Outward Bound Ideas

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Monday, January 16, 2006

40. Message From Robbie Robertson

THE NAME OF THE MASK - N. Scott Momaday
And all the while he dances to the high, hectic rattle of the drum,
virtually in place, his motion translated into the pure illusion...
sometimes you look at a thing and see only that it is opaque,
that it can not be looked into, and this opacity is its essence,
the very truth of the matter. So it was for me with the...mask.
The man inside was merely motion and he had no face,
and his name was the name of the mask itself.
Hid I lifted...(it), there should have been no one and nothing
to see.

ANCESTOR SONG - Pura Fe, Soni, Jen,
(Traditional)
To our elders who teach us of our creation and
our past
So we may preserve mother earth for ancestors
yet to come
We are the land
To our brothers and sisters and all living things
across mother earth
Her beauty we've destroyed
And denied the honor the Creator has given
each individual
The truth lies in our hands
All my relations

IT IS A GOOD DAY TO DIE - Robbie Robertson
The general rode for sixteen days
The horses were thirsty and tired
On the trail of a renegade chief
One he'd come to admire
The solders hid behind the hills
That surrounded the village
and he rode down to warn the chief
They'd come to conquer and pillage

Lay down your arms
Lay down your spear
The chief's eyes were sad
But showed no sign of fear

Chorus
It is a good day to die
Oh my children dry your eyes
It is a good day to die

He spoke of the days before the white man came
With his guns and whisky
He told of a time a long time ago
Before what you call history
The general couldn't believe his words
Nor the look on his face
But he knew these people would rather die
Then have to live in this disgrace

What law have I broken
What wrong have I done
That makes you want to bury me
Upon this trail of blood

Chorus
We cared for the land and the land cared
for us
And that's the way it's always been
Never asked for more never asked too much
And now you tell me this is the end

I laid down my weapon
Laid down my bow
Now you want to drive me out
With no place left to go

Chorus
And he turned to his people and said dry
your eyes
We've been blessed and we are thankful
Raise your voices to the sky
It is a good day to die

SAID CHIEF SEATTLE
When the last red man shall have become a
myth among the white men,
when your children's children think themselves alone
in the field, upon the highway,
or in the silence of the pathless woods,
they will not be alone.
In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude.
At night when the streets of your cities are silent,
and you think them deserted,
they will throng with the returning hosts
that once filled them and still love
this beautiful land.
The white man will never be alone.

WORDS OF FIRE, DEEDS OF BLOOD - Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Nation
(Song written by Robbie Robertson)
Perhaps you think the Creator sent you
here to dispose of us as you see fit.
If I thought you were sent by the Creator
I might be induced to think you had a
right to dispose of me.
Do not misunderstand me
but understand me fully with reference
to my affection for the land.
I never said the land was mine to do with
as I choose.
The one who has a right to dispose of it
is the one who created it.
I claim a right to live on my land
And accord you the privilege to return
to yours.

Brother we have listened to your talk
Coming from our father the great White
Chief at Washington
And my people have called upon me to
reply to you

And in the winds which pass through
these aged pines
We hear the moanings of their departed
ghosts
And if the voice of our people could have
been heard
That act would have never been done
But alas though they stood around they
could neither be seen or heard
Their tears fell like drops of rain

I hear my voice in the depths of the forest
But no answering voice comes back to me
All is silent around me
My words must therefore be few
I can now say no more

He is silent for he has nothing to answer
when the sun goes down

A HUNDRED YEARS - Shirley Daniels
A hundred years have passed
Yet I hear the distant beat of my father's drums.
I hear his drums throughout the land.
His Beat I feel within my heart.

The drum shall beat
so my heart shall beat,
And I shall live a hundred thousand years.

PRAYER - Sandy Kewanhaptewa
And now, grandfather, I ask you to bless the white man.
He needs your wisdom, your guidance. You see for so long
he has tried to destroy my people and only feels comfortable
when given power. Bless them, show them the peace we
understand, teach them humility. for I fear they will destroy
themselves and their children as they have done so with
mother earth. I plead, I cry,
after all they are my brothers.

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