to be at fault and they are punished by cultural reactions to their “condition”, as having brought shame on the family. What is to become of them?

It is far easier to build strong children than to repair broken adults. That is a quote said by someone who knows the truth (I forget who). Words that have always stayed with me. I do a form of American Indian ceremonial work that is designed and intended to produce large amounts of positive energy. These ceremonies are very diverse, yet all of them we do today are in a class we call “Correction Ceremonies”. Most American Indian ceremonies are designed to open a gateway of perception and understanding between human beings and nature. When that connection is lost, things go wrong. Our health suffers. If there is a disaster, a tragedy, the organ system and the foundations of the emotional health are often shaken, disturbed and damaged. Correction Ceremonies are one tool the old Indians used to address and confront the devastation of tragic circumstances. There was once a great network of ceremonies like this throughout the tribes. It worked not through central authorities but through the Clan System. Tribal spiritual values were once rooted entirely in their associations with the animal and plant clans. Clans such as the Flute Clan, Spider Clan, Fish Clan, River Otter Clan, evolved to encompass Correction Ceremonies. Recovering from disaster is such an important issue, the old tribes dedicated a school of sacred studies and responsibilities across nearly every North American tribe. Correction Ceremonies.

Under this light I wonder what will become of these young women in Nigeria. It is almost impossible to imagine they are all together somewhere. They were likely dispersed quickly and many of them could have already ben sold out of the country. I am not a breaking news reporter, so please consult updated news sources on this issue. I am at this point just one of the outraged.

I have seen a video of the so-called leader of this group of kidnappers. I see a bullet to his head every time I see him. Stop. But I have no rifle to carry there and no power beyond my own awareness and outrage. Like so many of us, we sit in a great bubble of digital information about our world and our shared thoughts and expressed ideas are sometimes all we have.It seems in this case our collective digital outrage produced some heat and pressure and forced a more strident response, weeks later, by the world community. So we see our words and postings and tweeting are not empty. They are not bullets, but they are not empty. They are the new smoke signals perhaps.

Has a line been crossed at last? One could wonder at what point will enough people say enough?…what is the threshold? 

I have posted this opinion on Mothers Day. A corporate holiday originally designed to stimulate a new market for candy and cards. Yet, in spite of this empty beginning, the very idea of a Mothers Day resonates all over the world. What of these many Nigerian Mothers?

For all of these families, their relatives, and their communities, a great tragedy has changed their lives forever. No matter what happens next, the difficulties, trauma and disruption of so many innocent lies will change that region forever. Perhaps President Good Luck and his Wife Patience will be exposed as the absolute clowns that they are and the people of influence over there, if there are any, will find the resolve to change this dark wave of terrorism. This leader lives inside an empty bubble. Macabre is the word that springs to mind.

For all the possible endings, I know that corporate culture, which has replaced what was once a tribal culture in Nigeria, has no correction ceremonies for these sacred women, for their families, for their communities. The darkness and evil of this crime cannot be undone by anyone on any side. Not to mention all the young men murdered in their schools by this same group some months ago. Or the general oppression and denial of the rights and honor of women throughout the Muslim world. And the contempt shown to women pretty much everywhere in the world. Over one billion women have been beaten and raped around the world. One Billion. Women.

If you are reading this there is a better than fifty per cent chance you are a victim of violence against women in some form, or a perpetrator, a vile ugly bag of mostly garbage, or at a minimum, a relative or friend of one or the other. That’s how bad it is.

Hundreds of American Indian women and girls are abducted, killed, sold into slavery every year. In North America. Hundreds. There is rarely an investigation when American Indian women disappear. Outside of their families, no one seems to care.

Honestly, ask yourself how long can unspeakable crimes like this continue? I live here in my life trying right now how to understand just what can I do right here and right now to be on the right side of this issue?

I am far away from my tribal home. If I was in my tribal community I would call for a large special ceremony and go into the sacred practices for many days. Here in my little house which carries and protects a sacred pipe, a sacred fire, and the sacred prayers of so many of my elders and teachers…so much sacred power sitting still.

Sacred Woman
Blessed Mother
Angelic Dreamer
Bleeding Belly, Beating Heart
Emerging Womb of Seven Generations
Sky Woman I am Falling
Broken. Beaten. Busted Down.
Tomorrow I get up and try again…

Turtle Heart

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