A BARREN LAND WITH NO LIFE

You see a landscape devoid of all life, a wasteland of no use
Barren land with only bedraggled brush and rocks of no use

You stop and you look, you shade your eyes against the sun
To you this is land that you call God forsaken and dead

You look but what do you see? What do you hear?
All you see are the heat waves shimmering as a mirage!

You look around and you shake your head and mutter words,
Words of how this land is of no value or use nor are its people.

You did not see there at your foot, the colony of ants working
Working to rebuild the home that you destroyed in your haste

Destroyed as you scuffed the parched earth with your shoes.
Did you see the Dragonflies as they performed their Dance?

Did you see there under the creosote bush, the Desert Jack;
The rabbit that stands almost 3 feet tall when sitting?

Did you see the tracks all around you of the kangaroo rat;
Or maybe the trail of a tarantula or even the trail of the snake?

You saw none of this, you did not see the herd of Javalina or
See the tracks of the Bobcat or of El Tigre, you saw nothing

Nothing but what your mind wanted to see, a reason to hate
A reason to hate not only a land but "The People" as well...

You blind your heart and soul with stereotypes and myths
You cannot see that life abounds here in this place of my birth

You cannot hear the sound of the bees or of the crickets
You do not know that where there are bees, there is water

You come out at night and you see and hear nothing
Nothing except for the television in your room

You cannot hear the kangaroo rat as it searches for food
You cannot hear the scales of the desert sidewinder

The sound of its scales as they slide across the hard earth
Searching for food, for water and for a place to sleep

When you look to the distance, you do not see the mountains
You only see a vague outline of something foreign to you

You do not see the mighty Saguaro in all its wonderful guises
It grows nowhere else on earth but here, here in this arid land

In the land of "The People", you do not see us. We are here
We are here and yet you do not see us because your heart.

Your soul is cold to us because we worship OUR Gods,
Our Gods and not yours, our ancestors who walked this land

We were here before your Jesus was born, before the Greeks
Long before the great civilizations of Europe were born,

We were here; we were here before the Anasazi walked here
Only the "Old One's, Those Who Have Gone Before"

Only they were here before us, we are their children
We are of their blood and flesh; we are "The People"

You look and see no sign of life, only barren land in your eyes
I see a land of life, life all around if only you stop to listen

I can hear the bee as he flies to his hive with water, I know
I know that if I back-track the bee, I will find water

I know the track of the desert sheep leads to water
I know that the barrel cactus is filled with water

I hear the scales of the rattlesnake as they slide over sand
I hear the buzz of the dragonfly's wings as they beat the air

I watch as the hummingbird drinks the nectar of the cactus
I see the blue mountains in the distance, I can see Weaver

Weaver, the home of my Gods, of the Grey One
I can see the San Francisco Mountains and the Superstitions

I see the tracks of the desert jack and close behind his tracks
Close behind his tracks I see those of the Bobcat trailing him

I see flowers of every imaginable color and description
When the rains come, the desert is a kaleidoscope of color

And a symphony of sound and the storms pass and give life
I see the lightening flashing and feel the earth shake

I feel the earth shake as the thunder crashes overhead
Looking and sounding like a battle between the Gods

This is my home; this is where the spirits of my ancestors live
My mother is here as is my father and my grandparents

When you look at me, you see something evil and terrible
You see an Indian or worse a half-breed who belongs nowhere

My blood is that of the Apache, Kiowa, Comanche, Cheyenne.
Also the blood of the Arapaho and Shoshone and Hopi and Navajo
courses though my veins.

My love of horses comes from those of the Nez Perce whose
Blood mixes with the others of long ago.

I hear the songs of the Ute and the Mojave as their blood flows;
Flows thru my veins to mix with the others.

The blood of Cortes is a part of me and that of those of Mexico
The blood of a white mountain man mixes with the other.

I am who I am, I am of "The People" I descended of warriors
I am Rebecca SaraAnne GreyEagle, Daughter of the Gods.