Kalapuya

After Morocco, he sat down and listened in a Crow Forest.

“I am an old dialect of Kalapuya tribes. I respect the spirit energies. I hear with my eyes and see with my ears. I understand your love for the spirit power guardian. I am an ancestor speaking 300 languages from our history. Now only 150 dialects remain.

“A hunting gathering people, speaking Pentian, we numbered 3,000 in 1780. We believed in nature spirits, vision quests and guardian spirits. Our shamans, called amp a lak ya taught us how seeking, finding and following one’s spirit or dream power and singing our song was essential in community.

“I speak in tongues, in ancient dialects about love. Dialects of ancestors who lived here for 8,000 years before where you are now. In the forest near the river all animal spirits welcome you with their love. They are manifestations of your being.

“I am blessed to welcome you here. You have walked along many paths of love to reach me.

“My dirt path is narrow and smooth in places, rocky in others. I am the soil under your feet. I feel your weight, your balance your weakness and your strength. I hear your heart beating as my ancestors pound their ceremonial drums. I feel the tremendous surging force of your breath extend into my forest. Wind accepts your breath.

“I am everything you see, smell, taste, touch, and hear. I am the oak, the fir and pine trees spreading like dreams upon your outer landscape. I am your inner landscape. I see you stand silent in the forest hearing trees nudge each other. “Look,” they say, “someone has returned.”

“I love the way you absorb the song of brown body thrush collecting moss for a nest. I am the small brown bird saying hello. I am the sweet throated song you hear without listening. At night two owls sing their distant song and their music fills your ears with mystery and love.

“I am warm spring sun on your face filtered through leaves of time. I am the spider’s web dancing with diamond points of light. I am the rough fragile texture of bark you remove before connecting the edge of an axe with wood. You carry me through my forest, your flame creates heat of love. I am the taste of pitch on your lips, the odor of forest in your nostrils filling your lungs. It is sweet.

“I am the cold rain and wet snow and hot sun, and four seasons. I am yellow, purple, red, blue, orange flowers from brown earth.

 “Language cannot be separated from who you are and where you live.

“I say this so you will remember everything in this forest. I took care of this place and now your love has the responsibility with respect and dignity and mindfulness.”

A Century is Nothing

Kalapuya

The Kalapuya, a Pacific Northwest tribe speaking Penutian numbered 3,000 in 1780. They believed in nature guardian spirits and vision quests. Their shamans, amp a lak ya taught them how seeking, discovering and following one’s spirit or dream power and singing their song was essential in their community.

An ancestor shared a dream story.

“I speak in tongues, in ancient dialects about love. I share a story of our people living here for 8,000 years before where you are now. In forests, rivers and mountains all animal spirits welcome you with their love. They are manifestations of your being.

“I am grateful to welcome you here. You walked many paths of love to reach me. Some are narrow and smooth in places, wide and rocky in others. I am the soil under your feet. I feel your weight, balance, weakness and strength. I hear your heart beating as our ancestor pounds ceremonial drums. I feel the surging force of your breath fly through this forest. Wind accepts your breath. I am everything you see, smell, taste, touch and hear. I am the oak, fir and pine in your outer landscape. I am your inner landscape. I see you stand silent hearing trees nudge each other, ‘Look, one has returned.’”

“I love the way you absorb the song of a brown thrush collecting moss for a nest. I am the small brown bird saying hello. I am the sweet-throated song you hear without listening. Two night owls sing. Their music fills your ears with mystery and love.

“I am the warm spring sun on your face filtered through leaves of time. I am the spider’s web dancing diamond points of light. I am the rough fragile texture of bark you remove before connecting axe edge with wood. You carry me through this forest. Your flame creates the fire of love. I am the taste of pitch on your lips, the forest scent in your nostrils filling your lungs. It is sweet.

“I am cold rain and wet snow and hot sun and four seasons. I am the yellow, purple, red, blue, and orange flower from brown earth. I am an old dialect of Kalapuya tribes. I respect spirit energies. I hear with my eyes and see with my ears. I understand your love for the spirit power guardian.

“I am your ancestor speaking 300 languages from our long history. Now only 150 dialects remain. Language cannot be separated from who you are and where you live.

“I say this so you will remember everything in this forest. I took care of this place and now your love has the responsibility.”

ART

Adventure, Risk, Transformation - A Memoir

Annapurna Range, Nepal

OR-7 wolf

A female from Montana headed south through Wyoming, crossed southeastern Idaho, dropped down to Utah, crossed northern Colorado, and headed back up to Wyoming, where she ate poison and died.

"If you connect all the dots, she walked something like 3,000 miles," said Bangs.

"Wolves are amazing travelers."

And patient. One male hung out four years in Idaho, howling and leaving scent markers, before a female found him, Bangs said. They established a pack, and the male lived to the near-record age of 13 before lying down and dying next to a dead elk.

Read more...