Change The World
What if the world changed? If you, yourself, stay the same, you would not notice.
Change begins within. Today I took the little bus that goes along the winding sea road from Rekhale to Pantelleria Village. Down the line an elder, a man got on the bus. he seemed 75 or so, could have been 95. He seemed ancient. He was wobbly. He was dressed in an impeccable Italian wool suit, perfect for the weather today. he had a little beret hat and good Italian shoes. he was so impeccable, and so old school. i was impressed by his spirit, by his impeccable sense of being correct. I just turned 60. I feel the burn. getting old is not for sissies. While I have burned, I have grown.
In the last Blog I talked about the murdering gangster leonard peltier. Some people told me my account of his worthless life and the liars and fools who support him was not accurate. Looking at the sun and pretending it is the moon is a common sickness in society. If the truth is the truth, but liars and clowns and bullies can't see it, is it still the truth? Short answers, yes.
The American Indian community in particular has an enormous assortment of clowns and monkey's asses, with names like "freedom warrior" or "big canupa" parading around using testosterone instead of brains, using noise instead of respect or silence, using the shaking fist rather than the eagle feather. At times it seems like being and American Indian means you have to walk hip deep through mud and darkness just to see the light far away in the distance.
I recently reviewed a report which shows that American Indian young men kill themselves at the highest rate of any minority, and at a rate far higher than seems real. the innocent and tender American Indians, worn down at last, take this escape while the blowhards and rifle pointers and fake warriors find reasons why you should give them money and believe in their warrior wisdom. My old tribal teachers called the sacred tribal life the shrinking path. They called it this because those who should stand up and be counted in the sacred light are lost in the shadows of their own rage and denial.
Even if the world changes, people like this will not notice...so in their dark homes everything remains the same. And the world appears to have not changed at all. That seems to be the message for this week.
I learned something watching the old Sicilian. Something about silence and something about style. Life is sweet, and I keep dreaming. Maybe one day, the warriors will shut the fuck up and let the children speak, let the women breathe and let the elders bring the light around.