December 3rd, 2010
What a woman said to me stunned my heart into a sharp stillness. I suddenly heard the sound of thunder and then the rain fell.
"See through the eye of creation. Become sage. Speak your truth in a fearless expression that will never age. Paint and be free.
Know your spirit as it falls to the Earth. Like your Father and me. Believe your a warrior till death from birth. Live your sacred
Native Life as a fearless expression unconquered and unconquerable. Open up your Lodge of love in the secret name given,
so all who visit your fire may warm themselves by it. Heal the wounded, lift the poor of heart, shelter the children who are
homeless and spend your days and nights Protecting Wild Things."
So as I grew into a man, I wrote it down to never forget the feelings I shared with my sacred Choctaw Mother and a Chickasaw
Father. Today as warriors wearing the painted faces of time, we admit that we have survived the long journey. We confess that our
work is necessary as we hunt and gather in a new kind of forest. These new age times are Our days and nights. We see it and
must move through it. We ride the many trails of a coyote prairie. We drive inside steel steeds in a vision for new sunset. We still
seek the great uprising. We feel certain this is not our way for a sacred life but, we fight to keep our families alive anyway. We
are of the visions of old and so the new stories of our way to victory will be told. We are the warriors of Thunderstorms and Rain.
We are the First Nations people surviving genocide and pain. In the art of a creative song life some have traveled through the mystic realms with a gift of respect landing in the heart of our ancient places. Man the Thunderstorm, Woman the rain with many faces. May we always listen to the sacred voices of
understanding our ancient days and feel the instructive breath of our unconquered winds inside the Native ways. By creating sacred ties of compassion made of our eternal truth we lift our rare and unique spirits to a prayerful new beginning. For we within the sacred hoop of intelligence have already seen where we have been. In the rise from sleep awakened and facing the early sunrise, we know this face, the guide of light, we know he will bless us into sight within the holy days path.
We are all warriors of the now and seek the new adventure. We fight somehow to do more than just survive. Let us react and feel the pulse of nature flowing through our heartlands to teach us in artful unity the sacredness of our ancient ways that lead us into our own Great Beauty. By taking every prayerful step along the sacred path living becomes more than just a walk in visitation, but a reflection of energies that flows within the realms of the forevermore.
In visions may it be of fate or destiny the journey continues and one by one we in our own good time must make the stand. A final stand. Lead or follow. It is a hard choice but, as a true human being found in a place that appears to be far from home, our heartland and in a moment where we feel alone, all things of this new way of life seem so unfair. Yet, such as we are filled by memory of the traditions and of the Grandfathers love, unconquered courage keeps us in strength. May we move our energies into the pulse of our most sacred nature and flow within the continuum of our native heartland resting in the canopy of our many inspired dreams.
By the visions of Elders came the hope of many and here on the trails of thunder, enthralled by a spectacle of creation, we add to our spiritual strength through the unity of our tribal peace and within the awe of our Native Love. Obedient to every name of the forest, we confessed upon the stolen wonders that fell upon our humble but worthy sight. Our land and the ones who fight. Never gentle was the path. Never safe was the climb to wear an Eagles Crown. Only sacred truth fell to the camps seated in the pueblo valleys. New songs of healing came to the Kivas as a burning torch and brought to all living things the likeness of awe. Always by the Sundance a Great warrior in victory cries in the horrors of war for ways into sacred peace.
We are Unconquered Native Nations that has recovered from a past of great tragedies and found ways to expand our history so all may see the power of adaptation and the amazing spirit of the warrior. Young Cloud Rising, Tall Mountain, Broken Elk, Walks In Smoke, Salt Bear, Raven Heart and all who carry the totems in names that will never be forgotten. Let nothing move you from your quest to bring right from wrong. Teach and keep to your tradition. Be more than a survivor. There is no history that can curse the blessed Spirit. The Creator will not allow it.
May it be the choice of your own energy to rise above all manner of destruction and to fulfill your duty to pass on the blessings that you know are already yours to the next generation. Keep your language and traditions alive by living as a fearless expression ruled by the almighty power of tribal love. You are the miracle of all life works today and the planting seed of the future.
Surrender not in your own way to peace knowing the wonders of our Great Blessings are already upon us. There are our women whose eyes of inner-sight are set on fire. They are more than sacred to us. They are everything and all things combined. Miracle bearers. We are thunderstorms but, they are the life giving rains. As an elder I smile turning the coals of a mountain fire and smoke in sacred ways to praise them. I a man made of muscle and bone to rise and sing by the scared drum and to let them loose in their golden sound of Native love tonight. Blow your winged Eagle bone trumpet past the deep blue windows of ancient visions sweet woman, so all may dance in the fever of the Grandfathers great beauty. Star cast wonders drip down the calling throat of our Sage so all may drink of the sweet light in truth beyond all measure.
Canyons of hope open the gate and swing wide the doorways in passage to the miracles that refuge our families. Rest us Great One in the arms of awe for I love my First Nations and shrink not from the heat of battle. Let the Warriors run wild to refuge the wounded and lift the poor of heart. Show us your smile in the dawn of our victory and feed us the hunger of your ambition so we may know better the need to rise above all pain or misery. Lift our hands being we have fallen weak to hold one another from loneliness or sorrow and gift us strength to gather in unity to Protect Wild Things. Bless us and all our relations inside the magic and mysteries of Thunderstorms and rain.
Creations By: Barry K. Byers
Paintings, poetry and photography
Copyright protected all rights reserved 2010
Protecting Wild Things
Kicking Bear Barry
October 23rd, 2009
You are the walk in great beauty and the very miracle of my life today as your light shines through any stormy pass. I am devoted always to our unity in friendship as we adjoin our sacred circles in a voice to strengthen the cause for the Greater good of all living things. Our native footprints are engraved ancient within the stone pathway along the canyon walls. Our flute songs are healing red clay murdered in the stone mountains penetrating the new yawn within the smoke of our sacred fire. The prayer filled stillness of these deerskin covered feet annoint the heartbeat of visions deep within the waterfalls of all vitality. I see you here gazing into the wild forest wearing the scented oil. An oath spoken in rain droplets revolve and shine fervent as the perfect window of love and peace. Water blessings are falling into spring life calling. What pleasure it is to witness your opening of the hallowed veil of passion. What perennial fruit is born in kindness to feel your expressions in dreams unfrozen by the long winded tundra? Loose us vibrant into the howling universe as the divine offering in a summer wind. Feel me wanting nothing more than springtide petals unfolding our salvation. I whisper secret thoughts of you weaved by gentle flowers blossoming near the crystal cave. Aware of the summit view milked by grace as a miracle in cosmic beauty we land brave and sure to love again. Undressed green pedicel, I am cured here in the rooted valley of sweetness. It is I who is speaking and held tender by the tall turf swayed by this moment of splendor. My heartbreak captured foolish by natures awe. Will you come to the pond of pine poking at the paws imprint and reflect upon all we saw? Will you drink with me while we feed from the wild berries choked back by thorns? May we kneel wide awake looking skyward. What labor of love forgives our intrusion upon this land not ours. May it heal in time.
Protect The Wild Things !!
Kicking Bear Barry
The Eccentric Poet