SPARTACUS and JIM CROW

The movie, Spartacus, was good, and for the times extraordinary! But, the novel? It was the book that turned the country upside down! It was banned in the South! I did not understand that until I read it! The author's mastery interpreting Roman history gave the spiritual and the intellectual basis for the governing business of American life: slavery. It was an extraordinary read! - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 4/19/18

2 Stories Interlocked!

Brigitte Bardot having fun!

Brigitte Bardot was once innocent, had innocence and played with it with ease until the world of men, predatory men, took that from her. It is an old story her old age repeated. - Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories 4/12/18 

Fred Astaire, 1935.

"The African informed, taught his act and he became famous being white interpreting African dance to a less sophisticated appreciation of African genius!" - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 4/12/18 

Fred Astaire. Looking at the man through the lens of how entertainment failed and divided the races (Black and white) with the ingratitude of white entertainers learning, as best they could, how to dance the popular African dances of the time is a tell. . . White people are indeed lacking in gratitude, they also prefer to not acknowledge the debt of African genius. It doesn't agree with the intelligence of their assumptions of superiority, arrogance.

Far beyond in terms of years, the current fad of playing around with words and concepts like diversity, getting along, tolerance and other trite movements white people distant themselves from self-analysis and we, the rest of us, have to grapple without the presence of the designers of the racial construct we live within, to get along with white people! That's some shit! But, that is the way the misconception: racial reconciliation conducts itself!

This is hard to understand with a Twitter frame of reference and developmental substance. There are those who would prefer I'd simplify complex subjects, but I am a mature man who has steeped himself in study and analysis of this culture since my teenage years. Why would I try to fit all of this into 140 characters like the President Trump currently does most days!

It is this division of intelligence wrestling this global power into ineffectiveness. In time, in ways I don't need to see from this vantage point because of my age is a grown up way of dealing with a child. Let the child stumble. In this sector of human history the risk is the loss of power, and Americans without the powers they are accustomed to will falter in terror, no longer being the most powerful nation in the world!

That is quite a story Fred Astaire started. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 4/12/18

Loose intentions...

Sarah Harding at Cosmopolitan Ultimate Women Of The Year Awards

www.GutterUncensored.com

There is a measure of discernment eradicated from the concepts of being a Lady; so much so the distinction between being a woman, and a lady are not modeled, or taught to girls to make a difference. It is too noticeable among men, and men talk about it especially when God gives them daughters, and wives to care for. You see, marriage and fatherhood change the dog into the wolf. And women not understanding the difference between the natures of dogs and wolves provide the reasons for the pool of ignorance the many drink from.

I know the under educated American citizen doesn't understand the first paragraph, but it isn't my job to undo that. It is my job to hold the stories and release them where needed. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 12/15/17

Sarah Harding's panties shown too easily at Cosmopolitan

Ultimate Women Of The Year Awards www.GutterUncensored.com

Outbreak: Roaming through the paradigms.

Youth is supposed to belong and come from innocence and the exploration of what it is to emerge from it with questions and answers. Taken away youth is violated. - Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories 11/17/17 

Jade Nile's innocence is her advantage for one, and disadvantage to what stakes a woman in her values. "Is that so?" one would ask of her, a woman whose punany is her meal ticket, and cost paid for fame. - Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories 11/17/17 

Reacting to the visual of two Black men, Garfield Burley and Curtis Brown, hung from a telephone pole, by a mob of 500 white men, women and children, October 8, 1902, in Newbern, Tennessee; who refused the assessment of a Criminal Court Judge Maiden pleading for them to wait for a trail the next day! They couldn't. They didn't. These were white people acting out the conditioning from their homelands. 

Reading the reactions of Black American women is painful, but laced with truthful insights, and the nuances of clarity the general population practices not looking their way. One woman, Sandra Mitchell said: 

"Black Lives Matter. This goes to show the horrific moments our black people had to go through in those days. Nowadays, we have mental lynchings which is similar to physical lynchings! Graphic picture; but, needed for us to see what they've endured. But, God!. . ."

For those who care, the pain of women speaking from the pain in their birth places hurts the ears, and stabs into the heart of being African in America! It took me two days to find and unearth my words to say: 

"... Sandra, the depth of your pain is a recollection you didn't have to live, but you feel. For that it is good because it keeps the spirits of our ancestors as a cry echoing in daily life. Whites try to minimize the strength and the power of what is your angst, but the echoes persist as white men kill without regard for the 'why' of their way, of their spiritual make up. What force keeps them at bay?

So far, there isn't one. Not even Jesus has that power! Maybe, if women were connected to their wombs, and developed themselves to use those powers from on high, and from depth within, changes will occur from deep within? Maybe, but that requires awakening and the cultural dictates people sleep, waiting for a Messiah!" - Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories 11/8/17 

To Discipline Man

Tori Black in black lingerie in bed as
Penthouse Pet of December 2010  

The things said not said that get done have gotten many a man in a woman's bed against his will. An ideal he took pride in, or fell from because the powers of She who held insight into the strength of his conviction made many a man's proud stance a proverb for those young men coming from the next generation. This will we carry can be carried proudly which is a weakness, or with the strength of wisdom honest enough to know it is vulnerable. 

On a very subtle level this is a deep subject important to the subject of soul. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories (7.30.15)

in jeans an older woman - Carol 

Keep Your Heart

Maat Petrova naked in white cloth (May 2015)

"Our ancestors have always been there to give us strength through beauty, Mother Earth is always there to share with us, Great Spirit embraces us with endless energy waves of warm caring love, but some humans enjoy trying to cut us off from all those blessings!" - EarthMothers Love (Mischa Valencia) June 9, 2012 at 4:48am 



Maat Petrova in an asana

PETA, HEAL THE EARTH OUR GRANDMOTHER
 

an old Maidu story about

MOUNTAIN-LION AND HIS CHILDREN

 

Mountain-Lion went off to hunt deer. Having put provisions of different sorts on his back, he started off, and, travelling for some time, he camped for the night. He slept, and in the morning, after having breakfasted, after having made ready his bow, he went hunting

 

He kept travelling about, and, after having shot a deer, carried it on his back to camp towards evening. Then, skinning it, he prepared and dried the meat; and when it was partially dry, after having packed it in a sack, in the morning he went off. And continuing on his way, he reached home.

 

His two children, who usually came out to meet him, were not there. He heard nothing. "What has happened!" he wondered. Then laying down the deer, after having sat down, he peeped into his winter-house.

 

Some one lay there on the ground, alongside of his wife. "I wonder where my two children have gone!" he thought. Again he peeped in, but did not see them. "I wonder where they have gone!" he thought.

 

He searched about for tracks. He followed the tracks along the trail. Then he turned back again towards the house, and returned thither. He set fire to it, he burned down the house.

 

While the two children were staying in the house, while they were playing, that man (Lizard) crawled in toward them. He sat down, and remained there sitting. "Your father, where has he gone?" he said.

 

They did not answer. They ran behind their mother, being afraid.

 

Then that old woman spoke. "He has gone to hunt deer," she said. "Ho!" said he, and, after having sat a while, went across, and sat down close beside her, remained sitting there.

 

"What are you doing?" she said. "What am I doing? I am going to marry you," he said. "What are you saying? I am already married," said she. Nevertheless I am going to marry you," he said.

 

Then he seized her. "Because of our having done thus, 'In olden times they wronged women, even though having children,' it is thus that mortal men, evil-speaking men, stealing women, shall say," he said.

 

"Women believing, this, even though married, shall take another husband," said he. So saying, he lay down alongside her, and the woman made no reply.

 

The two children stood still behind the fire. Then, taking hold of each other's hands, they crawled out. And when they had stood around for a while outside, they went off; and, having dug open an ant-hill, they crawled into it. Going off angry, they kept on downwards, and camped for the night. The sister was the younger, it is said; the boy, the older.

 

They had gone on ahead, it is said, when after them that old man (Mountain-Lion), returning home, coming back with game from the hunt, burned down the house.

 

Thereafter the old man searched, he followed their tracks. Far he could not track them. Where they had gone about playing, he followed the tracks. He went about crying, all day he cried. He sought their tracks, but he did not see them. He could not track them anywhere. So he went off northwestward, and, going as far as he could, he went around towards the south. He went across and around towards the east, and came on to the northwest, searching for tracks, it is said. He went all around the world, but did not see tracks.

 

He went farther. "To what country, to what country, have they gone, that I have not found their tracks?" he said. Then he went on, went to the place where the sun goes down, came around toward the south. Going farther, he came hither, went where the sun rises, went sorrowing greatly. "What country have they gone to, that I have not seen them?" he said.

 

He departed, crossed over to the east, and, travelling in a circle, went to the north. "To what country, I wonder, have they gone, that I have not seen them!" he said. Every day he travelled, crying, till he reached the place whence he had set out. Then, sitting down, he remained there. He wept.

 

After a while he spoke. "What countries I have travelled! I will go back," he said. So he went back, kept travelling, and after a while reached his own country, his house. Then, from where their tracks had started, he followed them; kept following, followed to where, having gone a little distance from the house, they had stopped.

 

He could not understand. What is to be done, I wonder!" he said. Then, after he had stood around for a while, having looked here and there, he scraped away the sand at the ant-hill. The opening continued on down, and he crawled into it. Near by was the place where (the children) had camped for the night, and from there again he saw the tracks. So then he camped for the night. In the morning, having gotten up, he went on.

 

Having gone a little ways, the children had camped. His sister having grown tired, the boy had carried her, and, having carried her a little ways, he made her get down. This was the way they had done: always again going a little farther on, they had camped.

 

Seeing this, (Mountain-Lion) went on; seeing where they had camped, he went off; and, having gone a little farther, he camped. The two children, killing some birds, had eaten them there; in coming thus far, they had grown a little larger. Then they had gone on, kept travelling, going a little farther, and had camped again. And at that place, digging camas, they had eaten their supper. (Mountain-Lion) reached that place, and went on.

 

Then again, going a little ways, they had camped; and the old man, reaching there, camped for the night. They had shot ducks; they had gathered all kinds of roots, all kinds of food; then they had had supper. Reaching that spot, the old man saw all this, and camped there. And having, eaten all such sorts of food, he slept. In the morning, having breakfasted, he went on.

 

From there the old man, they say, kept travelling, eating food, and camped just where they had camped; then, continuing on his way, he went on. Having departed towards a distant country, they had camped, they had shot a young deer, they had made a bow. The bow was left behind, a little seed-beater was left behind. After using them, they had left them, and had gone on from there.

 

The old man reached that place and camped. Taking down the deer which hung there, he roasted it, roasted camas in the ashes, and ate supper. In the morning he arose, cooked some deer, roasted some camas, and breakfasted. Then he went off, kept travelling, and again came to where they had camped. A large deer was hanging there. A tray-basket was left behind, a root-digger was left behind, a large bow was left behind, well-made things had been left.

 

He arrived at this place; he ate supper, roasting deer, baking camas, taking it out of the fire, sifting it with the tray basket. Having prepared things well, he supped. In the morning, arising, he did just the same again,--roasting deer, baking camas, taking it out into the tray-basket, fixing it, sifting it. Then, when he had breakfasted, he went.

 

Having gone, it seemed as if he had nearly caught up with them. He kept travelling, and again reached the place where they had camped. They had shot a cinnamon-bear; skinning it, fixing the hide nicely, they had hung it up. At this place they left a little pack-basket, a tray-basket, a digging-stick they had abandoned.

 

He arrived at that place. "I have almost caught up," he thought. Then taking down the bear, roasting it, roasting it well, he supped. After he had slept, in the morning he arose and breakfasted. Then he went on, he went away. When they went off, the children left a hut behind. Putting it together with bark, fixing it, covering it over, they had camped. He arrived there. A burden-basket was left, a winnowing-tray was left, a quiver was hung up, deer was hung up, bear was hung up.

 

Having arrived, he built a fire; then taking down the deer, roasting it, he supped. Then he slept; and in the morning, having arisen, he roasted some deer and breakfasted. Then he went away, kept going until he reached where they had camped. When he had arrived, a black-bear hide was hanging there, a fisher-skin quiver was left; a burden-basket, a winnowing basket, were left. "I think I have almost caught up," he said. And, having finished eating his breakfast, he went on.

 

Now he had grown very old. Continuing on thus far, when he looked up, he saw there was a great winter-house. Keeping on his way, he arrived there, being very old. And arriving there, beside the winter-house, outside the house, he sat down. Then sitting there, he stretched himself out, and lay on his back.

 

They saw and spoke of the very old man, "Who has come?" they said. Then that woman who had a father came out. She recognized her father. "It is my father! My father has come!" she said. Then her brother came out, and, coming out, he looked repeatedly at him. But, being so old, he could hardly recognize him. So, going into the house, he brought out his bow, and shot him who lay there. His father died.

 

After a while he lifted him on his shoulder, and carried him to a spring, and laid him in it. Then in the morning, waking and rising as a young man, he came out. He came into the house. His daughter lived there, married, having children. His son also similarly was living there, having children. And the old man having come in, they gave him breakfast.

 

Then, having breakfasted, they talked together. "We, our mother being seized by some kind of mysterious person, became afraid and ran away. We came as far as this," they said. Then they remained in that country in the olden time.

 

 

Maidu Texts, by Roland B. Dixon; Publications of the American Ethnological Society, Volume IV; Late E. J. Brill Publishers and Printers, Leyden, [1912] and is now in the public domain.

from archives of Blue Panther

The Mountain Spirits

Mountain Spirit - Nez Perce

 

 

Allalimyah, a mountain spirit or spirit of the wind. He was in the form of a person. A tall old man taller than any tree. Walking to and fro continually never resting, never eating, wailing and weeping blood, tears of blood constantly dripping not only from this eyes but from the great staff in his hand.

 

Many of the people a long time ago tried to touch this person, cannot tell whether man or woman. They grabbed but found nothing but air in their hands. With his breath he started all the breezes. If he did rest a moment it was at his turning places one of these was over at that mountain between Moscow and Spokane and the other turning place near Asotin he was on the go all the time first one way then turned went back over the same road.

 

That mountain is where the Nez Perce and Umatillas took refuge at the time of the great flood when all other places but that one mountain had been submerged. The stone is there yet in which they found their kouse - looks they tell just like one of their old morters.

 

Alla lim yah was a great spirit ranked higher than the spirit of the cold or heat. He it was who sent the way a kin in form of bird or beast to their sons or daughters when alone on the mountains.

from archives of Blue Panther

These stories awaken!

Soft light in an old kitchen would begin a review of what elements are in place not to disturb the tranquility of space between what is serene and beautiful to behold and what is subject to the sense of being present in a moment filled with etheric qualities. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories Nov. 22, 2016

Jews have always found ways to survive, blend and maintain their identity. Jewish identity is based upon something deeper than slavery, wealth, and survival. Black Americans need to understand these people more so now with Trump as President.

- Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories Nov. 22, 2016

Water touches the head, the heart and the body of knowledge the element comes from.

- Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories (Nov. 22, 2016) photo of Tawny Jordan.

The standard of defense against dangerous attractions is based upon discipline, and training prior to encounter. Whatever is practiced during rehearsal is done onstage. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories Nov. 22, 2016

In Waters Where Whales Live . .

"In waters where whales live I dreamt, but never swam. I can't swim in water. I can flow in dreams in time with the ebb and flow of water, as I did and remember doing in my mother's womb. The dance in the womb is not different from dancing beneath the sea, the ocean, or the rivers of water upon the land. What is different is the safety of one, and the inherent dangers of the others.

Not being able to swim in either of the oceans I've waded in both from either side with the whales invisible to me, but present to themselves. The Black ancestors from one ocean, and the Red relatives from the other oceans don't sing of me, they murmur below where it is audible for me to discern their languages. I can intuit the stories of Africans in the Atlantic. Feeling every emotion from their individual lives during the Middle Passage I cannot enter the Atlantic until I leave an offering of tobacco with my words. Those moments come across as magical pulls into the deep where I suddenly realize it was at a place of no return, and began to feel the panic of drowning. As terrible and terrifying as panic is panic creates spontaneous actions and creative ideas surface. Drowning in those waters, and remembering I had not Medicine powers with Water Spirits the idea to let go as a child was revolutionary and it saved my life..." - Gregory E. Woods, DawnWolf,  Keeper of Stories

February 17, 2014 at 10:46am ·

 

A Day Amongst the People

Gregory E. Woods: A Native Man’s Day At The Million Man March Celebration


The point of entry into any consciousness, any door, or adventure begins a chain of events we are prepared for, or we are not prepared to live through. For me, the day before the celebration of the 20th anniversary of the Million Man March in the nation's capital held my point of entry into the consciousness of the space Minister Farrakhan called for when I met a young Black man who'd been in one of my sacred circles a few years ago. The young man those years ago was in a Maryland program, Safe Passages, that worked with adjudicated youth who were continually in trouble with the law. The young man who hailed me in the subway system was one of those young teenagers and he was a changed man. He was working as a chef for a restaurant. He had no children and his eyes and his countenance was crystal clear!

Talking to him my heart sang with joy listening to him tell me he still had the braid of sweet grass I'd given him when he was a teenager in Safe Passages. Sweat grass teaches that the mind, the body and the spirit of a person separately can be broken. Braided together the three become strong intertwined into a sweet braid Medicine. Whenever the sweet smell of the braid of sweet grass fades it can be submerged in water and the scent returns when it dried by the sun, or the air. This is resurrection, revival. The braid can be burned as incense. Sweet grass is intelligent and whenever it wills the fire can die leaving the braid braided and the teaching insured to penetrate consciousness and provoke awareness where needed. Sweet grass. One of the Medicines Native people use in ceremony, in daily life in our lives in relation to the Earth, our Mother.

When we parted we hugged and I left him with a blessing. I kept thinking about him until I got to the location of the Million Man March celebration to practice with other drummers. Just after sunrise the next day I was escorted to the tipis where other Natives were greeting each other and waiting for the time to participate in the grand entrance of the much anticipated event! On the grounds of the Capital we were a five minute walk through hundreds of people to the place we were to make our grand entrance as Native people in our regalia carrying flags, carrying our heritages with pride, and for the Elders, our legacies walked with us, and there as always were those amongst us carrying our Medicines for the People.

To give a sense of the beginning of the day and the spirit of the place can be done, but it is not the story I want to share in the immediate after glow of the celebration at first. What I want to share is the scores of encounters with Black people compelled to connect with the spirit of Black Indians and other Indian people. I'd like to relate to people who were not there the connections made between Muslim and Christian people in alignment with principles attuned to the subtleties and powerful visions of Minister Farrakhan. I'd like to delve into the vision of Minister Farrakhan for this day from the perspective of kinship and relationship. There are the concepts of safe space and sacred space. The conceptual approach to service the Nation of Islam embodies protecting their own people, property and Minister Farrakhan, and the variant concepts of law enforcement typical of policing.

There were working concepts of reconciliation between races I paid attention to, and ideologies in action far deeper implemented than popular culture dares go beyond political correctness and fear-ridden diatribes against the changes occurring in arenas such as race, sexuality and as the Elders spoke in the traditional closings held off camera at the end of the day: the shifting of energies for the next 26,000 year cycle.

There is a story I should tell.

I invited a young white man to the celebration. He readily accepted. I suspect he'd had already been pondering and looking into the March and what it may mean to him by the words he used after he accepted my invitation.

The two tipis set up on the lawn were encircled by a wooden fence guarded by men from an inter-tribal warrior society from California. These were deep warriors in the traditions of their forefathers. No one was allowed in the tipis. The sacred items were placed inside and guarded by the warriors who deeply understood the care of the Sacred. It is where I left my Medicines until I needed them.

While I was away in the VIP section with the others attending to my place in the opening ceremonies of the event the young man showed up asking for me at the entrance of the sacred space. The initial response to his presence was immediate. He was dressed in jeans, a hoodie and dark shades. The warriors thought he was the white man we all remember as a fat taker (as the Lakota people called the white man), and he was perceived as a threat. But, there was an intervention. One of the older warriors stepped up to the young white man changing the tone of the moment by asking him what he wanted and with kindness from a deep place told him I was not present at the moment, but would return. In the meantime he invited him to wait near by and gave him a bag lunch saying, "You may be hungry. Take this with love." and he touched his heart.

The warrior and I were sitting on my blanket sharing stories when he shared this with me after I'd made contact with the young man. The encounter moved me. I said, "You did this?"

"Yes." he said touching his heart with his left hand and guiding his right hand along invisible lines in the air above his head said, "Love. That is what this (the gathering) was all about!"

Gregory E. Woods
Dawn Wolf, Keeper of Stories
October 11, 2013

Dawn Wolf (2nd from left) with drummers at 20th anniversary of Million Man March October 10, 2015

 

What Is Seen



nude study by Dirk Richter (Oct. 8, 2014)

"The presence of divinity is an extraordinary event appreciated humbly by the quiet of soul." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories (5.12.15)


 

Body Imagine

"Body image changes as we age. We change, but insisting we remain as we were, or as men clinging to the hope younger women will be attracted to us older and healthy men is more vanity and clinging to what once was possible. Aging reflects back and forth between then and later. In the present, it is wonderful to see the change in the changes as we age. Maturity is its own wisdom and peace keeper.

None of us knew this when we were young." - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 4.22.15

body of Toni Braxton 

Bebe Neuwirth, actress

body perfection of an older woman 2 

Martha Steward walking with her daughter Alexis in New York city
after grabbing iced coffee at Sant Ambroeus by Brian Flannery in 2006 !!!!

 

The DOGS

The Dogs: Keeper of the Stories by Gregory E. Woods

Just one glance into the recesses of one's memories are the many times the presence of good and evil, of a sacred and divine flow of energetic particles seem to flow along the contours of the fiber of our being from a core. Every life has felt it. What a thinking person does with it is their decision. It is unknown how these things occur, but accepted child-like with the reverence gratitude instigates all becomes magical feelings, and a thinking stops thinking as a primary way of absorbing the world of sensory perceptions. More often than not it becomes magic of a kind that is comforting or probing.

Animals don't think about these things to the degree people do. The four-legged People's thoughts are voices without sounds, pictures of the deeper things that convey mystery language to the sense of knowing and belonging to the whole. 

One morning when I was a young father, my brother-in-law, Scotty, carefully shook me awake just after the sun cracked an eye open in the east. Grumbling, I followed him downstairs outside. I had left my machete in the house. I was clad in jeans, barefoot. The early birds were flying circles above the street looking down at people standing on cars, or braced to run in terror from a pack of wild dogs. The dogs formed a half-moon shape from the leader against the backdrop of the forest at the end of the road. Their menace was thick in the air. I relaxed into the moment recognizing the leader and a dog here and there I'd met over the months stalking them in the depths of the forest searching for their dens.

The leader looked deep in my eyes, and I in his recognizing what was important to know in each other. These assessments can be long, or short exchanges. We knew each other. Out of habit I'd readjusted my weight to balance against attack, but they were too far away, and only the leader was calling the shots. I was telling my story of who I was that day, and he his story came full and possessed with hunger tinged menace. I thought of killing. He thought of tearing flesh. In the end we knew the dance for that moment.

With an almost imperceptible nod from the leader to me the other dogs turned without a sound and filed into the tall grass, and slithered between the hardwood trees without a sound. I looked after them awhile sad, and glad to see them go. The people on the cars were staring at me with fear wondering what happened, and how. Under my breath I told Scotty, “Go to work.” and went back to bed.

People remember the power of one when the whole is threatened. In turn the community ideal is to complete the circle aiding the one. This circle binds us together as a community. This is my story.

Gregory E. Woods
Keeper of Stories (Dawn Wolf)
2.16.15

published by Indian Voices
March 02, 2015

Dawn Wolf in ceremony sharing a Medicine Wheel teaching

 

Run, Rabbit, Run a Wabanki story

It was late winter or very early spring, for snow still lay on the ground, when Ableegumooch the Rabbit entertained two friends at a maple syrup feast. The two friends were Keoonik the Otter and Miko the Squirrel.

As they happily licked the last of the syrup off their paws, they exchanged news.

"Last night," said Miko, "the moon looked into my den and woke me, and I heard wolves talking outside. I heard them offer Lusifee the Wild Cat two strings of wampum to kill somebody!"

"Really?" asked the rabbit, with interest. "Who?"

"They didn't mention any name," said the squirrel, "but only spoke of him as a servant and friend of Glooscap, one full of tricks, who knows his way through the forest."

"Whoever he is," said Keoonik darkly, "he is as good as dead, for that Lusifee is a cunning tracker and absolutely cold-blooded."
"A friend of our Master's," mused Ableegumooch, "could be any of us."

"Someone full of tricks," remarked the otter uneasily. "It could even be me!"
"Hah!" snorted the rabbit, "you know very well that I am the one most full of tricks hereabouts." And Keoonik did not deny it, for he had suffered much in the past from the rabbit's mischief. Miko gave a little shiver.

"You know, when they spoke of one who knew his way through the forest, I couldn't help wondering if they meant me, for I can find my way through the trees better than most."

"Nonsense!" snapped Ableegumooch. "Anything a squirrel can do, a rabbit can do better. After all, I am Glooscap's official forest guide. And his very good friend," he added proudly.

"The thing is," said Keoonik, his eyes dwelling unconsciously on the rabbit, "to find someone who fits all three requirements-- someone full of tricks, one who knows the forest, and one who is a servant and friend of the Great Chief."

The rabbit jumped as if a bee had stung him.
"Oh my! It's me he's after!"
Keoonik tried to comfort the stricken rabbit.
"We'll stand by you," he said. "Won't we, Miko?"
"Y-yes," said the squirrel doubtfully, for he feared that even the three of them together would be no match for the ferocious cat.

"Thanks, my friends," said Ableegumooch, heartened by their loyalty, "but I may not need your help. I have a plan."
Miko asked what he had in mind.

"Strength and speed are on Lusifee's side, so I must rely on craft," said Ableegumooch and grinned mysteriously. "When a rabbit's skin falls short, he must borrow another's. Well, he's sure to come here to find me. I'm off!" And the rabbit sprang into the air, landing a long distance from his lodge, so as to leave no track near his home. Ableegumooch kept jumping in this way until he thought he was out of scent and sight, then scampered away like the wind.

Keoonik and Miko scurried to a hiding place nearby and waited to see what would happen. Presently, sure enough, Lusifee the Wild Cat appeared, slinking along with nose to the earth, his yellow eyes gleaming and his great paws padding silently over the snow.

Finding the rabbit's wigwam empty, he snarled with disappointed fury. However, taking the wigwam for a center, he kept going round and round it, making each circle a little wider than the one before, until at last he found the rabbit's scent. He kept on circling until he reached the spot where the rabbit had stopped jumping. Then, swearing by his tail to catch Ableegumooch and kill him, he set out swiftly on a clear trail.

As the day passed, Lusifee knew by the freshness of the track that he was overtaking the rabbit, but he did not catch sight of his prey while daylight lasted. As night fell, Lusifee came upon a wigwam all alone on the open marsh, and he poked his head inside. There sat a grave and dignified old fox, whose white hair stuck up oddly on either side of his head. When asked if he had seen Ableegumooch, the old fellow shook his head, but invited Lusifee to pass the night with him.

"You can continue your search in the morning," he said in a helpful manner. So, being tired and hungry, Lusifee accepted the invitation, and after a good supper, lay down by the fire and slept soundly.

Towards morning, however, he began to shiver and feel most uncomfortable. Waking at last, he looked around in amazement. He was no longer in the warm lodge but lying on the open marsh with snow blowing over him. Then Lusifee saw dimly the marks of a rabbit's feet and knew Ableegumooch had fooled him. The rabbit, artful at disguise, had masqueraded as the fox and had removed himself and the wigwam while Lusifee slept.

Resuming the chase in a great rage, the cat swore by his teeth, as well as by his tail, that Ableegumooch would die before nightfall. But when darkness came again, he had still not caught sight of the rabbit.

Stopping at the first village he came to, which was that of a porcupine tribe, he asked the first young porcupine he met if he had seen a rabbit pass this way.

"Hush!" said the porcupine. "Can't you see we are listening to the storyteller?" Then Lusifee noticed that the whole tribe was gathered around the fire listening to an old porcupine with white whiskers and oddly-shaped ears. In the land of the Wabanaki, the storyteller is greatly respected, and it is considered most impolite to interrupt him. So the cat was obliged to wait until the stories were over. Then he turned once more to the young porcupine.

"But have you seen a rabbit?"

"Hundreds of them," answered the other impatiently, "are racing about in the cedar swamp near here. You can have as many as you want."

"Those aren't the ones I'm after," complained the cat. "I want Ableegumooch, Glooscap's forest guide."

The young porcupine said he knew of no other sort of rabbit save the wild wood ones, but perhaps the storyteller who was old and wise could tell him something.

So Lusifee went to the storyteller and asked if he had seen a rabbit pass by.

"Rabbit?" The storyteller rattled his quills as he thought, and the cat moved back prudently. "No, I've seen no rabbit. But, my friend, you look tired. You may pass the night with me, if you like, in my lodge outside the village."

The cat was glad of the invitation and went to sleep in a warm bed. Much later, he awoke, all a-shake and a-shiver in a wet cedar swamp, the wind blowing ten times worse than the night before, and all around him the tracks of a rabbit.

Lusifee sprang up more enraged than ever and, swearing now by his claws, as well as by his teeth and his tail, to be revenged on the rabbit, he set out again on the trail. He ran all day and at night came to another village, inhabited by a tribe of bears. He was so weary he could only gasp out:

"Have--you--seen--a rab--bit?" q

The bears said they had not, but invited him to join in a feast with them, and when they had done eating, they politely asked him for a song. Now the cat was very vain about his voice, and right willingly he lifted up his voice in a song of hate against rabbits. The bears applauded and invited him to join in the dancing, but the cat begged to be excused on account of weariness and sat to one side, watching.

Now one of the bears was smaller than the others and his ears were somewhat longer than bears' are usually. How ever, he was a great dancer and leaped higher in the air than any other. As he passed by Lusifee he accidentally, it seemed, gave the cat a fierce kick, cutting his head and knocking him senseless.

When the cat came back to consciousness, he found him self in a wigwam outside the village. A medicine man of the bear tribe was bending over him and the cat noticed that he wore long white feathers on either side of his head. By now Lusifee was growing more suspicious and he looked at the medicine man with narrowed eyes.

"I was asking if any rabbits had been around here," said Lusifee, "and truly you look very much like one yourself. How did you get that split lip?"

"Oh, that is very simple," said the medicine man, who was no other than Ableegumooch, of course. "Once I was hammering wampum beads, and the stone on which I beat them broke in halves and one piece flew up and split my lip."

"But why are the soles of your feet so yellow, like a rabbit's?"

"Simple, again," said the medicine man. "I was once preparing some tobacco and as I needed both hands to work, I held it down with my feet--so the tobacco stained them yellow."

Then Lusifee suspected no more and allowed the medicine man to doctor his cuts with salve, after which he fell asleep. But, alas, once more the unhappy cat awoke in dreadful misery, his head swollen and aching, his wound stuffed now with hemlock needles instead of salve.

Now Lusifee swore by his body and soul, as well as by his teeth and his claws and his tail, to kill the next thing he met, rabbit, or any other!

Forgetting pain and cold, he rushed off, exulting when he found the track of Ableegumooch very fresh. Evidently the rabbit too was tiring from the race and could not be far off. Yes, there was the tricky follow just ahead! In fact Ableegumooch had been obliged to stop short as he came to the edge of a broad river. The cat grinned with triumph, for he knew that rabbits are no good at swimming. "You can't escape me now," he shouted. Poor Ableegumooch. He could run no further.

Far away on Blomidon's misty summit, Glooscap saw all that had happened and knew the rabbit had done all he could by himself. The Great Chief began to smoke his pipe very hard, puffing black rings into the blue sky, where they changed at once into birds.

Down in the forest, Ableegumooch had turned at bay and Lusifee was prepared to spring--when, suddenly, down from the sky hurled a great flock of giant hawks screaming their war cries. Lusifee snarled and turned to meet them, but they bore him down by force of numbers--picking at his eyes and beating him with their wings- -until at last, screaming with fear, the cat turned tail and fled into the forest, where if he is not dead he is running still!

Trembling with fright, Ableegumooch sank down to rest at last. He was not half so cocky as he had been when he started out, for he knew that but for the hawks he would have been a dead rabbit. A flute was playing far off, and the rabbit listened. Then he knew who had sent the hawks to him in the nick of time.

"Thank you, Master," he whispered. Glooscap, far off on Blomidon, nodded--and played a triumphant tune to the returning birds.

Now, kespeadooksit--the story ends.  - from the archives of Blue Panther

Elegance is not Opulence

Dame Helen Mirren posed for Vogue US march 2013
by Mikael Jannson 

Excellence is a life time's work of art done with care, intelligence and the intrigue characteristic of a curiosity about the outcome of such an endeavor. - Gregory E. Woods, 7.13.14 

HEALING PRESENCE

Ashana

"I pause and in myself sit still in your presence realizing, "What a beautiful, and gentle thing to behold. Your essence and the way you look has to be held!" 

- Gregory E. Woods

Keeper of Stories

10.16.12

MYSTICAL REVELATIONS AT SUNSET

“The wave of light and insight into that light shifted the world of people without the world of people able to understand where the shift came from and how it was released. It is the mystical revelations that come in moments the whole of Creation allows an individual, or two to glimpse the beginning of Genesis, or see the first rays of light upon darkness, experience the freshness of starting anew, and embody the manifestation of creative spirit upon matter that makes living magical, and without words pounds into our being who we are and what Creation is not.” © Gregory E. Woods (12.9.12)

ANCESTORS TO CHILDREN: legacy

Perryvilla Island
Jan. 23, 2013

Black business promotional for Cheers Natural Salon in Lauderhill, Florida
for a 40% discount mention Perryvilla Island for any service. Perms & braids are welcome.
ask for Nadine: 754. 246.0492

http://cheersnatural.net/ 

Now, I live far away from Florida, and I don't let anyone, but my wife touch, or take care of my hair. But it is important to illustrate, by example, one of the ways to promote Black American businesses anywhere in the United States, and tell why it is important to tell this story.

The Internet provides a way to promote in a mirrored fashion the way Colored folks (Members) had to promote home business during the Neo-Slavery period of American history. There were many challenges others citizens (non-Members) had to face. Whites were known for their intense contradictions, their rages and jealousies. The slightest hint of prosperity exceeding theirs was more than enough for them to harass, hang, burn out, steal from, undercut, or regulate Negro business out of business! 

The United States government through to the lower governments were granted immunity for decades as the practice of arresting and gathering Black men off streets for the imaginary and minute misdemeanors to work as laborers in the prison system, or chain gangs, and produce millions of dollars worth of products for American commerce. A Colored man could be walking in nice clothes without a dime in his pocket and be arrested for loitering, vagrancy, or trespassing. Colored men could be sodomized and otherwise tortured before being hung for displaying intelligence, asserting himself, glancing at a white woman, or being successful, or the simple object of a white man's jealousy.

A Colored's life was always challenged by the foibles of an insecure white people. Thus challenged Negroes were always re-inventing themselves, and challenging themselves, and each other to be braver, wiser, more thoughtful, and cunning than their elders, and ancestors. 

"Change gonna come," is what the song said. 

Segregation commanded attention of the best and the worst of Negroes and Whites. During those times Blacks had to operate on the high of their creativity on every level of their existence, and the wise counsel of Elders and sidekicks had to talk many a Colored man from killing a white man! Negro communities promoted their businesses and expertise was a commodity that could travel from town to town, or state to state. It seems, as I listened to the old timers talk, each trade had a traveling road. Musicians traveled the 'chitlin' circuit', for example, and it could have led to New York, Chicago and a few other places where the money, the venues, and the hip cats lived and played with the best of the best.

One of the old men in my mother's church, Brother Couch, told me stories about his life over and over again, as any good storyteller would. It is why I remember the important ones. In his early days he traveled with his father who was a master bricklayer. His father was so good at his craft it was dangerous for him to stay but so long in any town or city because of the dangerous aspect of white men's jealousies. He was also a good looking man, a smooth talker, and loved the women. "In every town," Brother Couch told me, "my father had women. All them he married cuss it weren't right to have relations with 'em if n you weren't married to them. So, I had a lot of step-mothers!"

"When I was about 12 years old I decided to stay with one of them down South Carolina. (I believe that was the Carolina) I liked her. My father let me stay, and moved on. I bought my first piece of land at 13. Saved up every quarter, and got laughed at, and talked about, but I bought a quarter acre of land. That was the start. The next year I married my wife..."

Brother Couch's stories weaved the Old South from his memories to mine until I understood the relationships between the Coloreds and the Whites were woven skillfully with pain, guilt, anger, manipulation, and skills the other needed, and would either work together for, or pay for it. The relationships were complicated. When Brother Couch left his family to find a place for them in Washington DC he went to his Congressmen.

"I knew how Peckerwoods think. You had to know how white folks think." he continued. "Now we couldn't vote, but them they needed a niggah's support. Didn't like niggas, but they needed us. So, I went to see him, and talked to him in his office. Got him to send for and pay my family's way up here, and got me a job!"

I can't remember the work the old Pecker wood Congressman got him, but it started him off in the political circles of DC that continued until he died in his 80's. 

The point I am making is directed at the generation entering and about to enter the job market. They grew up without the Elder's stories to help fill in the vast gaps in their thinking, and understanding. These children were educated by a system determine to undermine their effectiveness, dim the kaleidoscope of their visions, and to dumb down their inherent genius. For many thousands they were successful, but the numbers work another direction. Every generation of Africans born into the American system has produced, and continues to produce children from and committed to excellence in phenomenal ways. This generation is no different. They just know and understand things with far less clarity, and the critical thinking their great grandparents developed. This story is one of many they will need to regain what was taken from them by sales men and educators. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories 5.5.13

Jan. 23, 2013

That is a low blow in the face of an American cultural tendency to vote against their best interest with silence, indifference, and ignorance of what is occurring across the country. With a cultural tendency in significant parts of the United States to vote against one's best interest based on race comparing Obama to Hitler is ludicrous under the analytical glare of the past administrations, and the conduct of the American public who has largely been allowing the erosion of their rights, and access to work by what they don't know, don't do, don't understand, won't learn, and don't want to see and know.

In short, I am talking about the self-sabotage practiced as a prerequisite of citizenship! That is the culprit. We have what we voted for. - Gregory E. Woods, Keeper of Stories