Open Writing

It was September, and the harvest moon blazed in the night sky. The steady,"TUM-tum-tum-tum" pressed into my consciousness as I sat there by the flickering fire. The four-beat accentuated the solemnity that was taking place. I had no idea that I, a mostly non-native, was about to witness something beyond my belief or comprehension.

He looked to be between 70 and 700 years old as he squatted there. His face was etched with every minute. The dark eyes, hooded by his eyelids had squinted into a million sunrises and sunsets on a millon or more horizons. He looked as if he had been witness to Creation itself, and although his dark hair was now mostly the hoary white of age, he seemed to command a deep respect.

He had a staff in his hand, tied with feathers and some dyed hide I didn't recognize. Without speaking, he raised the arm carrying the staff, and the drumbeat stopped as though cut with a sword.

When he did speak, the obsidian eyes flashed with a fire of a young man, and his resonant deep voice was without tremor or weakness. It came . . . clearly as if from within a great panelled chest. "I am called Dreamwalker", he intoned. "I have many other names, but I am Dreamwalker."

The silence was palpable. The deep voice continued. "I live in your mind, and travel where I wish, changing my shape to blend in where I wish or disappear completely from view. You are me . . . and I am you." A shudder ran through me as I recognized that face from photos and paintings in many galleries and collections.

He continued, "I have seen many snows, and each year, the snow gets darker with the filth that the newcomers have brought into the land that was once ours alone. "Fish can no longer live in his waste polluted streams, and the animals that dare come out to feed are slaughtered for their feet and horns. Much good meat is left to rot in the autumn sun. "Now, as he spreads his poison into the land where we used to grow grain, he is cutting his own lifeline. Soon, my brothers, it will be time. Time to reclaim and rebuild that which was snatched from our grasp. I have walked his trails, and even now, he grows fat and weak, while we grow lithe, lean and and strong. We must remember from whence we have come, because we must return there one day.

"I have also walked his dreams and found them of greed, avarice, lack of respect for the land and himself. Even his homes are not built to stand that which is to come. He will not survive. His greed for money will overtake his better judgement as it did in old times, many lands away.

"I cannot be sure of how many of our people will remain after the Armageddon that is to be, but we must band together and rebuild. We must adapt to accept the strongest and best of the mixed-bloods. It shall be as I have seen it. I am Dreamwalker."

In the quiet that followed, the only sound breaking the night air was that of crickets, and somewhere far off, a lone wolf howled his mournful call to the night sky. Then, he was there beside me. In a low voice he said, so only I could hear, "You have been chosen, and you shall choose. Choose wisely my son, and choose well. I have seen your mind, and willingly pass on my legacy to you. Henceforth, among our people, you, too will be Dreamwalker. White Eagle and Grey Owl will be your tishas. I shall be your guide as I was theirs. Go in peace. Namaste."

The intervening years passed, and I grew. I matured and became of the Spirit. My "tishas" taught me well that which I must know; spells, potions and abilities to use with my Creator-granted talents. Now, as white tinges my hair and age takes its toll, I pass on to you what I heard all those many years ago. "I am Dreamwalker. Expect me."