I don't even know what to think.
Or where to start.
A whole, vast continent, peopled with such an amazing array of diversity.
Idealization or not, it was. War was, hunger was, but wholeness was.
Less than five hundred years to decimation.
What have we done? We, our father's curses carried generations long born onto our backs,
we, left naught but shit, bones and neon,
we, a static grey tumor of an idea, growing stale and shaky,
scars on the land ten thousand years long.
What has become of the garden in which my ancestors lived in,
why cannot I drink from any running stream?
What man or people would do such a thing, leaving his children poison?
Yet I play the game in fear, hiding in the dark woods, weaving my dreamspells, forging my family.
Allotment provided, government cheated, I still eat cainite-farmed food all day. Payumpsha gave me pinion but my hole won't be filled.
Amputated is what I feel, circumcised. But i've never met anyone who has an uncut soul, and my parents never told me that they did it to me, for unbeknownst to them theirs was stolen away too. How would any of us know the difference if we didn't have this nagging feeling?
My eyes search for but cannot see the other side, my eyes so burned out and blurred from classrooms, televisions, computers.
My soul yearns and feels naught but a dull ache, rubbed where there are scars.
Phantom magic.
Yet the nettles still grow while the salmon are nearly dead.
Hiding always I could find a way through the dark, empty eyes and houses of the world, yet how empty would this make me?
All of this is mine, all of it yours, all of it ours and everythings, yet i cannot live in a wild place without the threat of men with guns and badges who operate under the spell of the whore, taking always.
and where are my people?
you faeries, you are beautiful, i do not know where i would be without you.
yet even in this backwards sanctuary we find little healing of lifeways, little discouragement of sick circles,
every week we still drive twenty-five miles to the same store that everyone else goes to.
we just burn more gas getting there.
Where are my people?
Bright-eyed tribe that runs wild in the hills without fear of any man, breathing the joy of the universe in each breath, feeling the pain of life with each crash of bare foot against rock and moss and stick, where do you hide?
The mother will always provide us, if we are there to provide her.
What fear eats at us that even I cannot spend the night alone in the dark and cold?
What fear is it that eats my people so we are not together with our bodies tight against eachother in our house in the dark and cold of winter?
Fear of death? Fear of feeling the searing, burning, heartbreaking pain of what we are doing with each step on the concrete, each plastic bottle in the trash, each wrapper of food prepared by anonymous or machine?
Frustrated we trash connection,
longing we find it.
My mother gave me this bandanna, though she did not make it.
What of the days when our mothers and grandmothers weaved the very baskets we were carried in?
What of the days when our fathers brought us meat and wood to keep us full and warm?
They are not gone, they are only ignored.
This world is the same world we have always lived in, the same methods always work. We have discarded them for plastic and electricity.
People always get hung up on the progress concept. "We're progressing!"
Progressing like cancer.
Advancing like a disease.
Trick is, the cure is within you.
None of us can do this alone. I cannot do this alone.
Where are my people?
You are young and bright-eyed, aged and wise! I can already see my family through the haze of psychic confusion that pervades our radio-blanketed lands.
I have met my grandmother, i have met my uncles and two-spirit kin. We are already together.
My people are there.
We are blessed.
We need you to come home and heal with us.
Taking action is the only way to subvert this perversion, and sacrifice of convenience must be the way.
People have been living for two hundred and fifty thousand years.
We've been trying not to for a hundred and forty.
Are any of you ready to try out living again?
I sure am
but i can't do it alone.
Where are my people?