We are camped at OK RV in Spanish Valle, Moab, UT. The surroundings are amazing: red rock cliffs on all sides; on one side, snow-capped mountains peeking over the cliffs.
The following essay was written by my friend Marcia. She sent it to me in response to my thoughts about our government’s treatment of the Native Peoples who were here LONG before the white man came. She gave me permission to print it here.
“Come to Know Me
Out of the current of many bloodstreams, walked one of my ancestors. She was a product of the Cherokee Nation and the Trail of Tears. I wonder if she treasured dreams of those who would come after her; who would revere the knowledge of her existence although it was in a far off time. And I wonder if she could envision the shadows of her nature, which would fall across my soul.
I never knew her name. I only know she was.
But the power of her genes exceeds all others, and I find the very colors of my soul streaming from her life.
In me, the musky autumn leaves spin toward the earth, cast-off from molting trees huddled together to brace against the promise of chilling days to come.
In me, the mournful voice of a loon haunts from the far side of waters blackened by a moonless night. Its call rides upon the gentle sound of the waves rhythmically kissing the shore.
In me, the soft earth is alive as it caresses the soles of my feet, skimming a path left behind by the journeys of others. I go lightly, and before long seem to walk on air above the ground.
In me, the sweet pine smoke of many fires rises to give its offering to the skies and permeates the dampness of the evening mist.
In me are the melancholy yearnings for a sense of place, which long ago was lost and lies beyond the reach of all my efforts to embrace it and lie down.
But, if you were to come across my path and see my face, you would not recognize me. You would see the face of the grandmother down the street, living in the house around the block, cooking, cleaning, and shopping at your local store.
All generations learn to walk upon the boards of the stage on which their lives are played. And you would see my face and think you know me well.
It takes vision with perception to reach inside and draw the curtains from the windows of another's soul. Then you will know. “
Life is good, when one has a friend like Marcia. Thanks be to God.
October 31, 2010, 4:15 p.m., Sunday, Sunny, a little cool.
next~
home~
~Email Me!~~ Collaborative ~
Archives ~
Spiritual ~