Voices

When he was a kid, his old roan mare would sometimes stop and listen to the ground…

She would stand motionless, twitching her ears at different places in the desert.

As he grew older, he too, started to hear voices from inside the earth, and he would stare off the rocks and sands.

Often the boy and his roan mare would get side tracked from chasing tumble weeds under the endless blue skies as they followed his grandfather out to looking for cows among the grassy hills.

The boy and his horse would stop and listen, and they would walk slowly to try to make out where the sounds and noises were coming from.

One day his grandmother was parked on a hill, she saw him and his horse in the distance, standing motionless looking at some rocks that were sticking out of the sand and grass.  She drove over in their old ford truck, to see what he was up to.

The ground around the grey rocks, was littered with shiny stones.

Somethings talking over there, the boy said. 

Grandmother pointed to the shiny flakes, Your great grandfathers were here, this is how they talk.  Look, one of them is sitting right there. 

A horned toad sat alone on his rocky mountain, towering only a little taller than the dancing yellow grass.

When your older, you are going to know what they are saying, she said.  When your small, you don’t understand them, but you will someday..

Grandma went to the horned toad and had her corn pollen bag out.  This is what you give to your grandfather, she sprinkled some corn pollen on him.  Grandma spoke quietly and reverently to the horned toad, The boy only recognized his name as she spoke in the language of the rocks.  Grandfather sat on his rock watching the boy and his horse out of the corner of his eye. 

Whats that you say?  She put her ear close to the horned town with a smile.  Your grandfather is saying, you should be careful, otherwise a beautiful dark haired woman is going to take your voice someday.  Shes going to keep it close and she wont let you come out here anymore. We are going to have to give your horse to her.

The boy was listening intently to his grandmother, and suddenly he was startled that some icky girl might take his voice and his old mare. 

His old roan mare heard this, and she squinted at grandmother, then squint at the horned toad, shifting uneasily and twitching her ears.

Grandma just winked and smiled at little at the old horse.       

The young boy scratched the mares ear and leaned forward to whisper, No, no one is going to take us from here… 

They reined up, then rode off to pick up the trail of wayward cattle…

Grandmother stayed a while, talking with the horned toad, the rocks and the swaying grass that was dancing around her skirt.

People of the Desert Dream

People of the desert dream,
We dream big.
We dream of big spaces, that haven’t existed for generations,
We dream of unfenced grasslands, that our greatest grandfathers saw,
We dream of the first time we finally saw the ocean, and felt its deep pull
We dream of painted horses running down the setting sun.
We dream of our first horse, running out of the night and stamping the ground in front of us, 30 years, 2 broken bones, 5 broken hearts, 8 failed jobs, 4 broke down trucks, countless new scars and a head full of grey hair later.

She dances out of a black and white night, calling, then she darts back into the shadows dragging a fiery sky behind her.
We dream of the first love, driving away forever down the dusty road,
We dream about the day we finally hit it big and we can get that big 1 ton flat bed and the things we could haul
We dream of beautiful longhaired children we never had, righting our wrongs in the world.
We dream of the ability to write these things, to sing these things, to paint these things but realize the time and ability to do so is gone, and we just keep them in our head as we sip coffee staring off to the horizon… 

XXXII

My truth..

Can not exist while your truth does…

Her eminence grew until her form blotted out the stars…

My truth… is not your truth.. she thundered and a million grains of sand danced to her voice…

Fox lay amongst the bones of beast of all sizes, he had been focused on reaching a single tree growing above the burning desert sands… he had reached the tree in the dark, his tracks meandered through a forest of white bones of giants, of monsters, of men and lesser creatures…  He lay among them all, looking away from her.

Your truth… keeps you from me… she hissed as she came back to earth.

Fox sat up and weakly kicked his ragged boots off.

She smiled at him, she was behind the bar of the little Mexican place he had gone to with his brothers when he was young.  Christmas lights twinkled and the mariachi band played a lively tune.  She stared deep into him, jingling ice in a glass to the beat of the guitar.

Fox sat quietly and keep his eyes to the sand.

My truth… is this, she waved her hand and they were on a beach, and she threw cold cans of Tecate to passing tourists, she waved her hand again, and she was at a busy Starbucks he used to frequent and grab a cup of cold coffee on hot day..

My truth could be your truth… she smiled jingling ice..

Your truth, does not let mine exist. 

Your ancestors truths, getting chased, getting hunted, their truths diminish mine.

Your grandparents truths, toiling and surviving in the desert, raising their kids against the odds, weakens my truth..

Your truth, your voice, your beliefs, your strengths… keeps you over there thirsty on the hot sand while your father glares and bakes you from above…when you could be over here at the bar with me…

Fox stared through her as she walked towards him across the sand.  She was attended by little whirlwinds that held her hair up under she was so close she enveloped him.  The little whirl winds laughed as they wound around him, and she became so close he could feel her breath against his cheek.

Your truth..

Woman laying down…

My grandparents used to tell me that the mountain, Dookʼoʼoosłííd, was a woman laying down.

When you drive in from the north, you can see her face, her breasts, her stomach, her knees, her feet.

I think fondly of the times I was in love, and saw that same image next to me..

I am 44 years old now, my hair is graying, but believe it now, stronger than i did in the 80s as Nalis spoiled grandson running around in the desert.

I am a lucky man to have the honor and privilege to help keep her safe, and to work along side all the people who protect her.

In my mid life, I get frustrated with myself a lot. I wake up sad thinking of all the mistakes I have made.

I have a hard time looking at myself, because I see old scars, scars that ache in the night and scream their stories into my ear…

They tell me of all the times I threw down and lost but after laying in the dirt catching my breath, I limp back onto that wild horse, because I always hear my uncles voice in my head telling me to get back on, otherwise it think it can control you…

Every so often, i feel a moment of confidence, that maybe I actually know what I am doing, and maybe every wrong road I ever took, was actually the creator bringing me to this point…

Before the last ones…

There wasn’t enough time before the last ship left.

There wasn’t even a word for the last ship.

He went anyways, because grandfather told him to go.

As they went, neither he or his grandfather knew the words anymore, they just set out from his house among the sands.

His great grandfather would say the words in his sleep but he was the last of the old ones that knew the words that the earth spoke, a child does not remember these things, the adult the child becomes does not remember.  He sometimes a dream of his great grandfather saying the words to the last horse. The last horse he only saw in drawings on rocks in hidden canyons..

As they traveled across the dry lands, his grandfather would point to a dry hill and say that was once a great mountain and powerful gods once lived there.  Gods that left because we stopped saying their names….

They would stop at the base of the hills, and his grandfather gathered handfuls of dry sand in a small bundle.  Grandfather held it out and pressed it into his chest with his trembling ancient hands “you must take these grandson”…

Six times they stopped, passing miles of ruined houses, and the skeletons of ancient beasts. They had to steer around towering clouds of red sand that swirled high into that searing blue sky as the sun tried to stop them.

The voice of the sun echoed in bolts of blue lightening that challenged them in the forgotten words of the earth, as they drove on.

As they drove, the young man stopped for Grandfather, who would fall asleep between stories of mountains, forests and great oceans…

As grandfather slept, young man would walk the sand dunes, wandering about the great world that once was, that was now long behind him.

As he wandered, he gathered the dry branches of long dead trees, he pocketed pottery sherds and the flints of his ancient grandfathers. He gathered the special rocks when he found them, only because he knew that grandfather would say they were special, turquoise, obsidian, ocher,

He stumbled into canyons and would stare at the ceilings of crumbling caves and stare in awe at animals he never saw. Men hunted the ancient bighorns, women gave birth at the edges of now dried up rivers…

On some walls, he saw horses, cattle and trucks of his sazi, his great great great great grandfathers..

He never saw these things himself except in dreams..

It was said his great grandfather owned the last horse ever, and the last cows before they were swallowed by sand.

In the young man’s youth, his great-grandfather would become overcome with grief and sorrow, and would tremble when he spoke of them..

The sand came and no one did anything..

The people continued to destroy the world under their own feet.

Surely his sazi, the people who had once gone to the red moon and back, could change things, they would have an answer.

Questions were asked of the crumbling cinderblock houses in the desert, they were asked to the black paved lines that went nowhere…

No answers would echo back…

His grandfather told him about time, how even things with and end start over.

This is the last of this glittering world.. Now we start again in blackness…

Take these things, the mountains in the bundles, the pictures your parents drew, the rocks you gathered when you were young…

Take them into blackness, into space, and start again..

The young man had bags of sand and rock, he had recordings of songs on plates, he had paintings of ancient insects, he had the bones of ancient animals long dust., the pottery and flints of his sazi..

They raced to the last ship as his grandfather slept in his seat..

The young man knew what was going to happen, grandfather had already told him he would not leave. 

It was up to him to take the memory of this place, the rocks, the pictures, the words and songs he knew and start again..

Ni tsekees

Im looking at the thoughts emanating from a persons mind,

nitsekees- to think..

nitsekees..

you can see it if you let yourself

you can see mine, my family can see my thoughts, my fear, my anxiety the things that make me happy

my friends see it, my horse sees it..

My mind lies to me,

That I am alone when i cant sleep, When somewhere one of the people that raised me or made me who i am, Someone somewhere on the same wavelength, in the same groove as me… Someone is also awake with me wondering what could be wrong..

Climb on this rock child, Yes even you, My young dark haired child, and you my scarred graying hair child, Sit here and look at the world above, and below. Your thoughts will take you places…

Id rather look at art, as a native artist first, a native scientist second…

Part XLI

Angry father always had a way of bringing him out.

During the night, Fox wandered the cool gray desert under the vast stars, that simmered in the endless sky. On earth, he wandered where unnamed constellations burned furiously on earth, street lights on empty streets, porch lights at homes where no one ever looked outside. Looking away from the light, he looked down and saw the tracks of retreating gods and their furred and feathered children, now set to search endlessly for places where the night was still dark.

Fox stumbled towards a dark outline that loomed as a black void against the starry horizon. As he stepped closer, he found himself at the foot of a solitary rock outcrop on the flat desert sea. He searched the edges and following the signs of his ancient ancestors, he was led to a crack that led to a maze inside. Inside, he stepped lightly through halls that ran between the rounded and pillared rocks. His body screaming for sleep, he fumbled onto some soft sand. As he lay, letting his eyes grow heavy, He wondered about the Red rocks stacked alone on the desert sands. Who were the ancient ones that built this place, what were the ancient names that were long forgotten.

The flames of the rising sun grew on the round edges of the horizon and his angry fathers’ gaze followed the only tracks that led to the red rocks. From above, Angry father shone down on solitary rocks with all his might until the red rocks became an oven around Fox, and he was forced back out into the desert sands.

All that could be done, was to straighten out the brim of his hat and drape the rotted blanket over his shoulders and set back to his aimless walk…

Part XXXIV..

My love she whispered…

Her voiced echoed through the deep slot canyon, where Fox sat holding his breathe, as he hid in black shadows among the serpentine shafts of light..

You know, the deeper you hide, the louder my voice becomes…

Fox tried not to look up, but he imagined her, laying on the edge of the rainbow canyon, smiling and speaking into the abyss. Soft rain drops fell beneath her long dark hair that hung over the edge of the narrow canyon as she smiled and listened for his breathing from below.. She would stop, then listen at the edge, then move a little further, singing softly.

Do you remember in college, when i met you at 80s night?

Do you remember the song?

“up down, turn around, please dont let me hit the ground..

From above, her whispered voice echoed off the rocks, and bounced off the sides of the canyon, growing in volume until it sounded as if she was smiling right next to him. Fox shut his eyes tightly and remained silent and still in the shadows.

Fox tried to cover his ears but her voice came from the rock walls, from the ground, even from deep inside the earth. Her spotted horse, had been grazing quietly and when he heard her sing, his ears perked up, his eyes grew bright and began to step lively to her song.

“Oh, you got blue eyes, oh you got grey eyes”

He heard them both laughing and dancing to New Order above, as he sat quietly in the darkest shadow he could find, wondering where the whole band came from. Fox stared at his boot, which had begun to tap to the beat, and used all his will power to keep it from dancing and carrying him away…

The places left..

As a young dark-haired boy, his grandfather put him on an old roan nag, and together they rode to the end of the earth. Grandfather sang the whole way and his massive horse would prance and step sideways, as he sang of a ancient world that young Fox never knew..

Fox imagined a young world of monsters and gods. As they rode high among the clouds, Fox saw only faint traces- lava flows, crumbling stone buildings, and vivid drawings on the cliffs.

As a young man, Fox and his father raced across the reservation in an old 77 mustang, and his father pointed out the places his grandfathers built. The Schools, the farms, the houses, the highways… All the great things that were put into motion, but came to a stop in his time…

Fox would often seek out the rusted old car sticking out of the sand. He would wander through the sand dunes and and sit in the passengers seat to ask it questions without answers while he stared out the broken windows..

Fox, a man, would walk among the silent mountains his grandfathers sang about, he would walk among the great concrete monuments his fathers talked about. Fox wondered what he would leave that would be told in story…

Fox, a grey haired man looks for room to make a place, in the visions of his grandfathers, and in the places left by his fathers…

The place

I see the things I love inside other people.
I see all the places I’ve been, and the places I want to go.
I sometimes stop for a few moments,

When I see the person I wanted to be,

Walk by in the supermarket.

I want to talk to them sometime, and ask how things are in their life, which could have been my life in another reality..

I would ask about their fears, their selfishness and greed, their love and their lusts, because they would be mine..

I would ask where they found their strength, so i could look there for my own…

The way

Every side road calls me,
As I leave my grandmothers country, and travel to the lands of other people,
To love the things and places they love
Their mountains are my mountains,
Their rivers my rivers,
Their people my people…
To protect their love as I protect mine..

Mile after endless mile,
Ive tried counting the signs and learning the names of the distant mountains.
Ive debated myself over all the mistakes of my past lives, and yelled into the mirror while hurtling past some bright town in the dark.
Ive pulled over in the desert and curled into a ball because my grief was to much.
Ive sat watching the sun rise and sun set and made oaths to myself of the changes i would make once i step foot back onto my own soil.
I pass by these very places and think of the great epiphanies and visions i have seen dancing on the desert mirages
I wish I could find the road to my old life and talk to my past self and tell myself how things will change and the person i have become.

I wish i could find a road to my older self, and tell that person who they were.

Sometimes, I pull over and gaze off to the empty paved roads going to the horizon,
To the people whose names I wont say anymore…

It is against my native instinct, to drive past the ocean that calls me. I feel the great pull to the west, to the great waters from where we have come and will return…
And instead drive to the angry orange sky,
Or to the tall columns of smoke boiling on the skyline.

Someday soon, I will sit in the ocean water and cool my soul.
To feel weightless and free as we are inside our mother.