TRANSMISION ONE ::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

 

In another life, I sought out some people for whom I have the highest regard, many of them dead now.

It makes me sad, angry and oddly part elated because I feel their spirits have suffused into a world which they perceived but I only caught a glimpse of.

 

JOHN TRUDELL died in 2015

 

The FBI had a file on him so voluminous that even he was shocked when he finally discovered it; they regarded this ex-Vietnam vet and leading voice in the American Indian Movement [AIM] as one of the most dangerous men in America. Odd that he should occupy the same status as Timothy Leary, or perhaps not. Both of these men lived and thought in ways that changed the world, whether in small or great ways. 

 

Certainly my spiritual encounter with Trudell and the small band of warriors that fought to protect their beleagured people in Pine Ridge, a stones throw away from the dusty delapitated Wounded Knee, shame of America, was life changing for me, a consciousness from which I will thankfully never recover.

 

And in my search, I met Granma Murielle Antoine, who claimed to be the grand daughter of Red Cloud - I feel so fortunate and blessed for this connection and the mask she made of my not so un-native face, and the revelations she shared with me. Her grand daughter taught me the Lakota word for cat - ['Ig Moo'], funny what little details stand out over the years that still touch my heart.

 

I tried to fling open the doors of my world to theirs in the fantasy that I could help these people, "My people".

I am not born Lakota, but I think I breathe a similar air, hard to explain really - but maybe the clip I am linking will convey a solitary corner of what it is I experience.

 

I visited Sinte Gleska university there in South Dakota. No armed guards, no suspicious eyes, nothing, just an antiquated group of buildings which looked rough with a sort of heavyweight quaintness - as I entered a doorway which suggested it had been off its hinges more than once I saw a student with one eye severely damaged and pleasantly (to my eye) disheveled.

 

I wanted to connect Sinte Gleska to the university I was attending in the sunny old grandfather of colonialism, England - it was a sort of dream of mine. If I could help student exchanges and make their plight and causes known, (average age of mortality for Lakota men is 47, lower than in may '3rd world' countries), maybe I could help in some way?

 

I did not succeed, at least still up until over 20 years later... shame on me.

 

John Trudell is dead - and the grief I feel is as strong in other ways as I felt and feel over the premature death of my only familial brother a few years thence.

 

He, Trudell, left the legacy of his art, poetry, musicianship, warriorship, soulfulness and almost otherworldly wisdom. He did not leave us empty handed, without gifts, even though his own life into middle age was brutal, and one of struggle and deep contemplation.

 

There are many stories to tell in my life from my encounters with 'the people', and almost all of them, apart from my trip to the Kickapoo in Kansas, (but even then), fascinating and mysterious - empowering and in essence, visionary.

 

The power that exists within that seed is not remotely diminished - it lingers and triggers and inculcates.

 

There is much hidden in language, secrets that too many of us cannot even perceive though the evidence and power of it is right there in front of us, sometimes so universal and liberating just to think of it, it sends shivers down my spine.

 

Like the music of Robbie Roberston whom I regard as a medicine man (at least for me), listen and be enchanted - thrust beyond the confines of time and limitation into the numinous - feel the meaninglessness of small doings and pettiness, tail chasing when there is an infinity of adventure and wisdom out there - tell me if you don't feel the magic, the trajedy the transformation and I will know you are stone cold dead - Unbound...https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnZb1

 

NO BORDERS,

NO FENCES,

UNBOUND!!!

 

Was this not the American dream that the white man shredded to ruin?

 

Worry not, I apportioned responsibility of massacres, betrayals, unruliness and hypocrisy across the board in a revelation, a trance like vision I had before heading out there - both white, red and all involved were castigated (including myself) for the failure of possibilities - forgive me for my bluntness - but I experienced the spirit speaking through me, and it was not the first nor the last time.

 

Try to leave the confines of your programming reader... I implore you, lose the margins and artificial boundaries that restrict you - and get that glimpse of the sacred, for it is everywhere.

 

The Chataqua continues. 

 

So what is this all about, what is it I mean to say... and does it have any value for you dear reader?

Of course only you can decide from your viewpoint and experience - for my part I know there is a fire burning in human consciousness so powerful it can transform everything - the ultimate goal of the alchemist, no, Lead into Gold!

 

Perhaps, you will get a sense of it too, the lilt of sweetgrass in the air, by watching this short clip: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrCOFUpRg8w

 

Since that time - though it seemed as nothing was achieved, my life has never been the same - and I have not and will not give up - though where it leads me in the end, I know not.

 

Long Live John Trudell,

and as Naomi Klein cites him in her new book, 'No is Not Enough', 

"I'm not looking to overthrow the American government, the corporate state already has."

John Trudell

Santee Dakota activist, and poet (1946-2015).