Old spirit man

Old Spirit Man Tell me why, old Spirit Man, you do choose to be, Standing there and pointing me towards my destiny? You never leave my sight at all, You guide and nurture me, I find myself exactly where you think I need to be. You lead me in to battle with beaurocracy and laws, You push me to strive harder,to fight for the great cause, You told me in my dreams one night, That you had chosen me, That you would be my mentor, together we must be You painted visions in my eyes, of times so long ago, When noble indigenous clans, around this land did roam, The far off Dreaming stories, 'Bout how our land was born, How each of us a part must play, to preserve it's shape and form. This sacred Earth, our Mother, must be gaurded unto death, From plunder and desecration, Pollution and neglect And we, the children of this land, have obligation clear To ensure continuity, of all that we hold dear. This white haired, wise old Spirit man,comes from ancestors mine, He came to take me by the hand and teach me Dreaming Time. He stands by my left shoulder, moves with every step I take, His head nods in approval, When good decisions I do make. He moves aside and meditates, it seems, when I forget, Who I am, What I am,My forefathers, and yet, Tho' the fire glows in his eyes if I should go astray, He is there to guide me, each and every day. When standing once so quietly, aside a great steep hill, He painted me mind pictures so vividly, until, I saw the women keening, The men dead, or in chains, Invaders came upon our land, resistance was in vain. Our people had no cause to war, disputes within our tribes Arose from territory invasions, Or night raids seeking wives No guns, no knives, no horses,Were known to our ancestory, They were lambs unto the slaughter, as only lambs can be. Our gentle , noble people, as savages proclaimed, Displaced and dispossessed, 'Less than human', beaten, maimed. Slid back towards oblivion, Genocide was near, But the visions of the Dreaming, led them through those hateful years. Well meaning Christian people, with purity of intent, Perhaps were our salvation, In a way that was not meant. They put us into 'missioms', fed us, taught us white mans skills They banned our language and our lore, but could not break our wills. My Spirit Man kept teaching me, as he led me on the way, He told of rape, of alcohol, Of treachery each day. He showed me how some of us, Learned to cheat and steal and run, White man's bad habits Easiest to learn, Hardest to shun. I faced a stone wall in my fight, Health issues to defend, The babies still die, the 'sniffers' sniff Teenagers have babies, there is no end Motor cars decimate our youth, and alas my greatest fear, Alcohol destroys more of each generation, each year. As my pen rushes on, and He gazes at my words He sadly acknowledges truths that are sharper than swords The sadness inside Him, Reflects in his eyes Oh my Spirit Ancestor, My Keeper, My Guide. Hearts and livers diseased beyond hope, Diabetes and kidney disorders, now dope, The elders are frail The fight is so hard The road back to our culture is shuttered and barred There is no going back, Oh my great Spirit guide, There is only tomorrow, and a deep running pride Of our customs, our ancestors, The heavens, rebirth, Courage, tenacity, and sweet Mother Earth Written December 15th, 2001 © on Dec 15 2001 09:08 AM PST, Patricia Rosenberg   0 • 9