Tag Archives: indian

The Journal of Dreams 01/16/2010

The Pale Horse according to my theory is the representative of the Mongoloid race which according to the origins of races began in Asia and crossed to the Americas by a giant ice bridge a long time ago.  When I researched the four primary races I was shocked to learn that we in America, who I thought we Caucasoid were actually Mongoloid.  

It makes sense that a hair dresser once told me that I had a double crown on the nap of my neck like people of Asian decent.  I carried that mystery with me for a long, long time wondering about it and my ancestors.  The most I really know about myself only dates back to my great, great grandparents and before their existence in America is unknown.  

I used the website www.ancestry.com and it took my name back to the Scottish people but it was a different name than now.  There is a photo of a Native American woman my father has that he stated was his grandmother.  She was a strong, big woman with long black hair.  My father remembered little about her in the way of facts but remembered she was “an Indian”.  

My father said she had breathing problems and washed her hair with salt because the water would make her sick (whether it was the water or not is unknown).  He said she would rub salt into her hair and make it shiny black.  He also remembered that she smoked cigars.  I wondered how common it was for women to smoke cigars back in the day.  

I had an aunt that had the same big-boned, powerful presence with long, black hair who died relatively young with Lupus.  Often time we inherit the diseases of our ancestors and it may have been Lupus that the great grandmother had which can affect the lungs since it is an autoimmune disorder where the body attacks it’s own connective tissues.  

Long ago, when I was in my early twenties, I remember walking past a mirror and for a split second I saw my grandfather’s face in my face, just for a split second.  I realized that we shed pieces of ourselves through our seeds until we have nothing left to shed; we give ourselves away and never really die, we are within our children, their children, and so on.  

When I was young, I imagined God created people on something like an assembly line and had to draw people very fast.  Sometimes he would forget an arm or leg, or other things that made people “whole” and that was why some people were deformed or died at birth.  It is funny how our minds work when we are young as we seek answers.  

As long as I can remember, I always sought answers to the things I did not understand.  I like to think I have an analytical mind.  We I stepped out of the protection of the small neighborhood I was raised in and into the big city I saw homeless people, the big money skyscrapers of corporate America and there seemed such a mismatch of power.  I began to write poetry:  

Answer Me! 

  

Secrets of a million minds pulling together; a force of one Answers to riddles begin to fall in place
Answers are not allowed here!  

Fear sets in amongst the strong
Confidence corrupts the timid
The world is turned upside down, yet only for a moment
Then sweet, sweet silence… 
Interrupted 
Laughter bellows from the city walls
Dark alleyways summon you by name
The secrets of a million minds whisper softly down cobblestone streets
Answers are not allowed here!  

Sunlight cannot reach the homeless
Towering masses of brick and mortar shadow their existence
Their “mere existence”
Such angry hatred dances on wicked fingertips down cobblestone streets 
And the tear stretches down
Like fire, it burns from the soul
Eyes upturned, begging for answers
Secrets of a million minds, although as loud as thunder
Whisper too silently to hear the answer
For, answers are not allowed here!  

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