Scarlet’s Web Journal


Thursday 22 September 2011, by Cécile Desbrun

A shattering. It will happen. It always does. But before it does, there is usually a chipping away of some kind.

I’ve been reading Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. I’ve been listening to this CD - - music given to me by the Little Drummer Girls, that’s what I call them. I met them in Minni.

They were on one of his sessions where I was able to get to know them a little better. They gave me their own music as they were leaving, going back to Rapid City.

Strange but I find myself being pulled to places that are in the book Wounded Knee.

I’ve been through some already and I’m feeling 1863 occuring now but on a parallel plane and without harsh edges, almost ghost-like.

The choice to part ways in Madison is familiar.
There was an antique pendant – a Blueberry, hand drawn, it reminded me of a book by Thoreau. I left it with him, hopefully it will protect him.
The Road called Little Crow – the Hawk that Hunts walking.

As I read page by page stop off find a diner mile by mile every word –etched in the land now moving in my cells –-it was an agreement I made with these words that have taken root to this land. Broken agreements. Broken treaties. A broken mind. Land segregated. A mind segregated. Our nation segregates from its root the place where our tree drinks or thirsts.

I listen to her sing as I drive. She has been separated from herself. The land has been separated from her sacred places – defiled. The land is called America. We’ll call her Carbon. She sings with the Little Drummer Girls – they are all in Rapid City. I’m not but I will be.

As I read, it occurs to me that our forefathers cleverly presented whoever was president as the Great Father. A concept the chiefs understood. And were manipulated by. Oh True Mother, how concepts take on a life of their own and can twist and turn. Does anyone refer to our Leader as the Great Father ? No. The world laughs when he speaks. Strange. How the tides turn and now a whole generation is reading ‘Great Elk Speaks.’

There is a crack that happens, it can be in a friendship, in an idea, in the land or in a mind, her mind.

It’s been a couple of weeks now. Here in the Black Hills with the Little Drummer Girls and Carbon – the voice I heard, it seems ages ago.
Having now been in and under and around and behind and through with this Triad –Favor, Carbon and Jane. Fave had taken me to see her grandmother on Pine Ridge. She looked right in my eyes and said "You can have read all the books in the world but the real question is, can you hold a space for someone whose destiny it is to walk the Dark Road." I really didn’t grasp the scope of it (they had warned me) until I was alone with her in the middle of a long hike back to nowhere.

I’ve seen different ways of being but when the blinds to Carbon’s irises started closing and the panic set in I had no idea how to traverse this misshapen world.
"Did you take your medication ?—"
‘Fuck the medication.’
"Oh Dear."
’I brought the doses down myself.’
"Even the Lithium?"
‘Yes. ‘
"What are you seeing right now?"
‘Well, everything behind you is changing – glass is everywhere around you and then it shatters and black circles move counter clockwise faster and faster until it all changes again. Jesus Christ. Gun shots. Don’t you hear the fucking gun shots ?’
"Um, no sweetheart. There are no gunshots that I can hear."
‘They won’t stop and the voices won’t stop and, Christ, the colors around you are bleeding, bleeding all over you. I can’t stop it, make it stop,make it stop, make it stop.’

(‘You can have read all the books in the world but the real question is, can you hold a space for someone whose destiny it is to walk the Dark Road.‘)

(from the Web Journal posted by Tori on the Scarlet’s Web in 2002)