WHAT I HAVE LEARNED


When the land grows silent, the deer , but a shadow in the night, a wolf howls for his lost mate, seeded plants bare nothing. Setting of the orange sun clouded, the moon sheds no more light, the soaring eagle , elisive, Indian flutes no longer heard whisteling through old aged pines, river travel becomes slower, the fires grow cold, thacks of the old ones hard to find, cries to the Sky Father seem to go nowhere. Then Mother Earth has became ill. Do not say"it is done, do not say"there is no hope", do not say"there is a way of life now gone." Do not say,"the Sky Father is not listening". Instead, believe in yourself and your teachings, and stand strong. Give the deer freedom, a wolf , his mate, plant stronger seeds. Look at the orange sun as a new beginning and stars will give back reflections  of moonlight. Mighty Eagles, offer them a resting place of safety, play your Indian flutes with conviction, release bonds that hold the river, place more wood upon the Sacred fires. Seek the tracks to follow; they are not gone, only covered with years of dust. Do not say:I am but one Indian:....join many hands among all of your relations, for we are plentiful in number and Mother Earth will heal. The Sky Father hears you


Wisdom words spoken in story weaving among Elders, not written in books, rather handed down from one generation to another before the sacred fires in the night. The time has come for you to hand down these stories, and maske a difference.


Tom White Cloud...Ojibwa