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Geronimo ~ by Chris Cade

It is said that all beings are interconnected, and that we only need to tune into the silence within ourselves to truly understand this. Not all of us believe this, however, and Geronimo was one of those people.

In his youth he had been a troublemaker as the result of being controlled by his parents and teachers, and he felt generally misunderstood. Perhaps this was because his rather large ego sent mixed messages into the world through a combination of hurting some while helping others.

For example, Geronimo took particular enjoyment in frying ants on the sidewalk with a magnifying glass, perhaps because as a child he had recurring dreams about them overtaking him while he slept. He dreamt of them biting him thousands of times while he slept, and he could remember so vividly when he awoke within his dreams the feeling of wanting to die. His dreams felt real, so real that he wasn’t ever quite sure that they were dreams until he awoke from them. The worst dreams were when he awoke, yet found himself to still be asleep having that nightmare.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that killing ants in his waking life felt justified. It was an eye for an eye, and from his perspective nobody was going blind. They were just stupid ants with no soul, no essense, no reason to be. To Geronimo, ants were a nuisance creature that should have never existed in the first place.

This destructive, abusive behavior was in stark contrast to his attitude towards people. He loved people, especially helping them succeed beyond their wildest dreams. A particular passion of his was to help groups of people that were being unjustly baised against in society, and he felt it was his duty to help right those wrongs. His ego led him to believe that he was these peoples’ savior, and that without his leadership and support they might never see justification. He never saw the irony…

Over time, Geronimo was successful in helping some of those wronged groups find their rights. So much so that he became a threat to the government in this third world country, and he was eventually framed for a murder he didn’t commit. Found guilty by an innocent jury that knew nothing of the corruption and deceit presented to them, Geronimo was sentenced to life in prison. Even worse, the first ten years of his sentence were to be served in solitary confinement.

Solitary confinement is a double-edged sword. On one hand, it’s a blessing to not have to deal with the ins and outs of the prison social structure. He didn’t have to worry about other inmates trying to take advantage of his newness, and he didn’t have to be concerned about whether or not the guards would beat him as was often the case. However, in exchange for the physical protections he had to give up some things people might consider far more precious.

His space was much smaller than what other inmates had, he had no bed, and there was only a small hole in the ground that served as a toilet. He slept on stone every night, but that wasn’t the worst part. In solitary confinement, there is no light. None. For ten years Geronimo spent his time in pitch black, and even worse, his food and water was sparse. Sometimes he wouldn’t be brought food for days, and his body had become weak, weary, and emaciated.

It was during this time in solitary confinement when Geronimo experienced the most excrutiating torment of his entire life. One night, while sleeping, he was overrun with ants exactly like his recurring dreams from years prior. The ants bit him fiercely, leaving welts all over his body, and when he awoke to them crawling all over he jumped up and started killing them.

Geronimo stomped and stomped. He flung them off of him, and he jumped up and down. He continued this until he felt no more ants on him and the room fell silent again. “Stupid insects,” he thought again to himself. “They know nothing.” And with that, he went back to sleep.

The next day, Geronimo was in for a big surprise. From a small opening in the darkness emerged a meal. An entire piece of stale bread, and a half cup of water. It was more than he had eaten in the last four days, so he was grateful. He lifted the bread to his mouth, took a bite, then set it down to enjoy a sip of water. When he went for his second bite, something incomprehensible had happened.

The bread was gone.

It had vanished into the mouths of the ants which were, yet again, also biting Geronimo unmercilessly. It was almost as though they knew he was the one who killed their ancestors from decades before and they were back for revenge. Night after night, the ants came back and the cycle repeated. Geronimo would stomp and jump, flick and fling, until all the ants left him alone. This continued for weeks, and Geronimo was genuinely concerned he might die from adverse reactions to all the bites.

Eventually, Geronimo gave up. He realized he couldn’t win this battle and accepted his fate. After eight years in solitary confinement, he was ready to die. When the ants came, Geronimo no longer had the will to fight them. He allowed their bites and stings to continue without resistance, and he counted the days until his death.

If the ants didn’t kill him the starvation would. He hadn’t eaten in over a week now, and he could feel the life slowly and progressively leaving his body. After a few more days, something miraculous happened — the ants no longer came to bite him. It was as if they had made their point, as though they had understood that there was no purpose to their own resistance of Geronimo, and thus there was peace in the cell for the first time in months. The ants knew that an eye for an eye makes the world blind, and they sensed that Geronimo finally understood this as well.

Now going on almost two weeks without food, Geronimo was coming to his last breaths. He wouldn’t have made it this long were it not for the water that was brought to him every other day. It was almost as though the guards wanted him to die of starvation. Maybe they did. Or maybe they just didn’t care. Either way, Geronimo was getting the short end of the stick. Then something miracoulous happened.

A little crumb of bread showed up in Geronimo’s hand. At first he didn’t understand it, but as hungry and mentally incapacitated as he was, he also didn’t question it. Gratitude filled his entire being, as he enjoyed the greatest crumb of bread he had ever known. A moment later, another crumb appeared in his hand. Again, he ate it graciously despite his confusion.

It wasn’t until he stopped trying to figure out what was happening that he came to understand. In his silence he felt something unusual… it was a massage from thousands of little feet on his hands. In this silence, in the peace when his mind no longer thought, he came to realize that the ants were bringing him food!

For the next two years that Geronimo remained in solitary confinement, the ants continued to bring him food. He regained his health, perhaps moreso than any other inmate in the prison, and more importantly, he gained a newfound gratitude for life in all its subtleties. Geronimo also gained thousands of new friends with whom the only common language was stillness.

After being released from solitary confinement, Geronimo spent the next twenty years in prison. It was different out there, with other people having opinions and thoughts… egos as they were called. Geronimo was different. His ego had dissipated as he came to realize that ants, the beings he once despised and killed, were in his opinion the greatest intelligence, the greatest teachers, and now, his greatest friends. So much so that no matter which cell he was moved to, the ants always managed to find him and bring him more food at night when nobody else could see.

It is said that all beings are interconnected, and that we only need to tune into the silence within ourselves to truly understand this. Not all of us believe this, but like Geronimo, eventually we all will.

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have a zendictive day

A Sioux Story
Author: Unknown

The Creator gathered all of Creation and said:

“I want to hide something from the humans until they are ready for it. It is the realization that they create their own reality.”

The eagle said, “Give it to me, I will take it to the moon.”

The Creator said, “No. One day they will go there and find it.”

The salmon said, “I will bury it on the bottom of the ocean.”

“No. They will go there too.”

The buffalo said, “I will bury it on the Great Plains.”

The Creator said, “They will cut into the skin of the Earth and find it even there.”

Grandmother Mole, who lives in the breast of Mother Earth, and who has no physical eyes but sees with spiritual eyes, said, “Put it inside of them.”

And the Creator said, “It is done.”

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Moral: We create our own reality. We create our lives; life is not about finding ones self, life is about creating ones self. I have heard it said that, “we are a direct result of our enviornment,” all that we have been exposed to growing up and all that we endulge in as adults. We are given the ability to choose and with that little distinction we create our lives. We are the artist that paint ourselves, be it light, bright, colorful or dark and/or grey, we create our own way.

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The Romance of the Sun and Moon

The Sun journeyed every day, across the skies in search of a lake of magical powers. This lake will grant any wish if you drink of it. Now the Sun’s wish is that he can find his love that comes to him in the darkest night of the month…she’ll slide beside him…and love him like no other. His heart waits anxiously every month for her sweet loving…but it disturbs him that he knows her not.”

After many years of this romance he figures out a plan…and on her next visit he will try it…so when the darkest night of the month came and she slid next to him and loved him like no other…he put his hand in the dying fires ambers and filled his fingers with ash…and brushed his loves face as they made love.

The next morning she was gone…this shy one had left him again so Sun got up and went out into his day and searched for the lake as well as his love. The day was long and he found neither his heart sank as he fell to the other side of the earth. Then in the distant twilight he caught a glimpse of Moon. A lovely women who kept to herself and rarely seen by Sun. As he fell to the other side, he spotted the smudge marks on Moons face as he caught his last glimpse of her as night took over. Sun then knew who his love was and cursed that they lived so far away from each other. He was storming around for days.

Realizing they will never be together…unless he looks for the magical lake. That he can drink from it and ask for his wish to be with Moon always. Not just once a month when you see them both in the twilight. If you look real good she still wears the smudge marks as a reminder that she belongs to Sun.

Sun was granted his wish and an eclipse occurred. Sun and moon stood before the world together, a marriage that will last forever. Every so often an eclipse occurs and Sun and Moon renew their vows, and still, once a month they hold each other in the same sky.

 

 

have a harmonious day

 

Once the great Anthony of the Desert was relaxing with his disciples outside his hut when a hunter came by. The hunter was surprised to see Anthony relaxing, and rebuffed him for taking it easy. It was not his idea of what a holy monk should be doing.

Anthony replied, “Bend your bow and shoot an arrow.” And the hunter did so. “Bend it again and shoot another arrow,” said Anthony. The hunter did so, again and again.

The hunter finally said, “Abba Anthony, if I keep my bow always stretched, it will break.”

So it is with the monk,” replid Anthony. “if we push ourselves beyond measure, we will break. It is right from time to time to relax our efforts.”

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moral: Balance, as with the ying and the yang; up, down, light, dark, hot and cold, there is exertion and relaxation, a necessity for muscles to operate properly. Life is the same, stress caused by enduring to much can only be resolved by a resolution and/or relaxation. Relax, take your shoes off! For the farther a man’s/woman’s feet are from the earth, the farther one is from them-self.

have a relaxing day

 

~My 200th post~

~today’s poetry~

Billy Jack movies …begin with the song, One Tin Soldier, a inspirational song that seems to seep into the soul as it begins to climax. The song’s story is as strong as the music itself.

One Tin Soldier Billy Jck version

One tin soldier” in the form of a story

(song/film clip,…click to view/listen @ YouTube)

I’ll post the lyrics as a poem for the day.

One Tin Soldier (The Legend of Billy Jack) (the lyrics)

by Dennis Lambert & Brian Potter, performed by The Original Caste (1970)
This song was performed by Jinx Dawson and Coven in the movie “Billy Jack” (1971)
 
One Tin Soldier
 

Listen, children, to a story
That was written long ago,
‘Bout a kingdom on a mountain
And the valley-folk below.

On the mountain was a treasure
Buried deep beneath the stone,
And the valley-people swore
They’d have it for their very own.

Go ahead and hate your neighbor,
Go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of Heaven,
You can justify it in the end.
There won’t be any trumpets blowing
Come the judgment day,
On the bloody morning after….
One tin soldier rides away.

So the people of the valley
Sent a message up the hill,
Asking for the buried treasure,
Tons of gold for which they’d kill.

Came an answer from the kingdom,
“With our brothers we will share
All the secrets of our mountain,
All the riches buried there.”

Go ahead and hate your neighbor,
Go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of Heaven,
You can justify it in the end.
There won’t be any trumpets blowing
Come the judgment day,
On the bloody morning after….
One tin soldier rides away.

Now the valley cried with anger,
“Mount your horses! Draw your sword!”
And they killed the mountain-people,
So they won their just reward.

Now they stood beside the treasure,
On the mountain, dark and red.
Turned the stone and looked beneath it…
“Peace on Earth” was all it said.

Go ahead and hate your neighbor,
Go ahead and cheat a friend.
Do it in the name of Heaven,
You can justify it in the end.
There won’t be any trumpets blowing
Come the judgment day,
On the bloody morning after….
One tin soldier rides away.

 

…One tin soldier rides away.

Billy Jack has always been a favorite movie of mine and I could make a whole post on that alone, (if ever there should be a re-make of a movie, Billy Jack would be my vote) but for now I wanted to post this song since I heard it the other day and it hit me that it is inspirational in itself and perfect for my 200th post.

On the mountain was a treasure…

…”Peace on Earth“… was all it said.

 

Daniel Boone

Late one night, Daniel Boone and a friend went out fire hunting. Fire hunting involves the shining of the light from a fire pan (a pan full of blazing pine knots) into the woods. The light reflects in the eyes of the deer, which is too dazzled to run and the hunters can shoot it.

This night, as they neared a creek bed, Daniel Boone caught a glimpse of blue eyes shining in the darkness. He dismounted from his horse and aimed his rifle, but found himself unable to shoot. he had never seen a blue eyed deer. A rustle told him his prey had fled, and he followed it over a fence and into a meadow. The moonlight told him his “deer” had really been a young woman, and fate had kept him from shooting her. He followed her to the house, where he was met by her father, a close neighbor.

The father welcomed him in, and while they were still greeting one another, a young boy and girl burst into the room, babbling excitedly about their older sister’s adventures. She appeared in the doorway, still flushed from her flight, the light shining on her gold hair. Daniel Boone was smitten. Her father introduced her as Rebecca. Being a determined sort of fellow, Daniel proceeded to woo Rebecca as doggedly as he once chased her across the fields, and did not give up until he had won the heart of the maid.

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(moral: love can be found in the strangest of places. Hunting deer, Ole Coon-skin-hat Boone found a dear. It is deer season and my advice to all is when you shoot, be sure of what you are shooting at before you pull the trigger. There are way to many who shoot at a hopeful rather than shoot at what they know. This is applied to life as well.)

food for thought

 In the book ‘Secrets of the Ninja,’ it touchs on the fact that people will see movement first, color second and then shape and form third.

How is it we see one image yet we have two eyes?

We call it a sun rise but really it is the earth that turns and the sun is stationary.

We call it a blue sky but really 15 miles up is space, dark/blackness.

and how did we come up with ‘deer’ and ‘dear’ when they sound the same and yet we have pipe (plumbing) and pipe (smoking apaaratice) and then there is sun and son.

this 1967 drawing shows Daniel Boone protcting his family

by Henry Schile

have a ‘dear’ day

 

have a straight shooting day

 

post #150

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Etegami

 

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I had read a post by Fergiemoto, called;

Creating My First Digital

 “Etegami”  and “Hanko”

This post was incredibly inspirational, for me and anyone who may dabble in art, photos, crafts and/or creative art work.

exerpt from Fergiemoto’s post;

It involves another form of traditional Japanese art called “etegami”.  Etegami is a Japanese word which means picture message/letter, which are “simple drawings accompanied by a few apt words.” 

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exerpt from …

dosankodebbie’s etegami notebook

…..also

Etegami (e=”picture” tegami=”letter”) are simple drawings accompanied by a few apt words, done on a soft absorbent postcards. They are meant to be mailed off to one’s friends, not hoarded. They often depict some ordinary item from everyday life. Seasonal flowers, vegetables, and fruit are popular themes.
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…reading these two posts about ‘Etegami,’ I was inspired to create my own ‘Art’ and here is what I came up with. However I feel I haven’t quite got the hang of it yet (because my drawings don’t seem to have that ‘Japanese’ feel to them yet) but as they say, Practice makes perfect. I hope you enjoy these and take it upon yourselves to go to Fergiemoto’s post and get inspired as well. The post has several links that help bring this Art to life.

here are a few I found on google

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and here are my creations…

(click on pictures to enlarge)

 

 

 

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Many a year ago, two Micmac warriors from rival villages got into a terrible argument. Harsh words were exchanged, and then knives were pulled. The warriors battled back and forth on the banks of a small creek. They fought with the ferocity of grizzlies, tearing at each other with their knives, ripping at each others clothes and hair.

Suddenly, one of the warriors slipped on the muddy bank and fell into the waters of the creek. His bloody knife slipped from his hand and sank down and down to the bottom, landing upon a rock just beyond his reach. The warrior strained his pain-wracked body towards the knife as his blood filled the waters of the creek, but it was just beyond his fingertips. He thrashed and clawed towards his knife, desperate to reach it before his rival killed him, but no matter how he stretched, it always slipped out of reach.

On the bank above, the victorious Micmac warrior saw his rival sink into the blood-stained waters and lay still, the knife just a hair-breadth beyond his fingertips. He did not rise again. The fallen man’s people found him a few hours later and tenderly rescued his body from the rippling waters of the creek. But when they tried to retrieve his bloody knife from the rock beneath him, it always slipped beyond their reach, though the creek was not deep.

Many a year has passed since that bloody day by the creek, and still the blood-stained knife lies beneath the rippling waters of the creek. Whenever anyone tries to reach it, the knife slips out of reach. It is like trying to touch something on the bottom of the sea, although the creek itself is not deep. Even the rushing waters of the spring season do not move the mysterious knife or wash away the blood staining its blade.

For this reason, the creek is called Wokun – meaning “knife” by the Micmac people, and the white men call it “Bloody Creek”.

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(moral: folklore is built on mystical moments, a samurai’s sword is an extension of himself, an additional  part of his soul. In this story I read it as the indian lost a part of himself, just out of his reach, there-fore he could not continue and there-fore lost. In life we lose things all the time and that would include parts of ourselves that keep us from continuing to fight, so we simply give up. In martial arts we are taught that the only weapons we need are our bodies and our mind. As long as we still have these, we will continue to fight for life, our family, our country and for what is right with honor.)

 

I thought this would be a good story during this Halloween season.

enjoy the season for scarey tales

and have a mystical day

 

Art~

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