Sssh speaks the night's wind.
Sssh spoke your Womb sleep before life.
So, Now we ask you the same.
We come from the old tree. You do too. It is a big tree, the old one, and it is the same tree my dusty feet have gripped since i woke up here. It was grown inside of you for all of your time. My mother is your mother. A mother of all things on this earth whose mother is all things that came before us. I am here because I learn from the tree, and help as best i can.
I have not always been an orange monkey. We all can come from different places before we get to the same one.
I also wait for the rains. I think about what it means to understand cycle. I do know all children and grandfathers are part moon and part sun. Father sky and mother tree. I know that rain doesn't come from the sky. And that’s about all.
Sleep also lives here, but it flies to a place where I understand little. It is big to think that the sky folds. I stop trying to imagine. When it comes to the sky I think a good place to begin is the last time It closed up. If you choose to follow us, try and keep up.
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I woke up on the train without a dream or a clue how I’d gotten there. I looked around my thoughts for a moment for the nearest memory.
He was immediately thankful that no one had called LRT and reported a drunk homeless Indian sleeping on the back of the light rail in a pity pool of his own money and vomit. That’s how the officer had explained the situation at the station last time. But today He didn’t have time to explain to white people that the world was his home and that he was an Indian but he was not American and that all humans are native. But He had learned long ago that institutions had no room for wisdom or modest input, because they where already too full of themselves. He was probably the first Aztec the officer had seen in his life anyway, He couldn’t necessarily blame the man for thinking his people were “extinct” as it was incorrectly politically put.
Remembering made his swollen head hurt and incredible amount, and it almost made him forget to collect his crumbled and molested seventeen singular dollars from the effects of alcohol dependency he had just digressed upon himself. He used one of the cleaner currencies to wipe the crimson temple that had been smacking against that train window and stuffed the rest in his jean jacket breast pocket. He looked at his bed and wondered about the next time he would make it. There wasn’t an answer.
His hair was a tail of graying wires. Spider legs dancing on top of his moon face of craters dips and bumps. The erosion continued down his figure that had been mistreated by the sun when he was young and had grudgingly settled the skin into a dark red. His nose was fat and flat and native. His eye's were mirrors. His clothing was all denim besides the cotton undershirt and socks. The sleeveless Mickey mouse jacket had the icon on the back and his name on the breast. Mickey had worked as an identity here for a long time
I’d tell you His real Name, but I don’t think he knows it yet. So I’ll just tell you He closed His eye’s and made an exit into the sun.
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We are telling you this story so you will know about our Sun. I feel him in my belly and my mother is his seed. He will come when he is ready, and I know this because his navel is in the earth. I’ll let you hear the wind is as long as you question everything.
Tlayouhua Ejecatl, Night Wind, and other people have much to say about how I look. They lie and call me the smokestress, because the do not know that smoke is the true soul. And They lie and make me responsible for painting beauty into the world, because they know not about perspective. The truth is I don’t make anything but change. I turn and bring dusk and if the tusk of the earth rises, so be it, but I am not responsible for her. My spirit of eagle commands the colored ketzales to the stars but I cannot join them. My form was taken from me. But our Sun can change that too. So for now, I watch the sleeping orangutan who waits for rain, calls the conch and plays the drum of our grandfather. He was the one who woke you up earlier, remember?
Maybe Tomorrow She will tell you about the Sol who stole her feathers and has wanted more for a very long time.
