The Diamond Truths of New American Colonization

Detail of the Frontispiece, Diamond Sutra from Cave 17, Dunhuang, ink on paper (the oldest, dated printed book, 868 CE), universal distribution made possible by Wang Jie

"If a good man or good woman develops the mind of a bodhisattva and maintains this sūtra, even with as little as a four-line gāthā, and accepts, maintains, studies, recites, and explains it to others, then the merits of this surpass the others...

All conditioned dharmas
Are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, or shadows;
Like drops of dew, or flashes of lightning;
Thusly should they be contemplated."

- Vajracchedika (The Daimond Sutra), 32

________

Only a few days prior I had only passed by the reserve, Tsuu T’ina. The dilapidated rodeo stadium seemed dwarfed beside the traditional tipi stands, piercing through the pine forest canopy. Though, their well-worn canvas was visible in the instant of passing. And on down the highway, the billion dollar estates of cookie-cutter middle class residential colonies staggeringly featured on hillsides and valleys with the shallow, crooked smiles of worldwide settler ignorance.

Invited on reserve, what was I to expect. It became all too real and just so warming when in the presence of two young women, sitting on felled trees in a forest glade. They were humble, kind and open. They told me about the human experience, the incomprehensible ways and wherefores of corruption and the weary distillation of progress with or without wealth, on or off reserve. The original crime is at hand, though, truly, the unforgiving hand of an all-deceiving colonial contemporary oppresses us all.

This was my realization, though she didn’t have to say it as such, just kept flashing her warm smile and welcoming presence. A tea offered with such candor on a land infused with such bitter rumors, emptying on your heart with the depth of tragic realization, as viscerally near, as your own heartbeat struggling to course blood through your veins before the awe of an expectant spiritual confrontation. And here we were, sitting in the quiet peaceable forest. Three youth, peering out through the sun-cast opening towards a picturesque vale of mythic proportion. The warning sky cleared, as with ethereal empathy just for us at that moment. The sunrays cracked through the forest shade, enlightening the smoky dust. Looking at such wide-open beauty, I drank in the wild vocation of rapture at the mere sight of ecological wisdom in its simplicity. Yet, to the north horizon, as we looked west, a mountain had been reddened, as an eviscerated body, heaving the dim breath of laborious, earthly pain. I shrugged in careless abandon, questioning the lady to my right. She told me, briefly, of the catastrophe; a mistaken excavation, fruitless for all, rendering the mountainside clean of life.

Walking back through the town, I was led to meet others.

________

Interpretation: In Our Colors and Dreams We Are All Daughters of the Sun 

________

names tearing at the throat from the machete claw
breaking apart the vocal chord forests
dreamt in saw-cleared eyes
during the infamous winter of English settlement
from the prized mouth and stomach of burnt corn and lacrosse 

pages, ruffling in the French-Canadian afternoon

who remembers with sterling grace
and an ease unbeknownst in the blank wilderness of Western memory,
the oral grave of intergenerational strife
digging itself extra corpses to save face in the final rain of time

- excerpts from "New America, Go Forth!" 

First Nations Non-Ordinary State on the Margins of Reserve Land

Arearea (Joyousness) by Paul Gaugin

Moonlit pathway over crumbled rock, the pathway is unstable, and at the edge of a typical social stability, between myself and the dog I hold on a leash and an older man walking beside. The path seems to balance between being on a First Nations reserve and the Western world, as I walk immediately on the broken stone, side of the reserve and the dog begins to become severely angry with me, he is getting awkward on the leash and the man beside me merely follows and emits calming vibrations as we continue along the path while I continue to try and take care of the dog. 

As we get out of the open moonlight and into the darker forest, other men appear in traditional ceremonial dress, half-naked, adorned with feathers and hide, there is one in the bush who seems to be involved in an intervention of non-ordinary states of consciousness, then there is a man walking towards us, I try and move my head and walk on the edge of the path to let him through, though his attitude is that of warmly welcoming us, and the elderly man beside me assures me. 

Next we find ourselves inside of a trailer; it is full of First Nations people who are dressed in modern day Western clothing, in a festive mood, regular with any other house off the reserve with a small crowd of young, vibrant people. The elderly man is recounting our steps to the trailer, and I communicate the difficulty of the dog. One young man with glasses and a light collared t-shirt begins to tell me the way to appease my dog, through dancing. 

I ask about the dance in a popular culture attitude, though he assures me about the effectiveness of the First Nation way to dance. He demonstrates, and suddenly the lights dim, and its as if he is in the archaic mold, an embodiment of animal spirit, in a slow and deliberate show of action and expression through the limbs, extremities and face, and the dog suddenly becomes docile. People laugh and they continue to be their lovely selves, I in awe. 

July 20, 2011