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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




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




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




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




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




“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.




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




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.




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




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




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






No allegiance for His Majesty Destiny




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!






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




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.




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 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




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




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.




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




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




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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