#20, November 25, 2003

 

Songs of Innocence and Experience

(continued)

 


 

Bloody Hand’s Prayer   (Iroquois)

 

He thanked the earth,

            his mother;

he thanked the rivers and streams,

            his water;

he thanked the sun

            his light;

he thanked the corn,

the beans, and the squashes,

            his food.

 

He thanked the wind

            for banishing disease;

he thanked the herbs

            for supplying his medicine;

he thanked the moon and the stars

            for their direction;

he thanked the thunder

            for giving him rain;

he thanked the Great Spirit,

            who directs all the elements

            and in whom is embodied all goodness.

 

 


Orenda   (Iroquois)

 

Orenda flows within our veins:

Orenda will aid and strengthen the

hunter;

Orenda will advise and counsel the

            speechmaker;

Orenda will lighten the burden of

            motherhood;

Orenda will teach all the children

            to sing.

 

Wise Deganwida

great counselor,

born of the virgin birth –

was endowed with the gift of Orenda.

And Hiawatha,

transforming the minds of the Onondaga

was endowed with the gift of Orenda.

 

The Great League has cast into the pit

weapons of hatred.

and the magical power of peace

flows in her veins.

 

 

 

 

The Wasiku’s Religion    (Iroquois)

 

When the Wasiku

landed on this great island

he brought with him religion.

 

He fled from the Wasiku

of the eastern isles

and we befriended him.

 

He asked for a small seat,

and we granted his request;

but in return we were deceived.

 

Now we have scarcely a place left

to spread our blankets –

and still the Wasiku move us on.

 

And now that we have little space

to spread our blankets

the Wasiku shares his religion with us.

 

He tells us of a Holy Book,

and the three gods,

that are all one, in another.

 

He tells us of the Son of God,

who taught the Wasiku principles

he soon forgot.

 

And he argues with other Wasiku

over the substance of these principles,
killing for his version of the truth.

 

But the men of this great island,

say that we too have religion,

though over it we never quarrel.

 

Like the Wasiku’s principles,

our religion was given to our forefathers,

who passed it on to their children.

 

It teaches us to be thankful to nature,

to love one another,

and to be united in body and mind.

 

Now we move on to new lands

wondering why the Wasiku talks religion

and practices deceit.

 

 

 

 

The Long March   (Cherokees)

 

This was the trail of tears:

 

a journey through a dark forest

where branches intertwined

shielding all light,

and where the trees danced together

obstructing our path.

 

It was as if our world

had been turned

upside down.

 

He-winds and She-winds

no longer carried away disease

but weakened the burdened travelers;

their waters no longer brought forth fruit

but drowned the tired children

in sickness;

 

red passion

            faded into blue despair

white hope

            turned as black as darkest night.

 

Death captured a multitude

and carried them off;

strong warriors,

frail mothers,

the old and the young.

 

No sun shone

during our journey into night;

the sky was overcast

and the dark clouds

kept the gods from view.

 

 

 


Consummation?

 

At Wounded Knee

a soul was consumed,

and deep in the ground

lies history,

there to be exhumed.

 

That soul was not the Indian’s

this may continue to thrive –

that soul belonged to modern man

who committed suicide.

 

A nation in maturity

was slaughtered

by a nation in its infancy;

and maturity was sliced into pieces

and boiled inside an abstraction,

the steaming melting pot.

 

And yet, at Wounded Knee

the bodies of the victims

remain at rest.

Only the murderers

have left the field

to search despairingly

for their mislaid souls.

 

At Wounded Knee

a soul was consumed

and deep in the ground

lies history,

there to be exhumed.

 


 

The Dreamers    (Nez Perce)

 

Can a man part with his head?

Can a man part with his heart?

            Neither can he part with his land.

 

I shall not go to another country,

My heart is in this land

            And here it shall remain.

 

My body cannot part with the earth.

 

 

 

 

Alfred Wilson’s Words    (Cheyenne)

 

Look up at the Milky Way!

see the path it lays across the heavens

and see the branch leading off into emptiness.

 

We must live according to nature,

or like that branch in the sky

we will carry ourselves

along the path of emptiness.

 

 

© Rob Gregg, 2003