8/7/09
Yet Another Random Killing
Once in the early 90’s I caught a taxi from LaGuardia into New York City. The taxi driver was from Ethiopia, Bangladesh or some another country whose refugees were flooding the city and taking jobs as drivers. Prominent in the news was another random violent attack. At that time “drive-by killings” was a relatively new coinage. Since then we have suffered Columbine, Virginia Tech, the most memorable among numerous such random killings. The driver said that what was preferable about living in a war zone was that you understood the rules of war. You knew what to expect. I’ve pondered his words often since then, especially with the recent killing of women in the gym in Pittsburgh. Living in a country besieged by random violence carries with it a different kind of anxiety than living in a war zone. And because there is no apparent reason for the violence it is more difficult to make sense of it, to put it in an historical or familial context.
8/2/09
Muskogee Nation News Column July 2009
As I begin this column the sun is coming up over Albuquerque. My earliest memories on this earth are of the sun. I am in my mother’s kitchen in Tulsa sitting in my red high chair. Sun is a bright being. I see the sun’s breath as a stream of light filled with energy. I love nothing better than to be inside it, to breathe it. When I was five I noticed that my pet dog Alligator also loved the sun and curled up into a circle where it warmed the ground. This morning I need the recharge, the illumination, and the words from the sun reminding me to keep going, to keep compassion in my heart no matter the challenges. And there are challenges. We all know them, share them, labor under them and emerge from them stronger, with the insight we need to grow. We live in complicated times.
When I return to the time of that child in the high chair, life was deep and complex, yet simple. There was no television blasting and our minds hadn’t yet been wrapped with the tentacles of need for the Internet, computers, or computer games. I remember my mother singing, often to the radio. Pop and dessert were treats, not daily addictions. Yet, those times weren’t perfect. My family had the usual problems that besiege Indian country residents. What was foremost was the presence of the sky and earth, and having the time to listen, to hear.
Last month I made it back to Oklahoma, and ran around the nation as I usually do when I’m home. I am planning a writing, music and performance program for tribal students to begin next year. Several of us met over at the Café on the Square for lunch to talk about it. I got excellent input from all those present, including Rebecca Landsberry, Angel Ellis, Angela Bunner, James King, Lee Longhorn, Ted Isham, Rosemary McCombs Maxey, and Margaret Barrows. Then I made it over to the College of the Muscogee Nation and was given a tour by Angela Bunner. I’m impressed by the progress there. I’d love to take the language classes with Norma Marshall. I also visited Weogufkee church with Rosemary Maxey. The roof of the church didn’t fall in, as I predicted, and I met some wonderful people and especially enjoyed the meal after.
Finally, at least we have a tribe. According to a letter June 24th from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Cherokee no longer have a tribe. They were pronounced dead, as of the 1907 rolls. U.S. Assistant Secretary for Indian Affairs, Larry EchoHawk wrote that the historic Cherokee Nation as it existed in 1934 no longer exists as a distinct political entity because Congress closed tribal rolls in 1907. “After 103 years, few, if any, or its members are still alive,” he states. “Even though the historical CN no longer exists, its sovereignty continues in the descendents of its members who have reorganized as the UKB (United Keetoowah Band) and the CNO (Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma).”
We live in complicated times. I think I’ll just stay here, curled up in the sun for a little while, before heading out into the long day.
When I return to the time of that child in the high chair, life was deep and complex, yet simple. There was no television blasting and our minds hadn’t yet been wrapped with the tentacles of need for the Internet, computers, or computer games. I remember my mother singing, often to the radio. Pop and dessert were treats, not daily addictions. Yet, those times weren’t perfect. My family had the usual problems that besiege Indian country residents. What was foremost was the presence of the sky and earth, and having the time to listen, to hear.
Last month I made it back to Oklahoma, and ran around the nation as I usually do when I’m home. I am planning a writing, music and performance program for tribal students to begin next year. Several of us met over at the Café on the Square for lunch to talk about it. I got excellent input from all those present, including Rebecca Landsberry, Angel Ellis, Angela Bunner, James King, Lee Longhorn, Ted Isham, Rosemary McCombs Maxey, and Margaret Barrows. Then I made it over to the College of the Muscogee Nation and was given a tour by Angela Bunner. I’m impressed by the progress there. I’d love to take the language classes with Norma Marshall. I also visited Weogufkee church with Rosemary Maxey. The roof of the church didn’t fall in, as I predicted, and I met some wonderful people and especially enjoyed the meal after.
Finally, at least we have a tribe. According to a letter June 24th from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, the Cherokee no longer have a tribe. They were pronounced dead, as of the 1907 rolls. U.S. Assistant Secretary for Indian Affairs, Larry EchoHawk wrote that the historic Cherokee Nation as it existed in 1934 no longer exists as a distinct political entity because Congress closed tribal rolls in 1907. “After 103 years, few, if any, or its members are still alive,” he states. “Even though the historical CN no longer exists, its sovereignty continues in the descendents of its members who have reorganized as the UKB (United Keetoowah Band) and the CNO (Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma).”
We live in complicated times. I think I’ll just stay here, curled up in the sun for a little while, before heading out into the long day.
7/13/09
Returning from Oklahoma After Green Corn and the Fundamentalist Christians are Still Fearful
My body is still in the hum of the road. Drove all day, from ceremonies in Oklahoma, mother, family and Family. One end of the spectrum is the ribbon dance at dusk with the people as the sun travels through the trees; the other end is the constant push of religion in public, secular places. I choose to hold close that beautiful circle at dusk. I do not need to force converts. We each have our own, particular path in this world.
6/30/09
MNN Column May 2009
It’s before dawn in Honolulu and the neighborhood of birds is noisily singing and talking away, even more than usual. Fuscate (Redbird) has been in the habit lately of singing about four in the morning. It’s spring and he’s knocking himself out because he’s in love. There’s nothing like falling-in-love energy. It has written songs, poetry, built houses and inspired one of the most beautiful monuments in the world, the Taj Mahal. Love has started and ended wars. Guess we might try falling in love a little everyday, with the sunrise, with our tired selves, with a happy redbird giving up a little morning song to start the day. Might make things a little brighter.
I haven’t been out here on the island much these days. I’ve been traveling about the country, to Los Angeles, Albuquerque, and most recently to northwest Alabama to the University of Northern Alabama in Florence with my guitar player Larry Mitchell, to perform music and speak. Every time I return to Alabama I get a little more of the story of our people.
We were graciously taken care of by Pam Kingsbury, a professor at the university. She and the music wise man Terry Pace toured us around the area. We walked the first evening at dusk along the banks of the Tennessee River. The legend in the area goes that the original peoples would gather by the water to sing, and the water would sing back. There were many Old Ones still present along that path of immense trees and those wide, rolling, singing waters.
The next few days we were taken on a tour of the Muscle Shoals studios that included the FAME Studio opened in 1959. Those who recorded there are a who’s who in the music industry: Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding, Duane Allman, The Osmonds, Bobbie Gentry, and my favorite singer of all time: Aretha Franklin. The studio is still recording hits. The 3614 Jackson Highway Recording Studio is the original site of the Muscle Shoals Sound Studios. This was another place that still vibrates with the energy of musical achievement. The Rolling Stones recorded “Wild Horses” there, and many other hits by many other artists like Paul Simon and Pete Segar. At the Alabama Music Hall of Fame we walked through the Lynard Skynard “Sweet Home Alabama” tour bus and saw the many exhibits celebrating Alabama artists like Nat King Cole, the Father of the Blues W. C. Handy, who as a boy visualized birdcalls as notes on a scale, and Sam Phillips who created the Elvis legend. The blues, rock and roll, country, gospel and jazz museum features Alabamians who changed the course of music history.
What struck me as walked along the river, and through those places of musical power was the absence of native musicians and singers. What is known as American music was birthed in our traditional homelands and we contributed to that genesis. The African and European contributions are always mentioned in the story of American music, but our tribal peoples are left out of the equation. It’s time to change that story.
I haven’t been out here on the island much these days. I’ve been traveling about the country, to Los Angeles, Albuquerque, and most recently to northwest Alabama to the University of Northern Alabama in Florence with my guitar player Larry Mitchell, to perform music and speak. Every time I return to Alabama I get a little more of the story of our people.
We were graciously taken care of by Pam Kingsbury, a professor at the university. She and the music wise man Terry Pace toured us around the area. We walked the first evening at dusk along the banks of the Tennessee River. The legend in the area goes that the original peoples would gather by the water to sing, and the water would sing back. There were many Old Ones still present along that path of immense trees and those wide, rolling, singing waters.
The next few days we were taken on a tour of the Muscle Shoals studios that included the FAME Studio opened in 1959. Those who recorded there are a who’s who in the music industry: Wilson Pickett, Otis Redding, Duane Allman, The Osmonds, Bobbie Gentry, and my favorite singer of all time: Aretha Franklin. The studio is still recording hits. The 3614 Jackson Highway Recording Studio is the original site of the Muscle Shoals Sound Studios. This was another place that still vibrates with the energy of musical achievement. The Rolling Stones recorded “Wild Horses” there, and many other hits by many other artists like Paul Simon and Pete Segar. At the Alabama Music Hall of Fame we walked through the Lynard Skynard “Sweet Home Alabama” tour bus and saw the many exhibits celebrating Alabama artists like Nat King Cole, the Father of the Blues W. C. Handy, who as a boy visualized birdcalls as notes on a scale, and Sam Phillips who created the Elvis legend. The blues, rock and roll, country, gospel and jazz museum features Alabamians who changed the course of music history.
What struck me as walked along the river, and through those places of musical power was the absence of native musicians and singers. What is known as American music was birthed in our traditional homelands and we contributed to that genesis. The African and European contributions are always mentioned in the story of American music, but our tribal peoples are left out of the equation. It’s time to change that story.
6/29/09
Danger: Hormonal Surges
One day the FDA will issue warnings on the dangers of estrogen & testosterone. They will be cited for their volatile and dangerous side effects, and may even be restricted. Every human will come with a warning. Some with high hormonal activity will be shot with antidote injections. Most passionate and violent acts can be attributed to these wily hormones. They break up homes; they blind us to the truth of potential partners. With high hormonal surges, we lose any sense of responsibility. We curry danger because we need connection. Too much estrogen results in excessive pink and pandering, obsessive homemaking, gathered skirts with aprons, a need to be married-to anyone, and beehive hairdos. Too much testosterone makes for hair trigger paranoia, gun collecting, jealousy and rage on the road or in bed, obsessive sexual conquest, and the need to own and drive a Hummer.
6/20/09
6/6/09
On the road again: News in the Tulsa World this Saturday morning
No, I haven't been blogging...writing a book, new music and arrangements, traveling, and working on promotions for my forthcoming children's book: For A Girl Becoming, and continuing promotions of Winding Through the Milky Way, my most recent CD of music, and booking my one woman show with music, Wings of Night Sky, Wings of Morning Light.
This morning I am in Glenpool, Oklahoma, not far from my family's original allotment lands. The largest oil strike in the country took place here. My sister lives here. It has been cool here. Usually Oklahoma in June is sultry and hot.
The following news in the Tulsa World struck me for various, obvious reasons:
--25 Indians, 9 police die in Amazon land protest. Indians protesting oil and gas exploration on their lands battled police in the northern province of Utcubamba, Peru.
--A Nigerian based church has a following in Tulsa. Caleb Agadagba is the founder and pastor of the Tulsa church which has a majority of African nationals, many African-Americans and a few white Americans. He says: “A long time ago, America and Europe sent missionaries to Africa…Africa is able to send missionaries back to America and Europe…”
--American Airlines is planning to force its flight attendants to sell catalogue items on their flights. Commissions will take the place of wage increases.
Yes, we have work to do.
This morning I am in Glenpool, Oklahoma, not far from my family's original allotment lands. The largest oil strike in the country took place here. My sister lives here. It has been cool here. Usually Oklahoma in June is sultry and hot.
The following news in the Tulsa World struck me for various, obvious reasons:
--25 Indians, 9 police die in Amazon land protest. Indians protesting oil and gas exploration on their lands battled police in the northern province of Utcubamba, Peru.
--A Nigerian based church has a following in Tulsa. Caleb Agadagba is the founder and pastor of the Tulsa church which has a majority of African nationals, many African-Americans and a few white Americans. He says: “A long time ago, America and Europe sent missionaries to Africa…Africa is able to send missionaries back to America and Europe…”
--American Airlines is planning to force its flight attendants to sell catalogue items on their flights. Commissions will take the place of wage increases.
Yes, we have work to do.
5/19/09
Strangers
Tonight when I looked at you
As I have uncountable stares, stars and glances
I did not know you
How foolish that I should think I know everything about you
My mystery seeks to comprehend your mystery
It is unending, this unknowing
c Joy Harjo 2007
As I have uncountable stares, stars and glances
I did not know you
How foolish that I should think I know everything about you
My mystery seeks to comprehend your mystery
It is unending, this unknowing
c Joy Harjo 2007
5/5/09
Trying to Reach Jim Roberts of Four Winds of Rockford, IL
I received an email from Jim Roberts. All attempts to answer the email have failed. The emails are returned as undeliverable. If you're out there, Jim Roberts, please write again with a phone number or different email address.
Thanks.
Thanks.
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