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There is a true story about a tribe of
Indians who got themselves lost on purpose. People of the North, they usually were, but they referred to and also thought of themselves as "summer people." For they thrived best during that wamer season of the year. One day, tiring of winter's hardship, they made the decision to travel further south, into unfamiliar lands. Along the way, they witnessed many unfamiliar sights, and experienced unusually warm temperatures. Surely, they began to think, we are now literally in the land of the sun. There was a Peyote Seer among them. Revered by the tribe for his insight. His duty was to pay special attention to strangeness, for he had be entrusted a sacred duty to protect his entire tribe. So, while the tribal members slept soundly and unaware, he remained vigilant, wide-awake, and seeing. In the morning, when they awoke, he spoke to them saying: "Last night as you slept, we were surrounded by tiny men with long tails and pointed spears." " Surely, these beings strange beings mean us harm." The tribal members scoffed at him and the visions at first. But, soon, they too began to see the tiny men with long tails and pointed spears, they began to understand the danger they were in. They had entered too far into the hot land of the sun and forgotten, as a people, what it was like to be themselves and to taste buffalo meat. So, heeding the Peyote Seer's wisdom, they packed up and left to return to the North. I laughed aloud when I first read the recounting of this true story of the Kiowas by M. Scott Momaday. For surely, in my mind, he was referring to tiny demons. But then, this story, began to strike a chord with me as well. And, I, too, looked around me, realizing, that I, too, had journeyed too far from home. I began seeing those around me as "people pretending to be my people"... when they wore the tails of rats and walked on all fours like rats did. Had it been a mistake to leave a place I'd formerly thought of as stale and overly familiar? Thinking again, I examined my heart. Had I forgotten who I was? Was the seed of my identity mostly planted in a familiar place where I, so long ago, once lived? And who could I hope to be now? Copyright February 3, 2014 All Rights Reserved By this Author Meloo/Melissa A Howells Site: Tilt-a-World Vote for this poem |
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