I’ve been rolling a little stone around in my hand, a gift that was given to me and represents a lesson taken to heart. It is was given to me by an aged woman of the nations I have known
She is a as kind and gentle a person as you would ever meet, but has a great strength about her as well and a real sense of humor-she isn’t sure of her exact age and it is of little importance to her as she has lived a life based not on calendars but on events and experience.
The present state of decline and acculturation dismays her no end, but despair is not a part of her character-and hope is a wellspring that flows eternal from her.
We’ve spoken on occasion about AIM, and the liberators-she holds them and the organization in low esteem-electing to say it, and they, are all lacking in substance, and in many ways like loud children without respect who only want to be seen, heard, and eat well-to have more than those around them.
Perception and a keen sense of right and wrong are attributes of hers-she has no romantic illusions or is fooled by any, as are the non indigenous, who buy into the we came, we saw, we liberated-when the reality is they came, they saw, fell all over each other for the media spotlight, and in turn employed it to launch careers and propel themselves into a higher income bracket.
Truths have begun to emerge, and I see now a greater awareness and acknowledgement of them beginning to take hold, an understanding that too many of the problems exist within the communities and the prevailing attitudes. We as individuals, as a people, need to learn, to remember if you will, that we do not need treaties, self labeled liberators, or the wealthy among us to determine our future-we need only ourselves, each other, and the will to do so.
All this while liberators sit in their personal comfort like Jaba the Hutt. Loath to acknowledge or address topics raised, content to spin their version of reality and say look at me.
Like used car salesmen replete in the obligatory K-martesque attire, jingling change in their pocket and assuring one and the all the wreck they are attempting to sell is a real beauty-when the reality is you will need to bring a friend to help you tow it home.
It has been my great good fortune to know people such as this fine woman, and others who live tradition rather than talk it. They have, and continue to plant seeds that in turn will be planted elsewhere.
They have been instrumental in making me more than I probably would have been in their absence, and I will not forget that, or the gift of a little gray stone.
She has said it is important to learn the white ways, their words and knowledge-not to live them, but to know them, the better to equip the people-that what once was will never be exactly the same again and it is a matter of survival and preservation.
If not we will always stand in line waiting for a piece of bread and have others tell us what to do and how we will live. That there is a power in knowing these things if turned to our advantage-and a growing weakness if we do not and choose instead to accept the words of liberators as tradition and for our benefit.
I remember going for a walk with her once and she picked up this small stone and gave it to me asking me what impressed me most about it-I told her that it had the feel of strength about it -and she said yes and because of that many good things could be made from stones-a tool, shelter, something to hunt with and provide food or protection, that when it came to the nations we should be like the stone with it’s many good qualities, and remember we were meant to endure, to always be a part of the land much the same as the stone is.
That men and women in their coming together should be like flint and stone that in contact become more, a compliment one to the other and capable of producing a spark that leads to a flame- a flame, an example, to guide and insure the well being of the nations.
Simple words, but profound in the truth they speak-and I have yet to read or hear anything of comparable value emanate from liberators. I carry that little stone in my pocket at all times and sometimes find myself rolling it around in my hand like a marble and remembering we were meant to have strength and endure-to make good tools of ourselves for our loved ones and the people.
A concept liberators have never understood-but one I believe Annie Mae did.