Post by aneaglesangel on Feb 23, 2010 12:20:56 GMT -5
.....and it wants to come out.....
They told me when I was a kid that there was a hellacious thunderstorm on the day I was born. It never really surprised me, for you see, I feel at home in the thunder and the lightning. It's almost as if the skies opened up to unleash me upon this earth with all its fury. And yet at the same time I wonder. In some other world, on some distant and dark Gunslinger's Plain, harsh and desolate, did the skies light up with fury? And was something else born, too? Maybe a tiny sprig of light, a flower amid darkness. A tiny violet I can imagine. So small, so fragile, many would crush it under their heel, never knowing that it had ever existed at all.
And I remember how I felt about that past life memory. How could a person remember being anyone but themself? But still I'd recall so clearly that schoolroom and the dancing green leaves of a summer day. A child waiting to be released, a child just wanting to live and to grow. I remember how it made me wonder. Could a person's soul really move from one life to the next? From one body to another? I remember how I passed it off. Isn't that strange I'd think to myself.
And I remember how the thought of Indians living on the lands that I called home made me excited inside. How I questioned where they'd gone to. I remember digging in the deep, dark, fertile soil of the woods behind my house uncovering arrowheads made of stone and quartz. I knew of the Pilgrims and the Feast. But what had happened to the ones who were supposedly the guests of honor? No history book I'd ever read told of anything more than that first Thanksgiving, where the "white man" had been the hero, of course. And I remember how it was almost like I could feel their spirits with me there in the quiet cool of the forest. Calling out from the ages before me, crying out their pain. Isn't that odd I'd think to myself, and I'd just pass it off.
And I remember every moment of the darkness whenever it entered my life. How trying to pass it off never seemed to do the trick. I remember all the fears of that childhood that were somehow still real. I remember the darkness and the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins. The sweat pouring down my body as I fought an unseen force. I remember how it was my dark little secret and I never uttered a word of the torture I had known. I remember how I'd wonder if I was crazy. Too painful, too hard, my small child's mind would push those thoughts away. I'd think to myself, how weird it all was, and try as I might, I could never pass it off.
And I remember how I grew up thinking that there was something wrong with me. Those attacks in the night, the voices calling my name. Those dreams that frightened and unnerved me, and then would horrify me when they came true. How I dreamed of my father's funeral and later it came to pass. Could it all just be craziness, my imagination? As much as I tried to believe it, I knew it was not true. These things were really happening and I had no control over them, and no way to come to terms with them. Isn't that peculiar I'd say to myself, and yes, I'd try so hard to pass it off.
And I remember my first investigation when I recorded my first voice of the dead. How something inside me shouted with glee. All my life I'd known I wasn't crazy, that these things were happening, that it was really real. It felt so good after all these years to finally have something concrete. Evidence of what others said couldn't exist, I had it in my hand. Even as I celebrated my victory, I wondered, why do they call my name? How could the dead recognize me, when they'd lived hundreds of years before? And I'd wonder, why did these other things seem to know me also, and want to torment me in the dark of night? And still I would think isn't that bizarre and I'd try to pass it all off.
And now I stand here, and I can no longer pass things off. I've been in this field for 22 years, and I have to say, these things do exist. I remember every strange thing that has happened to me, and the stories of others I've come into contact with over the years. The reticent voices and the haunted eyes of the people I've tried to help over the years, tell me so. The voices on my recorders that have no right to be there tell me so. The touches from invisible hands, the swearing, the screams, the sounds of pain when I read prayers in an empty house, they told me. These things do exist, and me, I'm not the only one they've touched. It all seems so very peculiar, yet, I can no longer pass it off.
And I wonder, what is it I can do for these spirits, the ones who have touched my life? How can I answer the call of the Wamapanoag spirits? For even now, I can hear the beat of their drums in my head. I cannot help but feel the sorrow of their souls. Their land taken, their lives sold to the highest bidder. All of the things I've known and experienced in my life takes me to this place. How can I honor their memory and show them for what they really were? When I felt the hands of the Wampanoags touch me, I knew that I had to do more. Yes, it seems outlandish to want to honor people who haven't walked this Earth for 400 years, but I can't pass it off.
And I wonder if it wasn't the God of Thunder himself who called upon me on my birth. With lightning splitting the sky and the hooves of a thousand horses running through the clouds. Calling me out. Telling me who I am. I am the voice of the Thunder. I am the fury of the Lightning. I am gentle as the Rain. Wild as the Wind. In my heart the Eagle cries out a challenge. Can I answer that call? Can I set my heart to rest after all these years? And so I set my mind to the future and I hope that I can bring pride to a people who have called me their kin. The only family I have besides my two sons. They have welcomed me to their land, into their souls and I hope to return the favor. For they have lived with me ever since that cold night in February when I saw a lone man in Native American dress looking upon me. Ever since he told me he was there with me on another night. Yes, very odd, very peculiar to meet a long dead general of a tribe almost lost to greed, prejudice and ruthlessness, and yet, I know it is the truth. I cannot pass it off this time. I will not.
And so just as the skies opened up and the thunder and lightning raged on the day of my birth, I will come. And I will tell of the things I know and the things that I believe are true. And I hope that when I am through I have honored those who have come before me. I hope that the flood waters of my heart can break free. I hope that the cries of the eagle's heart can be quelled and that those who walk this earth without bodies can be proud of what I've done. That when it's my turn to free my body and leave this place, that they will be waiting to welcome me with open arms and that I will hear the call of the Thunder!
And just as lightning lights the darkness I hope to bring light to a people. A people almost obliterated from this earth, almost lost, almost annihilated. And I hope that they will smile upon me and call me daughter. For I am as much their daugher as I am the daughter of Thunder and Lightning. I only hope that when I speak, my voice will be heard, rolling across the land just as the voice of the thunder rolls across the still waters. I hope that when I'm done pouring my soul onto empty pages that there will be peace for more than just myself. For there is more here that I'd like to bring into the light. There are more stories here than just the ones of antiquity. I hope to speak until the words have run out. And when I'm done, I hope I've done my job right and made Mother Lightning and Father Thunder proud. Yes, it's very strange, downright odd, but I hope to light the darkness, just as Mother does whenever she comes by, riding in the clouds with Father, riding their mighty steeds. And I hope when you look to the skies you see my eagle's heart soaring.....
...so yes, I hope that soon you will see the works of my heart, the works of my soul. And that for some, I can bring light to the darkness and peace to a spirit.......
.....yes, I want to tell you stories. But most of them are true........
...so I must begin something that has been in my heart for a very long time now. It will all start when the sun rises with the dawn.......
They told me when I was a kid that there was a hellacious thunderstorm on the day I was born. It never really surprised me, for you see, I feel at home in the thunder and the lightning. It's almost as if the skies opened up to unleash me upon this earth with all its fury. And yet at the same time I wonder. In some other world, on some distant and dark Gunslinger's Plain, harsh and desolate, did the skies light up with fury? And was something else born, too? Maybe a tiny sprig of light, a flower amid darkness. A tiny violet I can imagine. So small, so fragile, many would crush it under their heel, never knowing that it had ever existed at all.
And I remember how I felt about that past life memory. How could a person remember being anyone but themself? But still I'd recall so clearly that schoolroom and the dancing green leaves of a summer day. A child waiting to be released, a child just wanting to live and to grow. I remember how it made me wonder. Could a person's soul really move from one life to the next? From one body to another? I remember how I passed it off. Isn't that strange I'd think to myself.
And I remember how the thought of Indians living on the lands that I called home made me excited inside. How I questioned where they'd gone to. I remember digging in the deep, dark, fertile soil of the woods behind my house uncovering arrowheads made of stone and quartz. I knew of the Pilgrims and the Feast. But what had happened to the ones who were supposedly the guests of honor? No history book I'd ever read told of anything more than that first Thanksgiving, where the "white man" had been the hero, of course. And I remember how it was almost like I could feel their spirits with me there in the quiet cool of the forest. Calling out from the ages before me, crying out their pain. Isn't that odd I'd think to myself, and I'd just pass it off.
And I remember every moment of the darkness whenever it entered my life. How trying to pass it off never seemed to do the trick. I remember all the fears of that childhood that were somehow still real. I remember the darkness and the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins. The sweat pouring down my body as I fought an unseen force. I remember how it was my dark little secret and I never uttered a word of the torture I had known. I remember how I'd wonder if I was crazy. Too painful, too hard, my small child's mind would push those thoughts away. I'd think to myself, how weird it all was, and try as I might, I could never pass it off.
And I remember how I grew up thinking that there was something wrong with me. Those attacks in the night, the voices calling my name. Those dreams that frightened and unnerved me, and then would horrify me when they came true. How I dreamed of my father's funeral and later it came to pass. Could it all just be craziness, my imagination? As much as I tried to believe it, I knew it was not true. These things were really happening and I had no control over them, and no way to come to terms with them. Isn't that peculiar I'd say to myself, and yes, I'd try so hard to pass it off.
And I remember my first investigation when I recorded my first voice of the dead. How something inside me shouted with glee. All my life I'd known I wasn't crazy, that these things were happening, that it was really real. It felt so good after all these years to finally have something concrete. Evidence of what others said couldn't exist, I had it in my hand. Even as I celebrated my victory, I wondered, why do they call my name? How could the dead recognize me, when they'd lived hundreds of years before? And I'd wonder, why did these other things seem to know me also, and want to torment me in the dark of night? And still I would think isn't that bizarre and I'd try to pass it all off.
And now I stand here, and I can no longer pass things off. I've been in this field for 22 years, and I have to say, these things do exist. I remember every strange thing that has happened to me, and the stories of others I've come into contact with over the years. The reticent voices and the haunted eyes of the people I've tried to help over the years, tell me so. The voices on my recorders that have no right to be there tell me so. The touches from invisible hands, the swearing, the screams, the sounds of pain when I read prayers in an empty house, they told me. These things do exist, and me, I'm not the only one they've touched. It all seems so very peculiar, yet, I can no longer pass it off.
And I wonder, what is it I can do for these spirits, the ones who have touched my life? How can I answer the call of the Wamapanoag spirits? For even now, I can hear the beat of their drums in my head. I cannot help but feel the sorrow of their souls. Their land taken, their lives sold to the highest bidder. All of the things I've known and experienced in my life takes me to this place. How can I honor their memory and show them for what they really were? When I felt the hands of the Wampanoags touch me, I knew that I had to do more. Yes, it seems outlandish to want to honor people who haven't walked this Earth for 400 years, but I can't pass it off.
And I wonder if it wasn't the God of Thunder himself who called upon me on my birth. With lightning splitting the sky and the hooves of a thousand horses running through the clouds. Calling me out. Telling me who I am. I am the voice of the Thunder. I am the fury of the Lightning. I am gentle as the Rain. Wild as the Wind. In my heart the Eagle cries out a challenge. Can I answer that call? Can I set my heart to rest after all these years? And so I set my mind to the future and I hope that I can bring pride to a people who have called me their kin. The only family I have besides my two sons. They have welcomed me to their land, into their souls and I hope to return the favor. For they have lived with me ever since that cold night in February when I saw a lone man in Native American dress looking upon me. Ever since he told me he was there with me on another night. Yes, very odd, very peculiar to meet a long dead general of a tribe almost lost to greed, prejudice and ruthlessness, and yet, I know it is the truth. I cannot pass it off this time. I will not.
And so just as the skies opened up and the thunder and lightning raged on the day of my birth, I will come. And I will tell of the things I know and the things that I believe are true. And I hope that when I am through I have honored those who have come before me. I hope that the flood waters of my heart can break free. I hope that the cries of the eagle's heart can be quelled and that those who walk this earth without bodies can be proud of what I've done. That when it's my turn to free my body and leave this place, that they will be waiting to welcome me with open arms and that I will hear the call of the Thunder!
And just as lightning lights the darkness I hope to bring light to a people. A people almost obliterated from this earth, almost lost, almost annihilated. And I hope that they will smile upon me and call me daughter. For I am as much their daugher as I am the daughter of Thunder and Lightning. I only hope that when I speak, my voice will be heard, rolling across the land just as the voice of the thunder rolls across the still waters. I hope that when I'm done pouring my soul onto empty pages that there will be peace for more than just myself. For there is more here that I'd like to bring into the light. There are more stories here than just the ones of antiquity. I hope to speak until the words have run out. And when I'm done, I hope I've done my job right and made Mother Lightning and Father Thunder proud. Yes, it's very strange, downright odd, but I hope to light the darkness, just as Mother does whenever she comes by, riding in the clouds with Father, riding their mighty steeds. And I hope when you look to the skies you see my eagle's heart soaring.....
...so yes, I hope that soon you will see the works of my heart, the works of my soul. And that for some, I can bring light to the darkness and peace to a spirit.......
.....yes, I want to tell you stories. But most of them are true........
...so I must begin something that has been in my heart for a very long time now. It will all start when the sun rises with the dawn.......
