Sunday, May 15, 2005

free peltier

I come to a riverbank and see squatting there at the water's edge an old Indian man with long shining silver hair bound tightly in braids that reach down to his hips. He's aimlessly tossing pebbles into the muddy gray water...

As I approach, I see dark tears forming in his vacant eyes, streaming down his face and slowly dripping into the water. Coming closer still, I'm shocked to see those tears are tears of blood!

"My son...My son..." he says in a voice of infinite sadness. And he puts his ghostly blue hand on my shoulder, peering deep into my soul.

He continues: "I'm an old man, weighted down by years and sorrow. I am the original seed of life, handed down to our people by the Great Spirit. Each of these pebbles I throw out is a lost dream of our people, a dream that sinks and is no more, yet leaves a ripple on the water for all time."

...On the riverbank where the Old Man stood lies a small pile of pebbles. Lost hopes. Lost dreams. I'm glad he hadn't thrown them all into the water.

I put them in my pocket, and to this day, whenever I take them out and rub them with my fingers, the hopes and dreams of my people come before my inner eye. I think if I could only rub them long and hard enough, that lost world would suddently come back. Who's to say that other reality isn't as real as this reality we human beings seem so bent on desecrating? I believe it is.

-leonard peltier, prison writings: my life is my sun dance

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