Tamika & her children
My Native-American soul winces every time a body goes into the military. Unlike Native peoples Americans don't have the prerequisite deep respect for the tradition of honoring life through the ceremonies that anoint, empower, protect, and assure the soldiers. In its stead are weak things. Upon return none of the ancient medicine works are employed to restore the souls of the soldiers who have seen combat.
Prayer is fine but insufficient. In the depths of the dance between death and life required of the professional soldier killing is supposed to engulf the senses, and mind with fears a soldier needs to hold on to their awareness of the lines connecting them to the rituals that support them, and the ceremonial ties initiated for the individual soldier who must find the contradictions of the war campaigns running parallel with the creation stories of his or her religion. I know our Department of War does not understand soul loss, and Christians are ignorant of their religion’s roots, and don’t know the ceremonies the Hebrews used to restore balance and light to their troops who returned home bloodied, broken, and outside of themselves, or the ceremony that initiated them before leaving home to fight. But from where I stand, Tamika, I will support you the way I did for Lemuel his four years in the Air Force in the sacred lodges, before certain altars, and in balance with the powers that design life, and its great compelling mysteries.
The first lesson of power, Tamika, is to unlearn everything you know, and the second lesson is simple: you are never alone. One of the fundamental concepts to understand is the connection with ancestors and their powers. A fourth thing to master are words you say, the words you live by, and the words that define you, and the words that have shaped you. –Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories
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