“There
was a big meeting at the head of White Clay Creek, not far from Pine Ridge,
when they came back, but I did not go over there to hear, because I did not yet
believe. I thought maybe it was only the despair that made people believe, just
as a man who is starving may dream of everything good to eat.I did not go over
to the meeting, but I heard all they had to tell. These three men all said the
same thing, and they were good men. They said they traveled far until they came
to a great flat valley (Mason Valley, Nevada) near the last great mountains
before the big water, and there they saw the Wanekia (One Who Makes Live), who
was the son of the Great Spirit, and they talked to him. Washicus (White
People) called him Jack Wilson, but his name was Wovoka. He told them that
there was another world coming, just like a cloud. It would come in a whirlwind
out of the west and would crush out everything on this world, which was old and
dying. In that other world there was plenty of meat, just like old times; and
in that world all the dead Indians were alive, and all the bison that had ever
been killed were roaming around again.” From Black Elk Speaks
Sand
Creek;
the truth dances like a ghost,
a mighty wind whispering
through the silence of the night;
who
will hear the voices?
who will right the
wrong?
it is hard to love,
when so much injustice abounds,
hard to forgive, when innocent blood
runs across stolen ground,
dirty little secrets hidden in time,
deep dark memories of which
no one speaks;
you
can never escape the past;
it follows you like a shadow,
softly surrounding you like a glove,
slowly blending into who you are,
silently determining what you become;
the treachery and cowardice
revealed,
the self-made bravado and
false heroics, silently exposed,
sons of murderers,
daughters of liars and thieves,
descendants of swine,
a little lower than dogs,
somewhat less than human;
without
honor,
without dignity,
without hope;
their homes built upon
hypocrisy and greed,
their tongues filled with
misconceptions and lies,
their legacy stands like a wavering
deck of cards,
waiting to crash down
upon their guilt-ridden heads;
Sand
Creek remembers.
.
.
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