Category: epritchard

I caught Ray at the hotel just before he got off duty at 9 AM. I walked in the lobby and my first words to Ray were, “We need to hold council.” He said, “Okay, I’m free in ten minutes.” The owner was there, a Chinese man, and everyone was talking about the Mets, and a five page spread on their new-found success graced the Middletown Record. We were trying to remember the first names of both Matsuis.

I asked Ray, who honors the environment and the safety of other drivers by owning no car (he has only one eye, so his depth perception is off) if he wanted me to drive him home to catch up on his sleep or go see the Great Turtle of Rhinebeck, which was an hour away. He said he wanted to see the turtle, so off we went. On the way we discussed the issue of how protesters of the Republican Convention can avoid pain if shot by a laser cannon firing a UV ray carrying a microwave charge. (This crowd control pain beam weapon has been in development for some time, soon to be a space ray above you!) I asked if wearing purple would absorb the UV enough to disrupt the micro, he said probably a royal purple would. I asked if suntan lotion would have an effect on the UV and said yes, but so would wearing long sleeves, but the micro would still affect the person. I asked, “Isn’t there some kind of paint that reflects UV light?” He said, “Yes, those black light posters from the sixties use a paint that would reflect UV, and it can’t be too expensive ‘cause those posters were cheap.”

He added that if out in the open and shot with UV it would help to be a black person, with sufficient melanin! (but being black will probably not help you withstand the microwaves) He also said that the “black light” paint might “excite” the UV ray enough to dissolve the microwave before it gets too far past the “poster.” Space Ray is not a protester per se but is interested in physics. It would be interesting to experiment with wearing black-light type paint on your body while being shot with a UV cannon. It might help but then again it might not as the micro portion of the wave might still travel a foot or two through the body—perhaps sufficiently scattered to cause less harm. We also continued our discussion on the best use of mylar as a body armor material. I am still not convinced it is effective, but theoretically it should be. Of course, just musing on the physics of pain is no remedy for addressing the ethical questions behind the use of these new weapons, nor is it any match for 66 mm aluminum foil suits.

Chunks From the Beginning of Time

After much walking we found the turtle at the hidden location, and as an Algonquin person, he was quite moved. He said our friend KA had just called yesterday and said she found a stone turtle in Rockland County, and her description of it was similar. Ray noted that there was Pipsissewa growing next to the turtle; a plant associated with the MicMac, used not only for breaking up gall stones but for coughs and sore throats. It has a waxy consistency and somewhat minty. We found some growing elsewhere in the area but it is a northern plant, rare in these parts. Ray said that the Matouac associated it with the Puckwadjee, the ‘little people” of the forest. My mother referred to a mouse, a “little person of the forest” as Pipsissewa in my childhood bedtime stories.

Ray also noted the turtle was surrounded by Pinchot Junipers; we counted ten of them. The presence of Pinchot Junipers adds a great deal to the significance of this spot. The Lenape might have called them “ca-ho-see” or cedar, as a general term, and cedars were planted by the Lenape in places of contemplation “for the benefit of the next generations.” (this is mentioned in Native New Yorkers). However, Pinchot Junipers (and not cedar) produce a grayish berry which the ancient Algonquins used to eat to induce visions. Knowledge of how to use this berry has been lost and it is now extremely dangerous to chew the berry, which can cause death. About ten years ago, a group of young Micmacs who used Juniper without the help of an elder died after chewing Juniper berries. It was in all the papers. There seemed to be four Junipers, in the four directions around the turtle, the largest of which had fallen over. From there several others had apparently spread. This is evidence that the turtle was a place for seeking visions, a dreamers rock! Ray said that his Matouac grandparents on Long Island for example liked to plant the Pinchot Juniper around the outside of the house, not to chew the berries, but just because it is sacred as is the cedar. He said it was a very “Matouac” tree, a tradition which the Wappingers would have inherited.

I pointed to the head of the turtle, and said it looked like a particular type of turtle, the dino-looking one who sticks his head up out of the water with his nose high up. Ray said the turtle head was an accurate depiction of the head of the Mullenberg Bog Turtle, one of the oldest species known. Ray has a Masters Degree in Turtleology from Bogg State University. (Actually, in marine biology from a real university) Bog turtles burrow into the mud, which was most likely the origin of (or inspiration for) the Lenape “Mud Diver” Creation Story. (see http://www.algonquinculture.org for a sound file of my Munsee/English rendition of the famous tale, mentioned elsewhere in this blog) In that same sub-species is not only the more recently evolved “snapping turtle” but the musk turtle, the eastern mud turtle, and “stinkpot” turtle, all folk names for the same thing. This face seemed to have two sides to it, sort of like the Maysingway.

The back of the turtle suggested a calendar turtle type, (Box, spotted pond etc) a different species than the snapper family which evolved from the bog turtle. So the head represented the creation of the earth and the back represented not only the hemisphere but the creation of the sky.

Then came the most amazing discovery. I showed him the ten or so chunks of what I thought must be quartz built into the structure and lying around. He said it was not quartz but Shawangunk Silurian Conglomerate. I was amazed. I had studied Shawangunk Conglomerate and knew that it could only be found at places like Sam’s Point, over sixty miles away, that it was almost 148 million years old, and very heavy to the heft. He handed me a piece he found on the ground. It was incredibly dense!! I said, “It’s as dense as Kryptonite!” It had reminded me of Shawangunk Silurian Conglomerate, but I thought, “No, that’s utterly impossible!” Apparently it was possible. Ray added that it could be found at Schunnemunk Mountain too, a branch of the lower Shawangunks, also sacred to the Munsee.

The Algonquins knew that heavy rocks were older than light ones, and in fact this is true, as older rocks further down get compressed and then metamorphize into other kinds of rocks. He showed me that this piece was pure conglomerate, a matrix, whereas the milky “beta” quartzite would develop around it.

There were at least a hundred pounds of this conglomerate visible to the naked eye in the turtle. Even today it would take two people with a car an entire day of hard work to carry this much stone from its place of origin to this turtle. It would have taken many Native American people several days to accomplish it in the years before contact. But only the Native Americans would have had the motive for doing so. What exactly was this motive? We don’t know.

This rock only comes from across the river, which is Munsee territory. These are Munsee rocks!! Sam’s Point was some sort of Munsee United Nations Spot, according to my reconstruction theories; there is a council rock there on an abutment which is “an island in the sky” so to speak. That island of rock is covered with chunks of this kind of harder-than-quartz conglomerate, some of the oldest rock to surface. The significance is obviously great, but what does it mean? It has something to do with the creation of the earth and sky, the oldest rock, the oldest turtle…Junipers are ancient trees as well. .Ray said, “Yes! It’s a Ripley’s Puzzle!”

Ray said in Taino (Puerto Rico/Dominican Republic) tradition there is only water until Hurrican creates the turtle and it falls through a hole in the sky, and becomes North America, the first creature to bring mud up from the water. It is the helper through which God parted the waters.

I said maybe this was a sign that we should reunite the old Wappinger confederacy. He joked about how the only Wappingers speakers were either toothless or behind bars. I agreed. We had our work cut out for us, but I suggested it was up to the Wappingers to protect the turtle.

Jazzy Breezy New Paltz, Home of Shawangunk Conglomerate and Contested Gay Marriages

Ray and I did a plant walk together, identifying about a hundred usable herbs, and then got a little lost on the way out and ended up in a field filled with western prairie plants. It was like Nebraska. Then we walked along the road, and headed back to New Paltz, home of Shawangunk Conglomerate and Contested Gay Marriages, and sent Gay Ray home. I’m sure he went right off to bed. I ran into the young jazz bass player Lewis Greeney, with whom I have had several highly enjoyable conversations about renegade politics and spirituality. We talked about forming a jazz duo.sometime. He has my guitar CD already, but no jazz on there. As we talked, I thought I saw the young Mayor Jason West ride by on a bicycle. I yelled hi, but he didn’t hear me.

I went to Mc G’s and watched the Mets Yankee game on large screen, to celebrate July 4th, and had their bourbon chicken sandwich, which is what I always order there. There were lots of homerun fireworks. The Mets swept the Yanks, and the barmaid Sarah was practically in tears. It was hard for me as a Met fan to comfort her but I did my best. I was tactful and didn’t say, “Oh, yeah, the Yankees—Dick Cheney’s team. Screw ‘em!” I said, “It is a rather shocking upset!” (Nowhere have my peacemaking techniques come into more urgent use than while waffling on the edge of the great Met/Yankee rivalry!) I saw Mario Cuomo’s new book about Lincoln in the Ariel Book Store window. Too bad he’s not running for anything now, but at least he can still get published. I think he stood up for Scott Ritter during one of those exciting radio appearances in front of large audiences. Peacefile should still have my Scott Ritter transcriptions posted somewhere. He was the ex Marine officer, ex UN weapons inspector who said “WMD? What WMD?” and who by total coincidence got into trouble with the FBI over something that had no relation to WMD.

I walked alone along the Rail Trail which was looking particularly beautiful today. Then I went home to take a much needed post-jungle shower. I connected with Michael Picucci who wants to meet Monday at 10 AM for another creative brainstorming session for his new book on ritual in therapy. I agreed. I am hearing the fireworks in the distance as I write this; it is the first time in my life that I deliberately chose not to go see fireworks on July 4th. It is a non-verbal protest against the war. My invisible demonstration says “There are too many fireworks in Iraq. There were too many fireworks in Afghanistan. We don’t need any more fireworks, we need open discussion.”

The Angry Boar-Goddess at the Crossroads

Today in New Paltz I met a woman at the crossroads, the crossroads of Main Street and Cedar (or 32). Her name was not Ragnell, as in the Arthurian myth (mentioned in last Sunday’s blog) but Regina, and she was holding up a sign that said, “Be Patriotic, Vote NO to Bush” and there was a picture of Bush as Alfred E. Newman with a barr sign over his face. She was, like Ragnell, the wild boar woman/Goddess, challenging the King, ready to wound his thigh for not respecting the earth mother. I was walking into mythology itself. I said, “How long have you been sitting there with your arms up in the air holding that sign?” She said, “An hour and a half, and my arms hurt and I am thirsty. Could you babysit the sign for me and hold it up while I get a drink?” Happily, I agreed, and was there for a while, and people came and looked at my sign. She came back, very happy to see I was doing my job and I asked if she would agree to be mentioned in my peaceblog and she agreed. My Revolutionary July 4th deed for the day. I noticed an ad for an underground paper called The Shadow, but couldn’t find it. It seemed that the local media was stressing personal and social “independence” not knee-jerk patriotism this fourth of July. I heaved a sigh of relief each time I saw that. I think the Bush people have stockpiled enough patriotism to last through a good many ideological winters. I’m still hearing those “bombs bursting in air” outside, and just grateful you know who isn’t blowing up New York today the way his royal ancestors did in 1775.

Back at the Word Ranch, I listened carefully to the Chocolate Thai and Jubilee CD album, and liked it, but found the guitar a little out of tune and too much intentional distortion on the vocal tracks and not enough harmony. The lead guitar could be better. I wish I had to money to produce this CD. Chocolate is so talented! He was signed by Virgin and then Michael Jackson, but nothing came of it, more common a situation than most would believe. Live, there is plenty of harmony in their marvelous band, But it is still an important underground CD and Chocolate Thai and Jubilee is an important underground band for these times.

I had agreed to meet Dr. Michael Picucci to discuss his new book at his place at 10, and got totally lost as never before. Like Bush, I was going in the wrong direction most of the time. At least I’m man enough to admit it. I still am trying to understand what hit me. I was still distracted by the situation with the loss of funding for CAC for next year. NYSCA is obviously going in the wrong direction as well, and it was contagious.

I got there at 11 (almost two hours on back roads) and since Michael and I had not worked together as a writing team for a while, we had a few humps and messy spots to get over before finding our groove again. Once we got into the groove, we were awesome as in days of yore when we wrote the award-winning Journey To Complete Recovery, and went over the whole book outline with bang-bang efficiency and lots of creative brain-busting, grasping for words that would connect to the heart of the reader. In two hours we had gone through the book once over lightly. We had found the right direction where it really counted. The rest was trivial. What I call “non-violent intervention” he calls “compassionate communication.” It’ not exactly the same, but in practice, it can be. One is a problem-solving mode of the other.

We commented on how it was an important life skill to be tolerant of the messy parts of life to get to the clear and shining parts. We also talked about connectivity and how it is made possible by “increasing our band width” a wonderful phrase Michael uses a lot in his seminars. In Native talk it is “walking in many worlds.” We parted with a long hug and I was soon back home.

Again as I turned on the Mets game on the radio at random, two consecutive men got on base and then Floyd hit a three run homer, exactly as it had happened a few days ago. As Yogi Berra said, “It was Déjà vu all over again.” I say, “It’s connectivity all over again.” It was like a scene out of Frequency. (Highly recommended sci-fi about the Mets, murder and mayhem!) I was increasing my band width, while still tuned to 660 AM. As they say, you gotta believe.

I ended up taking a Republican friend to see Fahrenheit 9-11. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly a Republican, but probably voted for Dole in 98 and Bush in 02. Anyway, she was very open minded about it, and we had a talk afterwards in a parking lot about politics.

There in the theater I was greeted by Ione, a good friend, always serene, (a Powhatan descendant) who helped stage my first 11,000 Year Old Man monologue at the Deep Listening Space, and sitting next to her was Pauline Oliveros, the famous experimental composer. We had a chat and I said that my kid had already seen it twice so I had to see it again, to give the parental advice implied by that R rating. I said I’d asked him what he’d thought. He said, “It was all the same stuff you told me about right after 9-11 and I thought you were crazy. Now there’s a movie about it, and it grossed 26 million bucks.” Pauline chuckled. This was her first time. Then an old friend Regina came up to chat at my aisle seat. She was mentioned in my book No Word For Time, but not by name. She was one of the first people to attend one of Grandfather Turtle’s sweat lodges in New York. She is a German healing practitioner, from the Linden Tree Center. It was good to see her again after so long. Then the woman stood up in front and told us not to talk too much about the movie during the movie, but to talk about it to our friends afterwards. One trailer was for The Corporation, an interesting looking movie involving Michael Moore and others. Another which I think is called Silver City about a candidate called Richard Pilagar who is a front for a big investment firm involved in all kinds of corruption, similar to Carlyle. Then came Fahrenheit 9-11, which in its own way is a heart-warming film. It’s a film you can fall in love with, a film that for some restores faith in America, in its people. It reminded us that Bush’s popularity was below 45 % in September of 2001, that Carlyle made $237 million in one day when United Defense went public after 9-11, and that Duvall County Florida had 16000 black voters disqualified, and that it was Bush’s first cousin who made the decision to announce Bush the winner in Florida on the Fox news channel. The interviews with the author of The Halliburton Agenda were most interesting. It was a form of shock therapy that jolted viewers into pointing their lives in the right direction again.

Still in Manhattan, listening to WBAI on little yellow and blue radio that looks like a toy. Took notes on Amy Goodman. One of my favorite authors, Jonathan Schell was on, about a new book called A Hole In the World. He is always great. I thought his Unconquerable World was the valedictorian statement for the human race at this time, a brilliant work. During the course of the interview, he said there were plenty of good reasons for the Afghani War, but they weren’t the real reason we were fighting. He was against it anyway, because of what it was being used to accomplish, and reasons it was launched. The Onion had some great stories: Reagan’s Pyramid Finally Being Completed. US Citizens Found Unable to Govern Themselves. And an editorial, “Things I Shouldn’t Be Saying.”

I did a peacemaking ceremony and burned all the heart-cleansing tobacco from the Open Center class, in a bowl on the window sill, then placed the ashes in the same flowerbed as before. I walked around in the hot sun, getting exercise. Then I got my luggage and headed for Grand Central. We were delayed by a few minutes, so when I got out of the SS shuttle far beneath Grand Central there was only one minute left before the Metro train was scheduled to depart. I’d never make it, unless the train was late.

Train traffic was heavy. Everyone had seen Cheney visit the city just before July 4th, and he’s always an omen of bad luck. Armed guards were on every street corner, and they all wondered if there was going to be another terror attack. It was code orange, if not red. So that’s why I was late. Too many people trying to leave the city. Anyway, I ruefully walk towards the gate, then I turn and I see my favorite underground rock star, Chocolate Thai, standing in the doorway of the shuttle train car, wearing his trademark “Cooley” hat.

I turned and walked towards him. I’d never make that Metro train, and what was more important? Getting home or talking to Chocolate Thai, my favorite underground rock star? I yelled out, “Hey Chocolate!” Talk about connectivity. CT is an inspiration to the whole New York City non-violence “pissed off voters” movement. His light can be seen and felt for miles. If you want his CD email him at jbclarke1@yahoo.com. For an MP go to http://www.biirzaak.com. Or call (646)246-4092.

He waved. I came up and shook his hand. He went into the subway car to talk to Jubilee, his wife. I said, “Hey, where’s your CD?” He had some in his hands. I took one said, “How much?” He said, “They’re only ten!” I gave him ten and talked about our planned interview. I asked him about his experiences at Virgin and with MJJ records, run by Michael Jackson. Both deals had gone sour. He invited me to a July 15th concert at Lincoln Center. I said I’d see. He was standing in the door, while the speaker said, “Shuttle to Times Square. Next stop Times Square. Please do not block the doors. We said a few more hurried words, I kissed the CD and shook his hand one more time, gently blocking the doors, all of our exchanges as if accelerated by a fast forward button being pushed somewhere by an impatient train conductor. I had just been thinking about him the day before. I was thinking, “Yeah, he really does sound like Sam Cook, like they say.”

Then the doors closed and I walked away. Since my Metro train home was long gone, I took the 6 to Spring Street and went to the Open Center to pick up my books from the book store. It turns out they were all sold!!! There had been a lot of books on those shelves and now there were just two copies of Secrets of Wholehearted Thinking! Amazing! I went outside and bought some DVDs on the street, and then back to Grand Central, a strange trip. I made the next train, but it was scheduled to leave later than the others, so I waited more. Too much time to wait but not enough time to do anything else. I boarded the train very early because of this, and it was a good thing, because the train was packed. The man in the next seat forward had a white dog who took the last seat on the train.

Maybe WBAI would like Chocolate’s CD too. I told Tiokasin about the legendary Micmac Willie Dunn yesterday. He said for me to have him send copies of his CDs to BAI. Willie Dunn’s CDs are great. He’s at wdunn_singer@hotmail.com

I picked up my computer at NJM, my computer wizards, who never fail me, and brought it home. I got messages, including a very sad one from Linda Law. Our funding proposal to overhaul the educational system was rejected. I will report more later when I learn what really happened. I talked to my son and typed up July 1 and 2. I read July 1 to my son, which is somewhat “cinematic,” or at least reminiscent of West Wing.

I showed up at WBAI at 9:30. Erroll (WBAI program director) brought me into the studio, meeting Tiokasin Ghosthorse along the way. I asked Erroll what was going on behind the scenes during that Amy Goodman Democracy Now show from Kansas City last Monday, the day of the Monday surprise from Baghdad. He said they had been having trouble with one of the incoming lines and there were problems with the feed from Kansas City because too many other stations were linking in. He gave up on it for a while and put on music until someone called to say they were “up” again. The rest went well, as I heard.

Erroll seemed glad to see me; it turned out he wanted to continue our argument over whether Pearl Street was east or west of Water Street. This discussion had started on the Saturday of the Clearwater Festival, ten days earlier. I had said, “I have to tell you something, my friend, you must realize that the WBAI office is right next to the site of a slave trade auction block, right at the old end of Wall Street which was at Pearl Street.” He said the auction block was on Water Street, and it ended up being an ongoing argument about which was west of which?

We chatted about other things. We were looking for To-ma from New Zealand, who is now co-host of First Voices with Tiokasin. We were hanging out in the studio listening to Amy Goodman’s show, which is on from 9 to 10. At the end of her show, Amy said, “Stay tuned for First Voices, Indigenous Radio, with Tiokasin Ghost Horse.” Amy was not in the room, she was broadcasting from a converted fire house in China Town, as Tiokasin had explained last week. Then there was a music interlude, some of which was apparently by To-ma, but where was To-ma?

I shuffled papers. Erroll asked Mr. G. if he wanted him to take over. G said no. He could handle it. Erroll appeals to a higher court and pulls up Map Quest on the computer screen in the studio. He wants to show me that north of Wall Street, Pearl was east of Water Street.
I say, “Try scrolling south, oh, and also west. Pearl is west of Water Street below Wall!” (It turns out we were both right. The parallel streets cross at about Wall Street, but Pearl was an Indian Trail that traced the shoreline, at least as far as St. James. Erroll wanted to know details.)
The technician, Mr. G. started doing the countdown.
“We’re on in TEN seconds!”
“Map Quest can’t be wrong…” My soul brother Erroll said, smiling and laughing with me in our mock knockdown argument, excited to have a worthy opponent in the New York history trivia department.
“Nine..”
“Where’s To-ma?”
”Eight, seven…”
”Where are the Mauri?”
“Six…”
“Scroll down, Erroll! Hit the scroll down button! And then scroll west. Pearl Street is East, see?”
“Five four….”Tiokasin nudges Erroll off the computer, and pulls up his script for the opening news segment of the show.
”WHERE ARE THE MAURI?”
Erroll jumps up and hits a button that the new employee Mr. G. didn’t know about yet. It was our one link to the voice of Amy Goodman (the sweet butt-kicking Goddess of the Left) however, it allowed a humming noise to go onto the air waves unless it was off.
“Three….”
”Tiokasin, (I said) Remember to ask me about 1776, the Fourth of July, Native Americans….”

Yesterday, Tiokasin had said that I could tell him what questions to ask in advance and he’d remember. I suddenly realized I had a lot to say about that question, and its always good radio to tie discussion in with current news events. He’d probably not heard me, but would I remember to bring this up later? Without the Mauri guy, we might have to fill more time. I had plenty to say about 1776. I should have thought of it sooner.

Just then, one tall long haired, tawny Mauri musician, To-ma, strolls into the studio with his guitar gig bag strapped to his back. He says, “’ay Maytes!” The door snaps shut behind him. He weaves between the swivel chairs with a Native’s knowledge of the terrain, and takes his chair without a sound.
Two..”
“One, and we are ON THE AIR!!” Everyone hit a button of some kind in perfect synchronicity. The chaos in the room suddenly ceases and the room falls silent.

With a voice of perfect calm that comes from the heart of the northern prairie, Tiokasin Ghost Horse begins his broadcast, “Welcome to First Voices Indigenous Radio.” His words are slow and measured like the passage of a gliding eagle across the western sky. Then he begins reading news off the computer screen, having dispensed with Map Quest.once and for all. Everything goes perfectly. He reads and discusses ten minutes of news, a heartbreaking story about the Western Shoshone of Nevada, forced to sell their land for pennies so that mining corporations can maw for gold. Then he turns to me and says, “Evan, what about the fourth of July? Tell us about Algonquins in 1776.”

(Thought balloon) “Wow, you remembered! Excellent! Way to go Tiokasin! That was some awesome broadcasting skill!”

We did twenty hot minutes of live three-way discussion on Native Americans in the Revolution, things few people know. There was a break and we went on to discuss Native American prophecy, the Seven Fires Prophecy in particular, and I was prepared, with my copy of Paths of Light, Paths of Darkness (published by Resonance Communications) leading into a discussion of space weapons, and then the electronic “crowd control” weapons, and the upcoming Republican convention. I said,” They haven’t issued any permits yet!” Tiokasin said, “They issued them yesterday! What advice do you have for people who are planning to exercise their democractic options?”
I said, “I don’t want to see people hurt. Those new electronic “crowd control” weapons are painful. Best to wear body armor. Reynolds’ wrap is good; regular old tin foil. Especially around the brain, which is the stronghold. Use several layers of tin foil, perhaps under your hat. You’ll avoid migraines.”

The complete transcription of the one hour show will soon be available at this site. See: First Voices Indigenous Radio, with Evan Pritchard: Prophecy, Revolution, and the New Weapons.

When the show was done, a comedy team came in. I listened to one of their skits. “Mr. Cheney, Mr. Powell of the FCC is in the lobby to see you.” “What does he have to say that is so important as to take up the time of the VP of the United States?. Tell him to go F himself…” It was crude, but in the light of recent revelations that Dick Cheney talks like this on the floor of the House, I was not surprised.

I kept seeing this black woman KayDee in the hall, and we kept smiling at each other. I felt like I knew her. It turns out we may have met in DC at Pacifica Radio some years ago. I didn’t know what to say. I talked to the folk music man. I sand him my version of Try To Remember, and he sang me two other versions. He liked my version.

Tiokasin, To-ma and I talked more about prophecy. I told the story of Albert Lightning, the 90 year old Cree prophet of the Seven Fires. He said that the time of the prophecies was coming when the Native People would rise up again, and come together, and that he would live to see it. He was referring to the dawning of the eighth fire. I was with my three year old son in a park, in the woods in Montreal. He ran over and took a blue ball away from another three year old, a Native American boy. The boy’s uncle appeared, a seven foot tall red-skinned Native guy, with black braids that reached almost to the ground. I took the ball from my son, and gave it to him. I apologized and offered him a copy of the book I’d just written on Micmac language, and I mentioned there was as reference to Albert Lightning. The man said, “I knew him!”

I continued the story, with the full attention of the two men, both of whom were carriers of prophecy. I said, “You make it sound like he died. You should say ‘I know him.”
He said, “He has died.” I said, “He can’t be dead. I just heard from him three days ago and he was alive.”
“I just buried him!” he said, sadly. “I was his assistant!”
I said, “You can’t have. He lives in Alberta, and we are three days from Alberta.”
He answered, “I just got out of the car. Actually I’m on my way east. I just stopped to have dinner with my nephew and his family.
I said, “I give you this book as a gift. You are his messenger. His spirit wanted you to tell me of his death. He said he would live to see the fulfillment of the prophecy, so his death is a sign that we are in the time of the prophecies.” That was how I told the story.

I turned to Toma and his eyes were misty. He said, “People make too much of the romantic side of prophecy, but they are very practical. They show us what we should do.” I agreed. Both sides of prophecy appeal to me.
We talked about music, and it turns out Toma plays clarinet as well as guitar. I gave him a copy of my classical guitar CD Contemplations as a present. He was surprised and pleased. As a symphonic player he knew most of the pieces, which are orchestral. Kay Dee walked by smiling at me.
Tiokasin was concerned that the advice about the tin foil might have come off a little flakey, but I said that was the most practical part of the show, that I was there to prevent people from being injured. I said, “You told me the other day that during some unrest in Hopi country, you and a bunch of protestors covered yourself in tin foil in order to not be detected by infra-red night scopes.”
He chimed in, “Yes, and it worked great.”
I said, “This is the same exact thing.”
”I guess I should have mentioned that,” he answered, always looking to improve his program.
I asked Tiokasin if he had any celebrity gossip about himself to share with my peaceblog. He said NO! Tiokasin is not the frivolous type, even for a good cause. But the folk guy suggested that Tiokasin secretly loves the song “This Land Is Your Land.” He just criticizes it on the air to mask his feelings.”
That set off Tiokasin. “I HATE that song! It should go, ‘This land is my land, it isn’t your land!” He didn’t think it was very funny, apparently. There was a phone call for Tiokasin, He tripped on the wire and the phone went flying, and then didn’t work quite right. It kept ringing, even when he lifted the receiver. We made jokes that this was a non-verbal protest, a Luddite rebellion against high tech communication. He didn’t hear us. He was intently trying to fix it to get the call. Tiokasin is actually very skilled with technology, but he is, as the Algonquin say, “Indian from the ground up.”

At about 40 minutes after the hour, I walked outside, and walked to the intersection of Water Street and Wall Street, where Pearl crosses Water. There standing in the sun was KayDee. I shook her hand yet again. Although she is dark-skinned, as dark as Whoopi Goldberg, I asked if she was Native American. I had a strong feeling about it, but it was not in her features. It was in her power. She said, “Yes, I am. That’s what I’ve always been told. Our people were from Yonkers!”
I said, “So you are Wappingers!”
She said, “Yes, but I haven’t chosen to politicize that side of my heritage.”
I mentioned that Langston Hughes was Algonquin too, but made the same choice.
She said that her decision was partly because she didn’t know enough about it. She said it wasn’t a literary decision as with Mr. Hughes. I told her that the Wappingers were just coming together again, with a planned newsletter and language book, and I was working on both as cultural historian of the tribe. I invited her to join our cause.

I walked west to Broadway and there on the sidewalks of Broadway met a psychic I was supposed to meet to talk about spiritual and peacemaking issues. We looked down into the hole where they are building the new World Trade Center and museums, and a German film crew came by, interviewing people about the new towers, and the psychic told them to interview me. They did. Having just done an hour with Tiokasin, I was very outspoken and complained that the Native American view was being shut out, and that the people creating the Freedom Center were supposed to call me, or someone from the Shinnecock and Munsee, but did not. There was lots of Native history here but none of it will be honored, its all only about 9-11. The German said, “You mean you don’t care about the 3000 heroes who died here?” I said, “We all care! We all love New York; we all had friends who died in those towers. Of course we felt terrible, and I’m all for those people being honored, but I don’t want this to be just another piece of propaganda. There’s a lot of history here!” They cut me off. My friend said they’d probably erase my whole interview, and thought I should follow up on it. I said “There’s so many things going on right now, I can’t start chasing all these things down, I’m just connecting and going with the flow of events.” We had lunch in Riverside Park. My psychic friend did not want to be mentioned in the blog by name. She showed me the whimsical brass sculptures, copies of the ones in the subways. They are quite remarkable as they are quirky, very enjoyable. I got on a train and made it to Charlie Moms to meet Allyson. We had drinks at a nearby café and talked for over two hours. She wants spiritual instruction, and though she is not related to Native people, she has worked with shamanic elders before, and really seemed to “see” what I was doing in the Four Paths workshops from the inside out. She saw how I was working the energy, not that it was secret. She said she wanted to learn the kind of things you can’t learn from a book. She is working on a masters degree in theater. I shared freely. She said she could feel my excitement whenever I talked about connectivity. I told her it was better than sex or money, and she asked if there were techniques or steps for learning connectivity. I told her of my experiments with what I call Velikofsky Ball, two players create a psychic link by both throwing a ball simultaneously, the balls collide half way and bounce back into the glove of the person who threw it. I said it could not be accomplished by logic, and told her how Charlie Small Buck and I were really good at it, and developed the link. Then there was a time when I was always traveling and he didn’t have a phone, and yet we continued to meet frequently, at random places around a 250 square mile urban area; in the woods, in parks, in Mc Donalds, in libraries, on the street…and had important meetings, practically while in motion. People witnessed this, and said, “How did you plan THAT…..???”

Then, she asked me again how she could learn connectivity and those things that you can’t learn in school. As we stood together on a busy sidewalk in Manhattan, I pulled the four Lenape Gaming Sticks from my pocket, two striped and two solid. I mixed them in my hands, and had her guess where the striped ones were. Which hand has the M&Ms? The first time, she got the right message in words, in her mind, but misunderstood it. Next time she got it right. The next time I said, “This time I’ll make it easy.” She realized this was a different kind of test. She had to intuit not only the sticks, but what I meant by this vague statement. She got it right AGAIN! The two striped sticks were together, and she guessed correctly the right hand. She had to trust her intuition, and not second guess herself. She did great. That was it, and as I was very tired, she and I went our separate ways. I was so tired I slept for five hours in the cabin in the city. When I woke up I felt I should call Lynn (not my sister, but Staten Island Lynn the Vet) I had had an inner experience with her the night after the last workshop, and had to call her to verify some things. There was a shoe in the dream, she said she had a shoe like that. Anyway, it was good I called because she was leaving the next morning for Alabama. As things had always been too hectic during the workshop time, it turned out to be our first real conversation. She may be Micmac, but not sure. She travels around the island administering to sick pets, cool job.

I went back to sleep after watching a History channel show on how the US has often had the impulse to take control of western Canada or to annex it. They made it sound like it was still a good idea. I think they really expected to have Steve Harper win the election, as this show would have fit that event. Michael Moore’s movie ruined those plans too. They interviewed a man named Robert Bothwell, a historian who said that American expansion has always been by peaceful settlement, followed by laws and government protection. I remember thinking, “I wish Tiokasin could hear this man say that!!! His great grandfather was Crazy Horse!” The next morning on BAI someone said that Iraqi Freedom was the first time the Cavalry came first, then the settlers. He also said that for most of the time we Americans were really happy being British subjects, citing the use of a few British place names as proof of this! “nuff said!” Finally, at about 3 AM, I went to sleep.