The Songs from Long Road by Byron Wayne Scott - HTML preview

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fledged battle was in progress.

 

The wanderer watched the desperate, determined fighting along the causeways and at the

 

main gates of the city. And though it was mostly native fighting native, he took special note of the Spaniards fighting bravely on their horses, confident in their armor. Musket

 

shot pocked the air. The banner of Castile waved gloriously in the breeze.

 

Blood flowed freely.

 

“Noche Triste, the Night of Sadness, is over,” Mochni lamented. “Moctezuma is dead.

 

Disease has swept Mexico. Cortes has returned for the final time and set siege to the city.

 

It will be only a matter of days now until we see the end of this proud Aztec empire.”

 

Groans and rallying cheers ebbed and flowed as they continued their flight across the

 

water. The rhythms of drums, the blare of horns and conch shells, and firing of musket

 

and cannon intermingled to rake their senses. But when they reached the city proper, the

 

awesome magnificence of the canals and gardens made the wanderer forget about the

 

human carnage taking place outside the gates.

 

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Mochni shuddered with pride. “These ingenious people

 

reclaimed the land from Lake Texcoco and created the Venice of the New World! In fact,

 

Venice pales in comparison with Tenochtitlan. Just marvel at the accomplishments!

 

Absolutely astounding!”

 

They swept low over a ball court as they neared the ceremonial center, where the

 

wanderer was swept by the grandeur and dwarfed by the immensity of the enormous

 

pyramids and temples. At the same time, he was repulsed by the repugnant odor of dried blood that emanated from the main structure, the Templo Mayor. The stench was strong

 

enough to overwhelm his sense of smell.

 

As they commenced to glide above the residential and market areas toward the sister city,

 

Tlatelolco, the wanderer realized that the parrot was still speaking.

 

“…inspired stone carvings and murals…gardens radiating throughout the island…a

 

paradise…the grand epitome of civilization. The largest city in the world! It was with my

 

advice and influence that they attained such cultural heights, you know…”

 

But the wanderer was not interested in the bird’s commentary, preferring instead to

 

concentrate on his own disturbing thoughts. He knew that the Aztecs had a thriving,

 

vibrant society. They produced tremendous art and architecture; had an understanding of

 

astronomy and a finely honed calendar. To witness it all first hand was deeply satisfying.

 

And yet at the same time it was utterly distressing because this was their end. The whole

 

city was in a spasmodic state of panic. Within a matter of days it would be reduced to

 

rubble and plunder; the women raped; the surviving men crippled by the conquering

 

horde.

 

He felt a penetrating shiver and then found himself back on the mountainside, gazing

 

down upon the valley. Mochni was perched on the limb beside him. “It’s a shame, isn’t it? Such a tragic shame,” the parrot commented sadly. “My proud,

 

powerful empire, my glorious Aztec civilization, over three-hundred years in the making,

 

mind you, brought unmercifully to its knees in a matter of days. Hundreds of thousands

 

of people slaughtered and humiliated, destroyed by a measly one-thousand white men.”

 

The parrot paused to let his words sink in, and then uttered an obscene, traitorous laugh.

 

“Simply delicious, don’t you think?”

 

The comment caught the wanderer by surprise. “I wasn’t thinking that at all!” he

 

stammered. He wondered if Mochni was truly aware of the events that were about to

 

unfold. Or had the parrot deliberately led these people to the brink of disaster, as his

 

callous tone suggested? “Did you know that this point in time was approaching?” the

 

wanderer demanded impetuously.

 

“I grew giddy waiting for the moment,” the bird replied with a sparkle in his eye.

 

The wanderer felt enraged. “In one hundred years this culture will be all but extinct; their

 

spirit crushed! You could have prepared them to meet the challenge and instead you’ve

 

led them to disaster!”

 

“How odd! You attack me and yet defend my followers.” “You filthy traitor,” the wanderer accused. “I detest the loss of cultural diversity as much

 

as environmental diversity.”

 

Mochni spat on the ground. “Don’t give me that self-righteous blather,” he sneered.

 

“With your arrival, I am no longer even needed here. You will do my work for me!”

 

“I did not come with Cortes.”

 

“You truly don’t know yourself, do you?” the parrot countered. “Well, take a look, white

 

boy! You are one of them. Do you hear me? You are a white man! It is your people who

 

are responsible for this holocaust, not me. It’s your people who bring misery, disease, and

 

oppression. Not only will you exterminate the native population, but you’ll crush the very

 

spirit of the Earth in order to attain your cultural domination, the name of your game.

 

“As for you personally, mister man of knowledge, you don’t even know your own name.

 

You have no idea who you are and yet you presume to judge me? Well, look at yourself

 

before you judge anyone else, white boy.”

 

His tirade over, the parrot cocked his head and waited for a reply.

 

Shocked and confused by the scathing accusations, the wanderer remained speechless. “Now you’ve forgotten how to use your tongue as well,” the bird taunted. “Well, I’ve got

 

better things to do than wait for you to regain your senses. I’m sure we’ll meet again. I

 

just hope you’re not so stupid then.”

 

The wanderer watched in stupor as Mochni flapped his wings and flew off, gliding

 

serenely into the valley. Smoke was rising from Tenochtitlan, making viewing hazy.

 

It’s just as well, thought the wanderer. He was in no mood to watch the destruction

 

anyway. The whole situation was appalling.

 

Confused and upset, he turned from the valley panorama and strode towards the pass in

 

the mountains. He was well aware that he had let the distasteful parrot get to him. Still, he

 

couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Mochni was right. Did he share responsibility

 

for the massacre?

 

No! The damn bird was wrong! How could he be responsible for what was happening to

 

the Aztecs, or to any of the other native Americans? He wasn’t even from this time

 

period. He was from the future! How else could he have knowledge of the outcome of the

 

Conquest”

 

Why couldn’t he remember his identity? Distraught, he closed his eyes and clenched his fists, but as he stretched his arms toward

 

the sky, a strong premonition forced him to reopen his eyes and re-examine his

 

surroundings.

 

To his shocking surprise, he found himself balanced precariously on the edge of a

 

smooth, rock ledge. Before him, the cliff fell away for almost a thousand feet. Fighting

 

back his panic, he backed away firmly and methodically.

 

When he reached more comfortable footing, he glanced around and noticed a cluster of

 

rock and adobe houses on top of a protruding mesa spur. There were people in the

 

village, mostly women, who were attending to their daily routines; whitewashing walls,

 

mending clothes, and preparing meals. Children were playing games, chasing one

 

another, or helping with the chores.

 

It was mid-day, bright with a cloudless sky. A warm, steady breeze buffeted his face. It

 

was obvious that he was no longer in the alpine region above Mexico City. The entire

 

scope of the scenery had changed miraculously in the blink of an eye. How was it

 

possible, he wondered? What had he done to accomplish such a feat?

 

A little girl popped up suddenly in front of him, and the questions were chased from his

 

mind. He had been oblivious to her approach and her sudden appearance startled him.

 

She couldn’t have been more than five years old. Except for a simple bead necklace that

 

stood out prominently against her dark body, she was stark naked. She was also very nervous and fidgety. She kept her gaze on him at all times as if she was afraid to break

 

eye contact.

 

He was becoming increasingly hypnotized by her stare. Her eyes were huge and round,

 

dark and deep.

 

“Where am I?” he inquired, attempting to break her spell. “What is this place?”

 

The little girl wouldn’t keep still. She arched her arms high behind her back and then,

 

lifting her knees nearly to her chin, marched around him in an ever tightening circle. And

 

then she dramatically unwound, shouting, “Oraibi, simpleton! Third Mesa! Don’t you

 

know? Aren’t you our friend?”

 

“Yes,” he answered tentatively. “Of course I am.”

 

She eyed him suspiciously and then began to circle around once again, hyperactively

 

bending and contorting her body.

 

“The star has led us to the end of our migrations. The clans have completed their

 

wanderings, and now we wait for the Creator to reveal the outcome of His plan.”

 

As she turned a cartwheel, she came frightfully close to the edge of the mesa. “In the meantime, as you can see, things have gotten pretty ridiculous.”

 

Ridiculous indeed, he thought nervously. Totally outrageous was more like it.

 

“Not me, silly. Everybody else!” she retorted as if she could read his thoughts. “Come on,

 

I’ll show you.”

 

He followed her into the village. His intentions were to be polite and friendly to

 

everybody, but nobody paid him any attention. In fact, as they continued towards the

 

square, it became apparent that nobody could even see him.

 

“See?” the little girl intoned. She continued to squirm and hop about as if she had to

 

relieve herself. “Nobody even sees you! And they all think I’m the crazy one. They all

 

say it, you know. ‘Sparrow of the Broken Ledge is crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy!”

 

She continued her chant until they reached the edge of the ceremonial center, a fairly

 

large area that contained six to eight kivas, seemingly spread haphazardly. Hopi men

 

were lazing about, some clothed in exotic, colorful garb, but most dressed in drab cotton

 

or a mere loin cloth.

 

“Maybe one of these guys is smart enough to see you.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth when the wanderer noticed one of the men

 

notice him. The man’s expression of disbelief was unforgettable. Once he composed

 

himself, and made sure that the visitor was still watching, he strode purposefully towards

 

the edge of the mesa and then tossed some kernels of corn into a pit. He picked up a

 

fifteen foot long pole, ten inches in diameter, as if it weighed nothing at all, and began

 

effortlessly working it up and down in the pit, pulverizing the corn into meal.

 

The wanderer was amazed. It seemed beyond reason that the man could work the tall,

 

cumbersome pole in such an easy manner. The post had to weigh more than the man

 

himself!

 

The other men had joined together in a chant. The corn grinder eventually grew bored

 

and left the pole standing in the hold. He gathered the chanters behind him and then led

 

them past the wanderer in a single file. Each man who passed gave him a quick, furtive

 

glance, making sure to make eye contact.

 

The wanderer followed the line with his gaze. The withering, side winding motion

 

reminded him of a snake. He saw each man dip a hand into a container of whitewash and

 

then continue on to the edge of the mesa. When the last man arrived, a command was

 

given and, in unison, they began to wave their whitewashed hand into the air, as if

 

painting or rubbing an unseen object.

 

Bewildered, the wanderer questioned the little girl. “What are they doing?” “Absolutely nothing,” she responded dryly. “They merely show off for you. There is no

 

purpose to what they do.”

 

“But what do they think they’re doing?” he pressed.

 

She directed his gaze across the valley floor to another mesa two or three miles away. At

 

first glance he noticed nothing out of the ordinary, but as he continued to watch, he saw a

 

whitewash spread slowly but distinctly across the ocher cliff side of the distant ridge.

 

Seeming no less than a miracle, it completely mesmerized him.

 

The little girl was less fascinated.

 

“See what I mean?” she groaned, once again becoming animated. “There is no purpose to

 

what they do. Whitewashing the cliff! The morons! With all this work to do in Oraibi,

 

they have nothing better to do than their cheap, useless magic. They’d be better off if they

 

looked to feeding themselves! Every year now more and more Tasavuh come to steal our

 

maize. They know that, and still they sit around all day like they’re something special.

 

And they call me crazy!”

 

Overcome with despondency, she stopped waving her arms and plopped to the ground in

 

a heap. “Only a one-heart can learn what they learn,” she lamented. “But they lose direction so

 

quickly! They all end up being a two-heart, and then they can’t be trusted. They’ve

 

regressed to spiteful witchcraft, shooting pellets of corn into people to make them sick or

 

die. They’ve tried to do that to me, but I won’t let them!”

 

“Can you walk the sky?” he asked.

 

“Walk the sky? P-tah!” She spat on the ground. “You ask such silly questions. Some of

 

us can. But what good does it do to see Tasavuh coming? There is nothing we can do to

 

prevent it.”

 

A sudden urgency swept over her and she jumped to her feet. “Father says that YOU can

 

renew our purpose, give us new direction that will make our efforts worthwhile. But

 

you’ll refuse to do it!” There was venom in her voice.

 

The wanderer stood immobilized, shocked by her sudden accusation.

 

“What’s wrong with you anyway?” she scoffed as she once again began to circle him in a

 

scrutinizing manner. “It’s as if you can’t remember or something. Is it because you are

 

white? You are, aren’t you? It’s so hard to tell with you fading in and out like that!” She

 

kicked dirt towards him in a spiteful manner. “Who are you anyway?”

 

He stood dumbstruck as her question burned into his soul. Who was he?

 

He didn’t have a clue. And yet he clearly understood most of what he had witnessed. He

 

was now at the Hopi mesas in northern Arizona, probably during the same time that

 

Cortes was crushing the Aztecs. He had not seen any horses in or around the village. But

 

while he could define his present place in the chronological order, he had no recollection

 

of his own personal history. Why? He didn’t know who he was or his purpose in being

 

there. He simply could not remember.

 

Was he white? Mochni had made the same assertion. And while he certainly wasn’t the

 

color of the whitewashed cliff, his skin was lighter than that of the little girl’s. Did it even

 

matter?

 

“Does Mochni appear to you here?” he asked, attempting to change the topic.

 

“The parrot? I have heard of him, but have never seen him. Don’t worry. If he ever comes

 

here, we will not be swayed by that evil spirit’s voice. Everyone here is too lazy.”

 

Sparrow’s pessimism matched his own opinion. Mochni would have no reason to meddle

 

with these people. Why should he? Even the Spaniards would overlook these unassuming

 

clans living in the middle of a barren land. It would be the Hopi’s salvation. He numbly examined his outstretched arms. There was no use denying it. He was indeed

 

a white man.

 

“You aren’t going to help us, are you?” Sparrow admonished, half accusing, half

 

pleading. A tear was in her eye.

 

“There is nothing I can do, little one. Absolutely nothing.” Hell. He couldn’t even

 

remember his own name! How could he hope to help these people?

 

He felt ashamed by his insensitive answer, but he felt that he owed her the truth. Finding

 

nothing more to add, he turned to leave.

 

“Wait! Please don’t go yet!”

 

She fidgeted with her necklace for a moment and then held out a huge paho, a prayer

 

stick that was nearly twice the size of her own little body. He admired the large eagle

 

feather that would carry her prayer/message to the sun.

 

“The prophecy has come true,” she declared. “When our white Friend finally returned, he

 

no longer knew who he was. My prayer is that you get well soon.”

 

And then he felt a tremendous rush of wind, and the little girl was nowhere to be seen.

 

Glancing up, he saw an eagle soaring aloft, on its way to the sun. Saddened and demoralized, the wanderer sat down on the edge of the mesa, oblivious to

 

the surrounding men. He concentrated instead upon the intriguing purple mist that

 

billowed up from the clear desert below. He solemnly awaited its arrival. So here’s the thing. The Aztecs could have crushed the Spaniards as they tried to set foot

 

on the Gulf coast. Instead, Moctezuma pulled a Hamlet and couldn’t make a decision.

 

(Re-read Portents). The Aztecs were a conquering people and demanded tribute from all

 

the people they dominated. Needless to say, all the subjugated Indian groups in Mexico

 

hated the Aztecs. So Cortes conquered Mexico with 500 Spanish soldiers and 500,000

 

Indian allies. He then turned on those allies and brutally subjugated them, too. This was

 

made easier by the fact that European diseases had already halved the population of

 

Mexico, and the people who survived were in a terribly weakened state.

 

In 1540 Fray Marcos led Coronado and his soldiers into New Mexico. They defeated the

 

Zuni at Zuni and then proceeded to the Rio Grande Valley in New Mexico. They were

 

looking for gold; especially the fabled golden cities of Gran Quivira and Cibola. The

 

pueblo Indians caught on fast. “Keep going,” they said as they pointed into the distance. “It’s just over the next rise!” Coronado wandered around the high plains, lost a few

 

horses and drove stakes into the Llano Estacado to find his way back. “Damn,” said the

 

Indians. One hundred years later, the Comanche were the master horsemen of the plains.

 

Would history have been different if the Aztecs had crushed Cortes at the coast? I doubt

 

it. Wave after wave of white people were coming to the New World. Only the

 

circumstances would have been different.

 

History

 

Sparkling jewel on valley lakes

 

Tenochtitlan, Aztec paradise

 

Great pyramids, palaces

 

Terraced gardens, canals

 

Parrots and ocelots

 

Feathered serpents as well

 

Moctezuma, your sad offerings

 

With so many gods to appease Bloody sacrifice in temples of death

 

Snatch the living heart from out of the chest

 

Is it Father Sun you desecrate?

 

To be confused by myth, and lose true faith?

 

A bearded white man may be here

 

But Quetzalcoatl hasn’t returned

 

Boldly from out of the East he sailed

 

No way in Hell he could have failed

 

Hernando Cortez, Conquistador

 

Such a wondrous land to claim for Spain

 

For gold and glory and God and King

 

Do you think you could have

 

Been their friend?

 

Don’t you think you could have extended your hand?

 

They greeted you suspiciously

 

As you made your way with five hundred men

 

Deceit and treachery and the will of God

 

For the Lord provided at every turn

 

Mexico was offered to accept or spurn Coronado, your Franciscan Friar

 

Led you with promise to New Mexico

 

A grand new frontier for dreams of gold

 

New empires there to plunder and spoil

 

The Seven Cities of Cibola

 

1540 and what did you find?

 

A harsh, cold winter and a meeting with fate

 

No Quivira or Cibola, no cities of gold

 

Just Pueblo Indians in adobe huts

 

Cornmeal and turquoise and pottery

 

Kiowa and buffalo on the plains

 

Hopi and Zuni farming arid plateaus

 

Few Apache, no Comanche or Navajo

 

Coronado, why don’t you go home? So, what were the Hopi doing when white men arrived on the continent? Not much. They

 

were sitting around waiting, like Sparrow of the Broken Ledge said. Their prophesies

 

were for the same date as the Aztecs, Ce Acatl, 1519. They heard rumors. Pahana was

 

late. He was supposed to go directly to Oraibi. Instead, Coronado sent an emissary who

 

first met the Hopi at Antelope Mesa. It was not a pretty picture. When the Hopi put corn

 

meal on the ground to bless the reunion, the Spaniards thought the Hopi were drawing a

 

line across the sand. Not good.

 

Kisiwu is a sacred spring fifty miles north of Oraibi. It is where they plant their paho’s,

 

their prayer sticks. Hawikuh is the home of the Zuni. The nakwach is a particular

 

handshake. Home Dance is Niman Kachina, the summer ceremony. A kachina is a spirit.

 

He spends half his time in this world, half in the Underworld. Soyal is the ceremony of

 

the winter solstice. The true Pahana will return at the end of Soyal. As you can see, the Hopi are a simple people with very complex beliefs. Sort of like the

 

Maya were when Columbus arrived in America. All the great cities of the Maya had

 

crumbled and returned to the jungle by that time. No one would have ever thought that

 

the ancestors of those simple people found living in the jungle could have been the one’s

 

who’d built the great centers of Tikal, Calakmal, Caracol, Copan, Palenque, Yaxchilan,

 

Uxmal, Edzna, Chichen Itza, Quirigua, Piedras Negras, Bonampak, Naranjo, Tonina, and

 

so forth and so on, but they did. Appearances can oftentimes be very deceiving.

 

Antelope Mesa 1539

 

Home Dance is over, the songs have been sung

 

Niman Kachina, spirit beings go home

 

To renew the Road of Life in the Underworld

 

Keep to the Plan of Creation for this Fourth World

 

Now Eagle spirit soars with our prayers to the Sun

 

Spruce clouds on the horizon promise rain to come

 

But our paho’s at Kisiwu were scattered around

 

And rumors out of Hawikuh are spreading sad sounds White men with much power, thunder and death

 

Riding swift beasts of terror and violence

 

And though I’ve kept the knowledge and still walk the sky

 

Earth power turns against me now, it’s closing my eyes

 

Still, it’s the moment we’ve been waiting for all our lives

 

Pahana will be pleased; we’ve been true to our rites

 

* * *

 

Tear drop morning brought a sad voice

 

When it should have been a time

 

To laugh and rejoice

 

We met them man to man

 

We laid our cornmeal down

 

They spurred their creatures forward

 

Thunder!

 

Our blood seeped to the ground

 

Antelope Mesa

 

My tears can’t save you

 

Antelope Mesa My tears will bathe you

 

Antelope Mesa

 

My fears will bathe you

 

* * *

 

Led them to Oraibi....

 

We drew four more lines of cornmeal

 

And then offered our hand

 

...........................

 

Glittering trinkets!

 

They must hold some secrets!

 

But we knew right away that they

 

Did not understand

 

They did not complete the nakwach

 

They were not our friends

 

Sad disappointment

 

How did they forget?

 

They had no recollection of our

 

Sacred tablets We huddled in brief council....

 

We then told them what we wanted

 

What they wanted to hear

 

...................

 

.........Let them pass through here

 

Let them pass through here

 

I hope they pass through here

 

Pray that they pass through here

 

* * *

 

Niman Kachina

 

I sing a new song

 

The Plan of Creation

 

Can’t be wrong

 

Pahana will come when Soyal is done

 

When we bring in the new year

 

When we turn back the Sun

 

We’ll plant the seed for the new year

 

Together as one About one hundred years after Columbus arrived, the Spaniards decided to colonize the

 

upper Rio Grande Valley. Juan Onate won the governorship and marched his soldiers and

 

colonists north from Mexico City, and simply claimed New Mexico for Spain. Kind of

 

like gang warfare. Juan announced that the new kids were the toughest kids on the block

 

and so the land was theirs. If anybody didn’t like it, they could go screw themselves.

 

What’s that you say? Thou shall not steal? Land ownership has always been kind of

 

fuzzy for me. How can anybody really claim to own the land when the land has been here

 

for a zillion years before us and will be here a zillion years after we’re gone? If anything,

 

the land owns us and lets us live here for a few years. Life is a gift. Perhaps we should try

 

to solve the mysteries of our own awareness instead of worrying about what the next guy

 

thinks he owns.

 

Once again, a nod goes out to Paul Horgan for the following song. Vista Bonita 1599

 

Oh, New Mexico

 

Oh, oh, New Mexico

 

Vista bonita in the morning light

 

North desert glowing, an artists delight

 

Smoke curling over the Upper Valley

 

Crisp winter air, not a hint of a breeze

 

Vista bonita in New Mexico

 

Oh, what a pretty sight from

 

San Juan Pueblo

 

A sad spirit has entered my North Kingdom

 

On a mesa to the west, rebellion has come

 

I was forced to send my soldiers out to Acoma

 

Only seventy of us against two thousand of them

 

But we’ve held communion and the Requiem Mass

 

And Saint James of Compostela aides us in our task

 

To quell the revolt we must show a firm hand My nephew Zaldivar rides hard in command

 

Oh, New Mexico

 

Oh, oh, New Mexico

 

Vista bonita in the mid day sun

 

Chameleon colors on all horizons

 

Crimson in the mountains, a deep blue sky

 

Deer on the slopes, an eagle in flight

 

Vista bonita in New Mexico

 

Oh, what a pretty sight from

 

San Juan Pueblo

 

These valley Indians are wretched and poor

 

And they don’t appear to desire much more

 

They vacated this pueblo to give us a home

 

Gave us blankets and corn, that’s all that they owned

 

Yet, I’ve spent my whole fortune to be Governor

 

Now I’m counting on pearls from the South Sea shore

 

Discover Quivira, we’ll find treasures of gold

 

More riches than Cortez found in old Mexico!

 

Oh, New Mexico

 

Oh, oh, New Mexico Vista bonita in the evening glow

 

Sangre de Cristo shivers in snow

 

Shadows creep down from the western heights

 

Rio Bravo del Norte, a sliver of light

 

Vista bonita in New Mexico

 

Oh, what a pretty sight from

 

San Juan Pueblo

 

An old Indian woman unsettles my soul

 

She tells me of the fury out in Acoma

 

The rage of the Indians, brave soldiers with swords

 

Three days of bitter fighting, the horrors of war

 

Oh, what was that she said, a vision on high?

 

The Acomese laid down their arms, no more must die

 

And I wonder how she knows what cannot be known

 

It will surely be ten days before word can reach home

 

Oh, New Mexico

 

Vista bonita in New Mexico All right. You might want to get your Google machines cranked up for this one. In 1629 a

 

nun of the Franciscan order lived on the border of Aragon and Castile in Spain. She never

 

left the nunnery, probably for her entire life. But Indians in eastern New Mexico and in

 

the Texas panhandle and further south below the Conchos River reported seeing her.

 

They would go to the missions on the Rio Grand and ask the Friars to be baptized. They

 

said Maria de Agreda had sent them, and described this woman. One time she even

 

accompanied them to San Felipe Pueblo. When the Friars asked the Indians to step

 

forward, she pushed them from behind, a ripple effect through the crowd. This was 1629.

 

Travel time was slow. I mean, it made “a slow boat to China” seem like a jet airplane.

 

What gives? Tomorrow might bring an explanation. Or it might bring a lot of imaginative

 

bull. Maria de Agreda 1629

 

Maria de Agreda did you set the tone

 

Over three and a half centuries ago?

 

Sitting at home in your convent in Spain

 

No one ever saw you leave your door

 

How was it that you could make yourself appear

 

Half a world away in New Mexico?

 

Half a world away in New Mexico

 

Mother Maria de Jesus

 

Could you maintain your dreams

 

And incorporate them into reality?

 

To the Llano Estacado from Castile

 

You found the key to your mystery

 

You could project your feelings, manifest yourself

 

Humano Indians thought you were real

 

Humano Indians thought you were real

 

Performing missionary service On the plains

 

Send the Humanos to the Friars

 

On the Rio Grand

 

Assist Fray Cristobal

 

With baptismal rites

 

San Felipe Pueblo, 1629

 

Did you see that those people

 

Lived closer to God

 

Than the Europeans

 

Outside your convent

 

Maria de Agreda did you glimpse the truth?

 

Could you see through the dogma of your Christian church?

 

In our dreams we are so much closer to God

 

Than reason will allow in waking hours

 

You’d gather your attention and transport yourself

 

To the Nuevo Mundo or the Orient

 

To the Nuevo Mundo or the Orient

 

Mother Maria de Jesus

 

Could you maintain your dreams

 

And incorporate them into reality? To south of the Conchos from Castile

 

You found the key to your mystery

 

You could project your feelings, manifest yourself

 

Los Juntos Indians thought you were real

 

Los Juntos Indians thought you were real So. How did Maria do it? I have a feeling I’m going to get two possible answers here. For

 

those of you who have really been reading these things, you’re probably going to say she

 

grabbed hold of one of the lines and was whisked away. A couple of you might say that it

 

was simply and surely by the will and grace of God. Of course, you know that this is a

 

trick question, and I don’t buy either one of those answers. If she had disappeared bodily

 

from the convent, I would go along with the line theory. But whenever a nun, (or, heaven

 

forbid, a Friar) would look in on her, she’d be asleep in her bed. She never left the

 

convent. That would also pretty much blot out answer number two.

 

But we have also heard tell of something called “walking the sky.” This is akin to the out

 

of body experience, where one looks down on himself sleeping or laying in a hospital

 

bed. It is an ability that can be cultivated. Awareness splits and exists in two places at the

 

same time. If a person can learn to maintain the sequences of his dreams while at the same time dreaming of the real world in real time, instead of dreaming about the usual

 

gobbly-gook, there’s no telling what all a person could be capable of doing. It’s all very

 

simple, really.

 

FLIPSIDE

 

Chapter 20

 

He stood outside the tent, fully intending to urinate. Nothing was happening, and he

 

decided to give it more time. Overall, he felt physically strange, light and light-headed,

 

and he passed it off to having imbibed more than his share.

 

The night was very still except for the sound of a faint, but howling wind further down

 

the valley. It was coming his way, approaching slowly for something that sounded so

 

forceful. When it finally arrived, it hit with short, strong gusts that increased to a steady,

 

hard blow before passing quickly. The chirping of crickets and the barking of tree frogs

 

once again became the dominant sounds.

 

He gazed around the campsite. His vision had adjusted remarkably to the night and he

 

could see everything clearly. Paul was rolled up inside his tent. Richard was sleeping

 

soundly in the back of the pick-up truck. He was either very drunk or the intermittent

 

wind was keeping the mosquitoes at bay. He thought about his own tent and realized that he hadn’t zipped it shut. The mosquitoes

 

would eat Bonnie alive! He put his penis back into his pants and then knelt to zip the tent.

 

To his surprise, it was already tightly closed. He looked inside to check on her.

 

He was aghast. There HE was lying beside Bonnie! Sound asleep!

 

The observation overwhelmed his sense of reason. He fell backwards, shocked by the

 

duality that confronted him. Up until that moment he had assumed that his thoughts were

 

originating from within his “dreaming” body. But there he was, obviously sleeping next

 

to Bonnie. As he struggled with the anomalies, he found himself beginning to panic.

 

Don’t think! Deal with it later!

 

Who said that? He wondered.

 

Deal with it later!

 

The command seemed to come from an outside source within him. But it was sound

 

advice. He knew that if he became overly agitated he would soon lose the continuity of

 

his dream. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder. Seeing himself sleeping there was a

 

shocking way to realize that he was in fact dreaming. Everything seemed so real! He

 

rubbed his hands together. They sure felt solid to him! The wind gusted once again and then moved on. Upon its’ tail came the hoot of an owl,

 

brilliantly melodious. The magical sound resonated within him. When he heard it again

 

he knew that the owl’s call was meant for him alone.

 

He moved to the next campsite and sat down on top of the picnic table. He waited to hear

 

from the owl once again. The wind had changed to a light, steady breeze, and he listened

 

to the rustling branches as he watched their shadowy motion against the starlit sky. Time

 

passed. An armadillo came close, rooting and snorting. He forgot about the owl and

 

jumped down from the picnic table.

 

The picnic table!

 

Thinking of Paul and Richard, he grabbed hold of the end of the table and pulled. It

 

moved easily.

 

“Why those lazy bums,” he said out loud. “Too heavy to move. What a poor, sorry

 

excuse!”

 

He turned his back to the table, reached back with both hands, and proceeded to drag the

 

table behind him. He soon noticed a loud, rumbling sound, and the first thought that came

 

to mind was “avalanche.” He stopped to listen more intently, but the thunder had passed. He heard nothing but tree

 

frogs and crickets, the wind and the river. He was perplexed. Surely he hadn’t imagined

 

that sound.

 

He started forward with the table once again. Once again the mountains rumbled.

 

Shit! It struck him. The sound he heard was the dragging of the table! Outrageous! He

 

was probably waking every camper along the river. Suddenly feeling very self conscious,

 

he glanced over at the campsite.

 

Richard was sitting up in the back of the truck, looking around. Daylight was beginning

 

to creep into the darkness and a foggy haze covered the ground.

 

Not wanting to be seen by Richard, Credit decided to climb the bluff and enter the

 

campsite from the opposite direction. But after entering the woods, he began moving

 

through the trees much faster than intended, much too fast for safety. But there was

 

nothing he could do to prevent it! For some reason, he had totally lost control over his

 

muscles.

 

He bounced off a tree.

 

Damn, that hurt! He grabbed at his left arm and then bounced off another tree. Incapable

 

of stopping his momentum, he lost his balance and fell. Everyone has heard of the American Revolution and Independence while few have heard

 

of the Pueblo independence. It is probably because their freedom only lasted about twelve

 

years. One reason it had been so easy for the Spaniards to colonize the American

 

Southwest was that the pueblos were individual entities. Attack one and the others did not

 

come to their aid. They pretty much just tolerated each other. Most of them even spoke

 

different languages. But after years of humiliation at the hands of the Spaniards, Pope

 

(pronounced Po-pay) changed things. He arranged to have all the pueblos act together at

 

the same time and they succeeded in running the Spaniards out of New Mexico and

 

northern Arizona.

 

But 80 years of Spanish domination had changed the pueblos forever, and independence

 

did not last long. The whole dynamic of the area had changed. Apaches, Comanche, and

 

Navajos, groups that were not there a hundred years earlier, were beginning to encroach on the pueblos, and life would never again be the same. That’s just the way it goes, not

 

only in the American Southwest but all over the world. I used to feel really bad about

 

what happened to the American Indians, but the peoples of the world have always been in

 

a state of flux and always will be. You can build fences or make new immigration laws

 

and it’s not going to make a lick of difference. People are still going to be on the move.

 

Borders are only rigid on the map. And in some people’s thick skull.

 

Pope 1680

 

Moctezuma came to me in my dream one night

 

I was in the stockade; they had me bound up tight

 

All the things we had done for two thousand years

 

Were suddenly a crime, but you won’t see no tears

 

He said go up to Taos, then down into the kiva

 

The slave church ain’t for you or none of your people

 

These white men aren’t gods, they’re only Castillians

 

They bend you to your will, their intentions are evil

 

They’re dogadee, the dictator

 

Dogadee the dictator, come to take your land Katchada ain’t no white friend, can’t you understand?

 

Katchada is the dictator, come to claim the land

 

Now do I have to remind you of Hawikuh?

 

Or Kuaua, or Pecos, or Acoma?

 

They kill us, they whip us, treat our women with shame

 

Make us build their church, won’t let us dance for rain

 

He said go up to Taos, then down into the kiva

 

To Hell with the Friars, we’re about to get even

 

We’ll chase all the metal-men out of the valley

 

Return to our old ways, we were peaceful and happy

 

They’re dogadee, the dictator

 

Dogadee the dictator, come to steal the land

 

Katchada ain’t no white friend, can’t you understand?

 

Katchada is the white man, come to take the land

 

There is power up in Taos we can all believe in

 

I spoke with three kachinas from Po-he-yema

 

Spirits Caudi and Tolini and Tleume, too Say if the pueblos join together peace will follow soon

 

So rise up in Taos, a whirlwind from the kivas

 

We’re going down to Santa Fe; we’re going to get even

 

We’ll overthrow the Governor and kill all the Friars

 

They deceiver us with their words, they’re nothing but liars

 

They’re dogadee, the dictator

 

Dogadee the dictator, come to take the land

 

Katchada ain’t Pahana, can’t you understand?

 

He’s dogadee the dictator, come to rape the land This one has a snappy little tune to it. If you break out in a song and dance routine, don’t

 

be embarrassed. Smile! No one will care. It happens all the time!

 

Have a great Fourth of July!

 

Liberty Tree 1777

 

Colony

 

Majesty

 

No allegiance for His Majesty Destiny

 

Liberty

 

We are the Sons of Liberty

 

I’m a freeman, a citizen American

 

A Massachusetts Bay Colony minuteman

 

I was trusted to my musket up at Lexington

 

Fought the British at Breed’s Hill

 

And served with Washington

 

And we’re fighting for the rights of all free men

 

We’re fighting for the spirit of Independence

 

We’ve got a dream, it’s such a fine dream

 

Religious toleration and equality

 

Celebrate the Revolution!

 

Throw a tea party

 

While we dance all around the Liberty Tree

 

Take my hand, we’ll do a step, we’re the Liberty Tree

 

We’re going to throw the English yoke from off of our backs

 

Chase them out of Nova Scotia, run them out of Quebec

 

We’ve had enough of the tea tax from those lobsterbacks Hamilton

 

Ben Franklin

 

Unite the States in federation!

 

Jefferson

 

Washington

 

We’re bound to be a great nation!

 

I’m a freeman, a citizen American

 

One of Morgan’s West Virginia riflemen

 

And I’ve marveled at the splendor

 

Of this fine scenery

 

From Ticonderoga down through the Jersey’s

 

And we’re fighting for the rights of our countrymen

 

We’re fighting for the freedom of our continent

 

Because we’ve got a dream, such a fine dream

 

This song bursts from my heart with sincerity

 

Celebrate the Revolution

 

Throw a tea party!

 

While we dance all around the Liberty Tree

 

Take my hand, we’ll do a step, we’re the Liberty Tree We’re going to run the Tory presence out of here

 

I’ve got a wife and kids at home and land to clear

 

We can turn our attention to the Western frontier Part 3

 

It’s time for me to climb a little higher in my pulpit. I know it’s what you’ve been waiting

 

for. I’ll thump my chest for a few songs and then finish up with the rest of Pahana’s

 

adventure.

 

Scenario: An INS agent is standing at the Maine/New Brunswick border, out in the

 

woods, awed by the splendor and solitude, when a moose strolls out of Canada, crossing

 

into Maine. Does the agent stop the moose and send it back into Canada? Summer has faded and geese in the Canadian north are gathering up for the long flight

 

south. Does the US Air Force scramble the jets in Minot, North Dakota and try to keep

 

the geese from heading for the Gulf of Mexico?

 

The answer is obvious; the freedom of the animals is not restricted. But people without

 

the proper papers would be turned away. It kind of begs the questions: Is a man not more

 

than a moose? And with due respect, is a woman not more than a goose?

 

This song is another one from my angry days, when I didn’t like what governments do to

 

people. I still don’t, but now I know there’s not much I can do about it.

 

Between The Lines

 

What do you do when you register to vote?

 

Tell me, what do you lose when you go cast that vote?

 

You give away a right to make decisions on your own

 

You give it to some jokers you don’t even know

 

What do you do when you go out and vote? Tell me, what do you lose when you go cast that vote?

 

It don’t matter who’s the winner or who does the losing

 

You accept the consequences; you’ve done your choosing

 

What do you do with your responsibilities?

 

You give them to some jokers who

 

Might send you overseas

 

Send you off to Africa to bomb the dirty Libyans

 

Or down to Managua, crush the Nicaraguans

 

Nationalism is here and there

 

Dividing the globe, it is everywhere

 

Some hundred different countries

 

Some hundred different ways

 

And everybody’s right, now what does that say?

 

Stand on the moon, you don’t need no spacecraft

 

Gaze down on the Earth, you will get a good laugh

 

All those little people running ‘round, looking like ants

 

Thinking everything they do is so important

 

They perpetuate ideas that have come before

 

Perpetuate the evils that have come before

 

They’re stockpiling weapons, gonna be another war Stockpiling weapons, we’ve seen it all before

 

What will you do when the man comes for you?

 

You’ve given up your rights; he’s going to ship you overseas

 

‘Cause when you voted you gave away your responsibilities

 

It won’t be Viet Nam, but it may be Africa

 

The Middle East, South Korea, or Guatemala

 

When the man comes to take you, you can’t say “no”

 

The majority is always right, that’s what you’ve done chose

 

What does it take to read between the lines?

 

Tell me, what does it take to see between the lines?

 

Can you see through the horse shit that your government spouts?

 

Can you see through the dogma that the churches give out

 

What does it take to read between the lines?

 

Tell me, what does it take to see between the lines?

 

If you feel it in your heart, can you redirect your life?

 

No society is ever right, follow your mind

 

What does it take to read between the lines?

 

Tell me, what does it take to see between the lines? Ouch! Cliché city!

 

The Right Thing

 

There’s been talk about the lack of morality

 

A serious erosion of honor and integrity

 

But you can learn to live responsibly

 

If you keep your motives pure you will do the right thing

 

Do the right thing!

 

We’ve been planning all these covert activities Hiding behind reasons of national security

 

But to choose between country or global needs

 

Now would you be willing to do the right thing?

 

Do the right thing!

 

Now anything goes with deniability

 

Do you teach your children to lie creditably?

 

Apply it to your country as your family

 

Now would you be willing to do the right thing?

 

Do the right thing!

 

We keep producing foul emissions in our factories

 

Cutting down rain forests to satisfy our greed

 

Can you choose between money and the ecology?

 

Would you be willing to do the right thing?

 

Do the right thing!

 

Does your conscience ever bother you?

 

All those nasty things we do, man we can be cruel

 

If the choice is between money or honesty

 

Would you be willing to do the right thing?

 

Do the right thing! Now indecision is gnawing at you

 

Driving you crazy, you don’t know what to do

 

Free yourself from all your selfish tendencies

 

Keep your motives pure and you will do the right thing

 

Do the right thing!

 

If you love the Earth good luck will follow you

 

Treat Her like yourself, that’s the least you can do

 

It’s up to you to live responsibly

 

Pay attention to the Earth and you will do the right thing

 

Do the right thing! I swear; if you don’t already, you’re all going to think I’m just crazier than Hell before

 

this thing is all over with.

 

Voyager

 

Our technology has made a rapid advance

 

Instant communication throughout the land

 

First voyage ‘round the world took nearly three years

 

Now we’ve got it down to hours, everywhere is quite near

 

Look to the sky, it’s our last frontier Bases on the moon, we can see that quite clear

 

A journey to Mars and we’re talking many years

 

Given the time and money, it’s not out of our sphere

 

Voyager, number Two has followed you

 

Through the asteroids and on to Jupiter’s moons

 

Computer enhanced photographs that we see

 

Turn all our speculations ‘to reality

 

Voyager there’s so much you can do

 

Journey to the planets and show us the view

 

Braided rings around Saturn, new Uranian moons

 

More mystery to show us when you whip past Neptune

 

Earth floats in orbit around the Sun

 

One small planet in our solar system

 

In a swirl of the galaxy, the Milky Way

 

The Sun’s one tiny member of a vast array

 

Inter-galactic travel is a big dream

 

The Andromeda galaxy will never be reached

 

Time/distance concepts our clouding our view More knowledge of ourselves may change our attitude

 

Voyager, take us on out past Mars

 

Through the solar system then out to the stars

 

If you could cross the universe you could be our eyes

 

Transmit to us the wonders we cannot visualize

 

Voyager head into interstellar space

 

Racing toward the edge of the Milky Way

 

Crossing kilo-parsecs for thousands of years

 

There’s got to be a better way to get there from here

 

Would it be far-fetched

 

To think that spirit is a light?

 

An inkling, or a feeling, or a piece of the sun?

 

Would it be far-fetched

 

To seek completeness in our life?

 

If the Earth is our body then our spirit’s the sun

 

Would it be far-fetched

 

To think we have two sides? Here or there, one or both, the choice is your own

 

Could you ever imagine

 

That perception lines both sides?

 

Close your eyes, you’re there and back, quick as a thought

 

Voyager there’s so much you can do

 

Journey to the planets and show us the view

 

I could get there and back much quicker than you

 

But I wouldn’t be able to share my view with you

 

Voyager head into interstellar space

 

Racing towards the edge of the Milky Way

 

Crossing kilo-parsecs for thousands of years

 

There’s got to be a better way to get there from here

 

Voyager there’s so much you can do

 

Journey to the planets and show us the view

 

Braided rings around Saturn, new Uranian moons

 

More mystery to show us when you whip past Neptune Lemmings

 

Coming to a crossroads, approaching it fast

 

There are decisions to be made if we hope to last

 

Nuclear disaster, environmental ruin

 

The problems that we face

 

Are all our own doings

 

Running like lemmings straight for the sea

 

Go meekly to your death or seek to be free

 

It’s hard to break momentum and step out of line

 

It’s a lonely road to walk If you want to seek life

 

But you’d better start right now

 

because we haven’t much time

 

And that opening to life

 

is so very hard to find

 

But if you free yourself

 

from the clutter and diversions

 

And choose to observe the Earth

 

and all of its patterns

 

Catch the flow of the life-force

 

and make it your own

 

For this Earth is your mother

 

your teacher, your home

 

Christ spoke to the masses in parables

 

He knew we wouldn’t listen, that’s the way it goes

 

To have ears but not hear, to look but not see

 

Surely limits the scope

 

Of what a man can be A hard and narrow path leads to life

 

While the road to destruction is easy and wide

 

But if you think clear, remove the log from your eye

 

Seek and you will find

 

The opening to life

 

And you can walk the sky

 

if you see how to do it

 

Or you can walk on water

 

if you learn the secret to it

 

But you have to start right now

 

because we haven’t much time

 

And that opening to life

 

is so very hard to find

 

And don’t look for agreements

 

from others than you

 

That path is for you alone

 

it’s deep within you

 

Running like lemmings straight for the sea

 

On their wide, easy road, it’s the majority It’s so hard to break momentum and step out of line

 

It’s a lonesome road to walk

 

If you want to seek life

 

Coming to a crossroads, approaching it fast

 

Extinction of species with loss of habitat

 

Nuclear disaster, environmental ruin

 

The problems that we’ve made

 

Are all our own choosing

 

But we have to change right now

 

because we haven’t much time

 

And that opening to life

 

is so very hard to find

 

But I’m familiar with the history

 

of human events

 

And I’m not at all impressed

 

with all the selfish intent

 

So I’ve developed little faith

 

in the masses direction

 

They’ll continue to bleed the Earth

 

to feed their self-reflections But we have to stop right now

 

if we want to save ourselves

 

Or the Earth will strike back at us

 

to balance itself

 

Coming to a crossroads, approaching it fast At one time this was my favorite song. But now I sometimes read it over and think there

 

are way too many abstractions and generalities. What do you think?

 

It’s up to each of us to solve the mystery of awareness. What else are we here for? To try

 

to get rich and then die? Nah.

 

Life

 

Life is a gift

 

You never asked for it It’s a journey in time

 

A mountain to climb

 

Laws to be observed

 

Lessons to be learned

 

And the goal seems clear

 

It’s to reach the peak

 

It’s to stretch your strand of time

 

Into eternity

 

Life is a gift

 

You never asked for it

 

So you know you’re not the master

 

Over other forms of it

 

You’re a being of perception

 

You feel a physical world

 

You can sense all of its aspects

 

You’re rich and diverse

 

But you’re an equal member

 

On this good Earth

 

You’re just an equal member

 

Of the universe

 

Life is a gift What do you do with it?

 

Do you increase your inventory?

 

Add to your stress and worry?

 

Accumulate possessions

 

Along your road?

 

Claim everything you desire

 

For you own?

 

But it’s so hard to climb the mountain

 

With such a heavy load

 

It will drag you down and wear you out

 

And keep you from your goal

 

Life is a gift

 

And you’ve only one chance

 

Time becomes your enemy

 

As Time has been your friend

 

Will you have the time to make it

 

All the way to the top?

 

Will you revel in the total view

 

Before you must stop?

 

When will Death catch you

 

And give you His tap?

 

Can you gather your awareness To evade that trap?

 

Life is a gift

 

And that’s your only gift

 

So don’t spend all your time

 

Living only half of it

 

Don’t lose your attention

 

In box canyons

 

Don’t get caught in backwater

 

Beached on the sand

 

Seek the road to freedom

 

It’s your path to the peak

 

And you can be a witness

 

To life’s mysteries

 

Life is a gift

 

Meaningful and rich

 

And the ultimate achievement

 

Is there for your grasp

 

If you can ease past distraction

 

And solve the maze up your hill

 

And balance your perception

 

With reason and will Your two sides of awareness

 

Will merge at the peak

 

If you can exercise them both

 

It will make you complete

 

Life is a gift

 

You never asked for it

 

It’s a journey in time

 

A mountain to climb

 

Laws to be observed

 

Lessons to be learned

 

And your goal seems clear

 

It’s to reach the peak

 

It’s to stretch your strand of time

 

Into eternity The next three songs are about Pahana leaving for the East. They go hand in hand with

 

Time to Go and Legacy. Legends fits in between the two. The myth states that if Pahana

 

stops to rest more than twice on his way, it would take ages instead of years for him to

 

return. He has yet to return, so he must have decided to take a vacation or two along the

 

way. Meanwhile, the Hopi continue to wait, believing that some day the true Pahana will,

 

indeed, return, and their Creation tablet will once again be made whole.

 

Legends 1388 BC

 

Legends say that on his way

 

As an eagle he flew proud and high Swift as lightning across the sky

 

But we believe he traveled as a man

 

He loved this Earth and kept his form

 

Brought life to our springs, gave us corn

 

Thunderstorms drove him down from the North

 

Then a dust devil led him straight to us

 

His heart and the land told him what to do

 

He decided to stay and help us through

 

For seven moons he taught us prayer

 

And showed us how to be aware of this Earth

 

And we think he made a sacrifice

 

He gave up something dear

 

He was full of life but sad inside

 

He left something unsaid, never made it clear

 

He drew his power from the Earth and Sun

 

It drained him dearly to see this deed done

 

When he planted four kernels in the ground

 

Grew it up and then passed it around It was black and yellow, white and red

 

And for several weeks it kept us fed

 

Corn is the mother of this Fourth World

 

Four winds, four directions, four colors of men

 

Corn feeds the spirit that makes us one

 

Keeps us in touch with our Father Sun

 

He told us this with a glint in his eye

 

And then grinned and laughed and slapped his thigh

 

And we think he made a sacrifice

 

He gave up something dear

 

He was full of life but sad inside

 

He left something unsaid, never made it clear

 

He said we could be what we wanted to be

 

A cloud or a snake or a brother coyote

 

But even in sorcery there were boundaries

 

The spirit could trap you, never let you free

 

Then some swear he turned into a bird of prey

 

Flew to the mountains, then walked back the next day Legends say that on his way

 

He ran fast and graceful as a deer

 

Fleet of foot, he’d soon disappear

 

But we know he left us as a man

 

Pure of heart but pale of skin

 

He was one of us, much more than friend

 

And we think he made a sacrifice

 

He gave up something dear

 

He was full of life but sad inside

 

He left something unsaid, never made it clear I originally put this song in as filler, and it shows. It is no longer needed. I guess my logic

 

here was that a woman is usually to blame for just about everything that goes wrong, so I

 

had to have a song like this. My girlfriend at the time must have made me do it.

 

Silver Shadow 1387 BC

 

He took an East Texas holiday

 

He took the time to get way in deep

 

Beneath the pines

 

Feel the dream lift from his eyes Silver Shadow, pretty one

 

You cast your spell on him

 

Beckoning eyes won’t let him be

 

His thoughts are on you

 

They’re not running free

 

Silver Shadow, pretty one

 

A magic smile drives him mad

 

Makes him lose his head

 

Leaves his common sense for dead

 

He’s got to stop to catch his breath

 

Silver Shadow, pretty one

 

You’re soft and warm and all alone

 

And give him notions he hasn’t had before

 

He thinks that he will spend the night

 

Warm, moist love will do him right

 

Morning time was time to go

 

He passed the deer and armadillo

 

As he made his way for the coast

 

Using powers he hadn’t yet lost Originally, the song that followed this one was Halfway to Karnak, but we’ve already

 

been there and done that. The last four songs in Long Road will deal with the return of

 

Pahana.

 

I hear a collective sigh of relief from a captive audience. I’ve managed to drag this out

 

over so many months that it’s going to feel like the end of an era. Since all of you have

 

been forced to read these things, you will probably feel like you’re finally being released

 

from Gitmo.

 

Got The Devil In Me 1386 BC I stopped once too often, took too long

 

The devil soon was at my back

 

He drew up his pact and slipped right in

 

Now I’ve got the devil in me

 

There may be more than one

 

It seems that demons pull from deep inside

 

When they used to chase me from behind

 

They’d torment me then run and hide

 

Leave me free but empty and dry

 

I stopped once too often, took too long

 

There were demons crawling over me

 

Each sought out an opening and crept right in

 

Now I guess I’ve got the time

 

To take my rest, try to ease my mind

 

Because I can’t seem to find the rhyme

 

Events are muddled; they’re all out of line It’s such a heavy mist, won’t let me see

 

Must grope my way to reality

 

Seems there’s something to remember

 

That’s eluding me

 

Been baked and blistered on the run

 

By those damned old demons from the sun

 

They parch my mind, keep me alone

 

And leave me hateful, decrepit, forlorn

 

I believe the devil has found his home

 

I try and try, make no mistake

 

But I can’t recall which roads to take

 

Damn those demons, my life decays

 

I wish they’d leave me, they could go away

 

I stopped once too often, took too long

 

The devil soon was at my back

 

He drew up his pact and slipped right in

 

Been climbing and crawling from dusk ‘til dawn Got swept down the river in a raging storm

 

My body’s aching; wish I’d never been born

 

The land must hate me to treat me like such

 

Don’t believe I’ll be able to love her much

 

Won’t let me remember where I’ve been

 

It’s cold and wet and unforgiving

 

And it’s left me bewildered when I look within

 

But here I stand; the sea is at my feet

 

I know there’s someone over there who I must meet This song was written for two of the better friends I’ve managed to make in this life and

 

it was never intended to be part of Long Road. But, you know, it fits in a way, and so

 

here it is. The verse on fishing seems to be way out of line, but here’s the scenario. Don

 

and I are sitting in a bass boat on Caballo Lake. It’s an absolutely beautiful day, a little

 

bit hot, but there’s a little breeze that makes it feel just fine. Suddenly, out of the blue,

 

lightning strikes the mountainside, shattering the rock, which goes flying into the air. As

 

Don pulls me back into the boat with my soiled pants, he notices a distinguished piece of

 

rock that has landed in the boat. It turns out to be the corner piece from the Hopi Creation

 

tablet. He takes it back to Oraibi and all the Hopi women surround him and rub up

 

against him and won’t let him be. This is the way things sometimes happen. When you’re

 

least expecting it—boom! So here is Don and Jeanne’s song. Good Friends

 

Got a friend

 

Got some good friends

 

Living down on the Rio Grand

 

Got a good friend

 

Got some good friends

 

On the Rio Grand

 

There’s a West Texas desert

 

Forever spread

 

In front of me

 

Fried an egg in the sun

 

On the hood of my truck

 

This morning

 

West Texas devil sun

 

Beating down on me

 

Got a friend

 

Got some good friends

 

Living down on the Rio Grand

 

Got a good friend Got some good friends

 

On the Rio Grand

 

It’s the Spring of the year

 

And there’s fresh water

 

In the Rio Grand

 

The spawn of the white bass

 

And they’re swimming

 

Up the Rio Grand

 

A fisherman’s dream there

 

Heading for the Rio Grand

 

Got a friend

 

Got some good friends

 

Living down on the Rio Grand

 

Got a good friend

 

Got some good friends

 

On the Rio Grand

 

Got a home

 

Got a place to go to

 

Heading for the Rio Grand

 

Gee, it’s good to know I’m heading for the Rio Grand This was the very first song written in the Long Road series. It kind of inspired the whole

 

thing. This is the song you all have to blame for this mess.

 

Just a note, rub, rub. If you find a cottonwood tree growing in the desert, you will find

 

standing water, or a damn good irrigation system. If the weather’s been overly dry, just

 

dig down a foot or two and water will most likely trickle into the hole.

 

This Desert

 

I’ve been walking this desert

 

The ground is hard, it’s hot and bright Hurts the eyes and the waterhole’s dry

 

But there are plants all around

 

They’re green and growing

 

There must be water nearby

 

Must be water nearby

 

I’ve been crossing this desert

 

It’s a pretty sight to see for miles

 

Those mesas don’t look real

 

Here’s silverleaf and prickly-pear

 

And there’s gotta be water near

 

There’s got to be water near

 

I’ve been walking this desert

 

Trying to cross this land

 

The plants are disappearing

 

As the ground’s turned soft to sand

 

If I reach those mesas

 

I’ll be doing fine

 

There are people there to help me out

 

But it’s getting harder all the time

 

Getting harder all the time

 

I’m getting weaker all the time Wind, please be my friend

 

This blowing sand stings my skin

 

Makes it hard to swallow

 

A nice cool breeze or a little rain

 

Would put me on my way again

 

I know, I can’t complain

 

You do what you do, Lord

 

And what can I say?

 

I’m so small a part of all I see

 

I do believe you know better than me

 

And what do you think of this life

 

My old friend, Paul?

 

Once Father Sun was close to you

 

Now I wonder what you do

 

Who and what you may answer to

 

Do you take this Earth Mother

 

Keep her near?

 

Wish her well and hold her dear?

 

I climbed the crest Caught the setting sun

 

A cottonwood could save my life

 

But there isn’t one in sight

 

I see buzzards circling overhead

 

Waiting on me….

 

Desert moon will bring me night

 

Silver stars to cool my plight

 

And hey, Sam and David, Don and Jeanne

 

You know you’ve all been real good friends to me

 

But now Earth Mother calls me

 

And I fear she’s going to take me

 

And you may not hear from me again

 

But if Father Sun saves me

 

I may see you in your dreams

 

I’ll wave to you in your dreams

 

A rabbit caught unaware

 

I regain my strength

 

It answers my prayers

 

Earth Mother’s here to see and feel

 

Feed me and keep me, I wish her well

 

Without her I wouldn’t be here She will take me when she will

 

Been crossing this desert

 

The sun is hot, it’s hot and bright

 

But it’s a pretty sight to see for miles

 

Those mesas don’t seem real

 

Here’s cholla and pitaya and prickly-pear

 

And there’s gotta be water near

 

There’s gonna be water near

 

Going to be water near Wrinkled Old Man

 

Dropped into the arroyo in need of shade

 

Found a wrinkled old man sitting in a cave

 

He said he’d been waiting a long time for me

 

He gave me his gourd so I could drink

 

I was having trouble with my sight in the shade

 

He was misty and distorted, starting to fade

 

He told me to place my faith in his words

 

“A white man with courage is coming soon “Life is more encompassing

 

Than any of us have

 

Been led to believe

 

Red man and white man

 

Both went wrong

 

The colors are gone from the corn

 

Indian put his faith

 

In Earth and clan

 

White man wanted to dominate man”

 

He said awareness is draped in mystery

 

We all shape our world to fit our needs

 

We’re a feeling first, a piece of the sun

 

Our true journey is a spiritual one

 

“Pahana never was to blame

 

He knew his return would

 

Mean the end of the Age

 

He knew we’d have to

 

Walk a long, hard road

 

To remember the completeness

 

In our soul To remember that we need to

 

Keep open our door”

 

He told me to mark these words and write them well

 

When the comet comes there’ll be a story to tell

 

Then he told me a truth that he had to reveal

 

The Sierra Tinaja Pinta has a secret to yield

 

Dropped into the arroyo in need of shade

 

Found a wrinkled old man sitting in a cave

 

He told me to place my faith in his words

 

“A white man with knowledge is coming soon” So, is the story of Pahana just a fairytale, or is it a myth that could actually enter into

 

reality?

 

Oraibi was founded circa 1306 AD, making it the oldest continuously inhabited site in the

 

United States. Before settling the three mesas, the Hopi probably came from one or more

 

of several cliff dwellings in the area; Betatakin, Keet Seel, Inscription House, or Canyon

 

de Chelly. Before that, they possibly lived at Chaco Canyon. And before then, they were

 

on their migrations to the four pasos. But none of that really matters. They still cling to

 

their Creation Tablets, the broken off corner still missing from one of them. They still

 

wait for the return of Pahana.

 

And what would happen if Pahana did indeed return? What would be the consequences? The Hopi Indians would of course be vindicated for holding onto their age old beliefs,

 

and the rest of the American Indians would hold their heads a little bit higher as they

 

stepped along their Road of Life. And one would like to think that there would be a new

 

spirit of cooperation between not only the white and red man, but amongst all the peoples

 

of the world. But probably nothing would change. Western man would still want to

 

dictate to the rest of the world.

 

In a few years, a very special event is about to occur, something that has not happened for

 

over 5120 years. The present Mayan Age that began August 11, 3114 BC will come to an

 

end and a new one will begin. No doubt we will be swamped with all sorts of dire

 

predictions and doomsday scenarios. My own belief is that the day will come and go just

 

like any other day there’s ever been. A few more than usual Mayan Indians may wake up

 

with a hangover. I might wake up with one myself. But that’s just the way it goes.

 

Nothing will really change.

 

But it will be a very poetic transition. There is a dark belt in the Milky Way where there

 

are no stars. Our scientists tell us that cosmic dust blocks out the starlight. The Mayans

 

call this the Tree of Life, and it is a very sacred symbol in their cosmology. On December

 

21, 2012, the Milky Way will be positioned in just such a way that when the sun rises that

 

day, it will climb up the Tree of Life, and the new Age will begin. This date coincides

 

with the annual Soyal ceremony of the Hopi. Just as most of the people of Mesaamerica shared the common myth of the returning

 

white man, the Pahana, or Quetzalcoatl, or Kukulcan, so did all the peoples of

 

Mesoamerica share the Mayan calendar. What better time for Pahana to return than at the

 

beginning of the New Age?

 

Bernalillo is a town just north of Albuquerque on the Rio Grande. Kuaua is the pueblo

 

just outside of town that Coronado commandeered to house his soldiers in during the

 

winter of 1540-1. It is now Coronado State Park.

 

Bernalillo

 

He may meet you at Bernalillo

 

From Kuaua he’ll guide you home

 

He knows that old Indian is west of there

 

In the middle of Third Mesa

 

By a juniper

 

With a smile and a grasp and a

 

Pat on the back

 

He’ll give him the stone that fits the tablet

 

Come down from the forests As a mountain lion

 

Fly to the mesas as mongwau the owl

 

Grandmother Spider keeps the web

 

She’s going to let a little magic

 

Return to the land

 

You may meet him at Bernalillo

 

From Kuaua he’ll guide you home

 

The way is still long but it will make you strong

 

It will touch your soul

 

And it’ll make you grow

 

The Bible only told half the story

 

The joining of two faiths

 

Makes it complete

 

If you feel there’s a reason

 

We feel right and wrong

 

If you feel that there’s more to life

 

Than what you’ve been taught

 

He may meet you at Bernalillo

 

From Kuaua he’ll guide you home

 

He knows that old Hopi is west of there

 

In the middle of Third Mesa By a juniper

 

With a smile and a grasp and a

 

Pat on the back

 

He’ll give him the stone that fits the tablet

 

Come down from the forests

 

As a mountain lion

 

Fly to the mesas as mongwau the owl

 

Grandmother Spider keeps the web

 

She’s going to let a little magic

 

Return to the land Epilogue

 

So that’s it. That’s the end of the Songs from Long Road.

 

I’m quite proud of some of these songs. Some I’m not so proud of. That’s the way it

 

goes.

 

My biggest disappointment is that I wish I could have more fully conveyed the richness

 

and complexity of pre-Columbian American society, from the pre-ceramic cultures of

 

Peru on forward. With the coming of corn, the America’s literally blossomed. The

 

cultures of Mexico were especially diverse. The Olmecs were considered the first

 

“empire” builders, with centers in highland Mexico, (Chalcatzingo) to the Gulf coast (La Venta) to the Guatemalan Pacific coast. But the Mixtecs, Huastecs, and Zapotecs were

 

not far behind, and the Mayans may have always been there and they certainly surpassed

 

all of the others with the artistic richness of their pottery, stela and architecture. Some of

 

their artists are now known. They signed their works. There is one from Yaxchilan and

 

one from Palenque who would rival Rembrandt and Michelangelo. One reads an awful

 

lot about the Mayan “collapse.” Anthropologists try to nail down the cause. Hell, the

 

common people simply got together and ran the rich elites out of there. Who needs some

 

fat cat telling you how to live your life? Spend all of your time hauling around five ton

 

blocks of stone to build a residence for one of them and you just can’t live your own life.

 

You’re too danged tired at the end of the day. And you’ve got mysteries to solve!

 

Besides, you don’t want to have to worry about having to fight a bunch of wars simply

 

because the elite rulers got mad at each other. That sounds familiar even today.

 

Teotihuacan in central Mexico in 200 AD may have been the largest city in the world at

 

that time. Who were these people? We don’t know. What is known is that they influenced

 

everybody in Mexico and Guatemala. There were also two large diasporas of Nuhuatl

 

speaking people, one around 600 AD at the fall of Teotihuacan and another around 1100

 

AD when Tula of the Toltecs fell. In both instances large populations went to Nicaragua.

 

In the latter diaspora Toltecs also showed up in the Mississippi cultures and possibly

 

Chaco Canyon in New Mexico. The Toltecs are probably the most mysterious of the

 

Mexicans. Even in this day and age they are both feared and revered by the common

 

people. Yes, all these Indian groups still live in Mexico. Some of you may have visited

 

Chitzen Itza on the Yucatan Peninsula. The common theory is that Tula influenced Mayan Chitzen. I hang with the minority and say it was the other way around. Tula is a

 

very poor replica.

 

After the fall of Tula, the Aztecs moved into the Valley of Mexico.

 

Western Mexico was different from the rest of Mexico because they received heavy

 

influence from Peru. Peruvians were great sailors. Cocaine even shows up in Egyptian

 

mummies. I might note that the Aztec were never able to conquer the Tarascans of West

 

Mexico.

 

In the northern fringes of Mesoamerica we find the large centers of Paquime in northern

 

Mexico, along with Chaco Canyon in New Mexico. Later on the cliff dwellings were

 

built and then the pueblos along the Rio Grand, as well as the Zuni, Acoma, and Hopi

 

pueblos. All these people may or may not have had similar roots. You can trace down

 

some of it through language. The Hopi, for example, speak a form of Uto-Aztecan, but

 

where and when did they diverge from the main group?

 

South America is just as diverse, if not more so, with cultures running from the coast to

 

the high Andes; from the Mochi culture to Chavin, to Tiwaniku, to Cuzco and Machu

 

Pichu, not to mention the tribes of the Amazon. Where did all these people come from?

 

From the land bridge between Russia and Alaska? Yeah, right. The oldest archaeological

 

sites are all in South America. That doesn’t mean older ones won’t be found here in

 

North America. Personally, I think people got here however they could, just like today. Some swam, some sailed, and some walked a long, hot desert or a hard, cold ice mass

 

seemingly forever.

 

Anyway, I see I’m beginning to bore you. If you’re interested, check it out. There are all

 

kinds of literature on the subject. Just google Amazon. Or google Google.

 

What I really wanted to say with today’s note is that Sam and I are having a party

 

tomorrow. I’m sure that by now you’ve all located the power spots near you. You know,

 

the places where the lines touch the Earth. If you feel like it, just grab one of the lines and

 

come on over. You’ll touch down behind the house by the creek. If you haven’t been

 

down there before, just climb the north bank and you’ll soon find the house. The garden’s

 

done great this year so there will be plenty of food and drink. See you then!

 

Hope you all have a good one.

 

And I really do hope you enjoyed the Songs from Long Road.

 

Wayne and Sam

 

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