I am blessed in many ways, yesterday
that showed itself to me in the form of an invite. Despite the
injury that has caused me so much pain and has focused me more on
what I can do and what has to be done I spent yesterday building a
traditional Lakota sweatlodge. While it hurt to do the work it felt
good to be outside doing something, I miss that more then anything.
Feeling the warm sun on my back while I gathered saplings I was
reminded of the beauty of life, the specialness of it all. I care
not for the trappings of society, it's the natural world that calls
to me. I seek to live a life in balance with this earth, not in
spite of it. That is why places like New York are uncomfortable to
me, it is man fighting against the natural world rather then finding
his place in it. This basic knowledge, that man should live with
nature rather then try to push it back, is why I think I was invited
and excepted for this role, to help build a new lodge that will serve
for the next few years for a small group. Despite my lack of native
blood once again I have been excepted for my spirit, a spirit that
agrees with the way of life lived by the plains tribes. I really
have no reason to put this here, but as no one really knows about
this it is not about me telling this to the world, rather this is
here to remind me of who I am, where I have been and where I will go.
Perhaps more shall go here and grow, perhaps not. But I shall
always remember that I am blessed in many ways.
Part of my reason for this page has to do with a crusty I met in the village a few years ago. I can no longer remember his name but he told me his story, not asking me for money. Just talking. He told me of how his girlfriend had killed herself earlier that week, he showed me her picture and the last thing she wrote him, and he was not sad. He had sadness within him, of that I have no doubt but he did not dwell in that sadness. Rather he lived in the glory of life, he may have been a been a homeless gutterpunk but he had a smile on his face as he talked of drinking beer in the park and life on the road. He lived happy and free despite the tragedy of his life. Facebook took some sort of offense to his story, perhaps it was the use of words like fuck and shit, perhaps it was talking candidly about suicide, but whatever the reason a piece of my mind, left on the internet as a reminder to myself and others about the beauty of life was gone from this world forever. I may never remember his name, I may never remember the details of his story as I had put them down that day, but I will remember I drank that night to a world that is so fucking beautiful it hurts and that facebook tried to steal that from me. Perhaps my thoughts will be treated better here, if I remember to ever use it.
Part of my reason for this page has to do with a crusty I met in the village a few years ago. I can no longer remember his name but he told me his story, not asking me for money. Just talking. He told me of how his girlfriend had killed herself earlier that week, he showed me her picture and the last thing she wrote him, and he was not sad. He had sadness within him, of that I have no doubt but he did not dwell in that sadness. Rather he lived in the glory of life, he may have been a been a homeless gutterpunk but he had a smile on his face as he talked of drinking beer in the park and life on the road. He lived happy and free despite the tragedy of his life. Facebook took some sort of offense to his story, perhaps it was the use of words like fuck and shit, perhaps it was talking candidly about suicide, but whatever the reason a piece of my mind, left on the internet as a reminder to myself and others about the beauty of life was gone from this world forever. I may never remember his name, I may never remember the details of his story as I had put them down that day, but I will remember I drank that night to a world that is so fucking beautiful it hurts and that facebook tried to steal that from me. Perhaps my thoughts will be treated better here, if I remember to ever use it.
