Indians

  I got up at 5:30, propelled by an abnormal motivation to take a morning run. I nearly stepped on a dead frog which would have been especially gross considering I went barefoot. Other than the bit of roadkill and aching feet, it was a great way to start the day. I left for school by 8:30 feeling invigorated. It seems that the feeling wasn't meant to last. It is now 9:00 and cranial rigormortis has already set in. There are classes for Monday yet unprepared, but I can't bring myself to concentrate on anything more complicated than the shit under my nails. This is what happens when I have no lessons to teach. I space out until the 5^th period bell and try not to inflict physical harm upon the teacher who slurps tea like an ardvark with lockjaw. On days like today I generally give up trying to look even marginally busy after an hour or so. I think it is apparent to everyone that I am really just loitering... which upsets me on an infinitesimally small scale.

During my nice leisurely breakfast I was able to catch up on a few scenes from a movie I've been watching called “Dreamkeeper”. It's about a Lakota kid and his grandfather who are on their way to an all nations pow-wow. Along the way, the grandfather passes on the Indian stories he grew up with. Where the acting/plot/budget may have been stretched thin, the stories were pretty interesting. My favorite was one about a kid called Thunder Boy, whose mother fell in love with a thunder god. Before she returned to earth to give birth, the Sky Mother told her that Thunder Boy would be taken away if anyone ever hit him. The kid's grandma didn't believe a word of it, though. She was convinced his mom was just a big booty ho who wandered off during a storm and got knocked up. So that wily old bitch didn't think twice about hitting Thunder Boy with some corn and he got sent back to the clouds. The end. I'm on the last scene of the movie, which I guess I'll have to finish when I get home.

Recently I also finished “Dances with Wolves”, which was surprisingly not a complete pile of steaming donkey turds. For some reason I imagined it to be a campy 80s movie starring some white girl twirling a ribbon dancer around a fire. Close, but not quite. Kevin Costner plays a United States colonel who met and integrated into a Sioux tribe while stationed out in the desert. Despite a little dry heaving during the love scenes, it was at least a 7/10 in my book.

I'm not sure why I've been so interested in Indians lately. I always was as a kid, but recently I've had a really strong desire to visit a tribe. I am equally interested in understanding reservation life, too, but spending time amongst an unmarred tribe is more of a holy grail. I wonder if there are any groups left that still manage to live by the old ways. I'd like to live with them. Kevin Costner can come too, if he must. Although some modernities would be challenging to let go of, I think I could give anything up pretty readily if offered the opportunity to separate myself from the urban landscape. My parents wouldn't take it well. My mom would cry and ask me why I was putting her through such and such, dad would tell me that I'm an adult capable of making my own decisions, but I would have to live with the putting mother through such and such, and grandpa would make some bigoted crack about alcoholism or unemployment. But I am the only person living my life, so I think I would still do it even if it made my whole family cry.

This society does not suit me, or for that matter, anyone. In Dreamkeeper, the grandfather talks about how the two-leggeds have removed themselves from the circle, and can no longer talk to crow. I want to live with the water and rocks and not be called crazy for acknowledging the power of sentient and non-sentient beings alike. I'm tired of living amongst masses that do not desire enlightenment. I want to pee outside and smell campfire in my hair and make things with my hands. Its probably impossible to live how I want to, but it's nice to dream about.