Arrows From Heaven and Tribal Lands


A personal note to John Tecumseh Shawnee. Thanks for the link. I did visit and it is now in my heart. Thank you. RGS

This post is for you.

Arrows From Heaven
© 1995 Rolland G. Smith

The heart drum throb of ancient tribes
Transcends in timbre’s pulse sublime
As cadenced rhythmic beat proscribes
A nature past, but still divine.

Shoshone, Ute and Navajo
Proud native hearts of desert west
Shawnee, Zuni, Arapaho
Beat sacred drums for vision quest.

From heaven then, come arrows gold
To find their set within the heart
So story old can then be told
By feathers stride ‘long sacred dart.

The cricket calls in night’s dark damp
To warrior and lunar light
That shows the way to dreamers camp
And wings our minds for freeing flight.

Arcadian shafts, fluted points
Painted ponies and shaman’s chant
Reprise the past and then anoint
The drumming with a stepping slant.

When beat of heart and those of drums
Transform the time of honor due
Ancestral rest then finally comes
And spirit heart is birthed anew.

Tribal Lands
© 1995 Rolland G. Smith

Some hardened stones are all that’s left
Of tribal lands of long ago.
Yet knowing tongues, now speak of times
When native hearts again bestow –
A sacred cleansing at earth’s breast
Of blue corn hallowed on the ground
And thanks go out from modern minds
Acknowledging a pulse profound.

Distant brother come share the blood
Of pale skin and ancient shame.
Trust, long has bled, as casualty
Of broken treaties that proclaim –
The word of some was as the sand
When empty wind would fly its course
And wipe the promise from the heart
When soldiers took with no remorse.

Gentle sister of grassy plain
Help calm the atavistic rage
That lingers as our history.
Release its curse with smudging sage –
And see the smoke then dissipate
The agony of saddened past
That hardened into crusted doubt
Then lands were taken that were vast.

A Wandering Mystic


My thought wanderings this morning are motivated by the current climate of fear that seems to permeate the economic realms of our magnificent world.

I have come to realize that fear and trust are inimical. They cannot co-exist. You cannot tie one to the other for trust is real and fear is an illusion. No matter how we let fear manifest in the mind, it is still a fiction, a false emotion precipitated by the ego and its need to justify and sustain itself. Trust, however, is a freeing gift from the benevolent and infinite Source that allows us to accept that things are as we create them on our path to enlightenment.

Throughout history humankind has been using fear as the great motivator, the great blindness not to see the serendipitous joy in living. Individuals, groups, societies and countries have used fear as the reason to react. I have come to believe that once we acknowledge the genesis of fear, and trace it honestly and lovingly to its creator, the ego, it can no longer instigate or be the catalyst of negative action. When fear does not exist, sacred and unconditional trust emerges.

In my sixty five plus years of shared emotions and blended tears in just the living of life, I have come to realize the importance of the truth of living in the moment, the “Now.” I have always felt its efficacy, but its slamming reality is always brought home through crisis, through experience, through meditation and through prayer and especially through joy. I believe we are eternal and each life is not only a physical concept, but a spiritual reality called spirit as we merge to the mystical Oneness in the far reaches of the inner universe.

So much for wanderings this Friday morning. Have a perfect day.

Just Words, No Vision


Vision is the process by which we construct the future. It is the substance of creation and the positive image of what we can be, but at the debate last night I did not hear the words that engender the enthusiasm to collectively co-create the structure of common hope on the foundation of realistic wonder.

I wanted more. I wanted something to hold on to besides the “aming” of their own “I”. I wanted each to be a statesman not a politician. I wanted to hear the reinforcement of American ideals. I wanted both to paint me a picture of the future and color it with ideas and then give it the fragrance of action. I wanted the genesis of solutions on Medicare, health care, education, the housing crisis, the economy and the litany of other issues entrained in our future.

From each, on occasion, I got a peek, a pinhole of light into their vision of a coming America, but mostly it was clouded with canned political speak. Every American knows we will all have to sacrifice and I want our leadership to acknowledge the coming tough times. Mostly what I gleaned from the debate was the darkness of past thought, the detritus of false words and the pain of personal hurt.

When Alexander the Great became ruler of the world, he came upon a philosopher who was lying upon his back in a meadow and mediating. Having become powerful and rich, Alexander became a patron of the arts and intellectuals. He stood before the philosopher and said, “Name your wish” it will be granted. “I am a patron of culture and will gladly underwrite any project you may select”.

The Philosopher thought for a moment and said: “You may do one thing for me, your Highness. Please step aside, you are standing between me and the sun”.

Our next President must step aside of partisan politics, step aside from the light of rhetoric and bickering and lead us to our grandest vision of ourselves.

A Filthy Habit


I was always taught that spitting was unsanitary, unhealthy and a filthy habit. The only time it was acceptable was when a bug flew in my mouth or I got hit in the mouth while playing a game or just fooling around and you had spit blood. Spitting was never done in polite society.

Over the last few weeks I’ve been watching the baseball playoffs and in just one game I stopped counting at over two hundred spits by the players and that was only in the early innings. At first I thought the only one who doesn’t spit is the catcher because he has a mask on, but then I saw one lift the mask, spit and go back to signaling his pitcher.

I know this is gross, but can you imagine the collective accumulation of saliva in the dirt around home plate and the other bases and especially in the dugout. I’d hate to be the guy who has to swab the dugout floor after a game. And I’d hate to be the catcher who has to look at that stuff in the dirt and then catch a ball that’s bounced in a glob of body fluid. Yea, I know it’s gross, but look at what it teaches our Little Leagues.

Major League Baseball is big, big business. They bill themselves as wholesome family entertainment; they promote high moral and ethical standards among the players, yet baseball is one of the few sports where spitting is constant and the camera always seems to have a close-up of the player in the act.

It seems to me Major League Baseball could suggest and encourage its players to be a little more courteous to the fans who watch on television.

Spitting is a habit and habits can be eliminated with conscience effort.