listening... Went home....for the first time since the passing of my Mother. Stopped and visited with her, where she rests, the dirt still settling over where she is interred. Promised her that we would be getting her a more permanent marker soon, to replace the little tin with the plastic card as a more fitting memorial to her life. Been to this cemetery, many times, have let go of quite a few folks here, friends, schoolmates, relatives,......loved ones. It was just a ....place, at one time, to me. a place that I ran by as I used to perform my daily 5 mile jog thru the rolling country. Later, it was a place I simply would pass by in my car on my way to visit relatives..... It lies between two mountains, one to the east and one to the west, one greets the sun and the other marks the passing of the day. The shadows of the mountains cast their shadow over the meadow for much of the day, except at high noon, when the Six Killer meets it's zenith. It's a tranquil place. Noticed that there were distant relatives nearby, familiar names, but aren't they all in a small town? But there were a few who seemed to stand out....... I remembered the story of an ancestor who I have been tracing for many years, and how they were buried at a place called New Hope. I never knew where this was......couldn't find it. Listening. Walking around after my visit with mom, I found an old placard, "New Hope Cemetery".......this place, in modern times, is called by a different name. So, I begin to move amongst the older graves.........the Old Ones, who came over the Trail of Tears, some of them with plaques telling of their arduous journey, their history, their accomplishments and their ultimate failure in fighting for their homes. There, in an area remarkable for it's lack of markers, are small native stones marking the graves of those who have no memorial, no testament to their lives. And there, is where I found the elusive ancestor, whose own journey over a Trail of Tears finally landed her here, in this meadow between the two mountains, in an unmarked grave, only yards from where my Mother now rests. I marvel at this revelation, how so many years have passed in trying to find her...... And I promise her that she will soon have a more suitable marker to replace the rock crudely engraved with the Cherokee syllables, Kv.Se.Ne. to memorialize her life. I guess I needed a little help in finding this grandmother........I guess this day, I truly went home. Today, I listened. I turn to leave and a gust of wind blows through me, but the dust doesn't stir.....the blades of grass don't move. I pause to allow the sifting, and look up.....the Six Killer is at it's zenith, the grandmother is at her daughter's house, for a moment, time simply stops..............pausing......then resumes towards the west mountain. I walk with no shadow to the waiting car, turn on the ignition,...... and fly. |
"listening..." © Wauhilau as posted in
alt.discuss.clubs.public.culture.native-american.benable
on Wed, Mar 22, 2006, 9:06pm (EST-3)
"Dust In The Wind" by Kansas
bead bar courtesy of Greasy Grass