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"Mama do you see me?
Mama do you hear me?
Wrap me in your arms tightly
Wrap your wisdom around me.
My soul is not comforted it is restless as I speak to you.
Crawling out of my tepee I see you all around, everywhere Mama
everyone knows you
everyone sees you
everyone loves you.
Your magic is in all eyes, all hearts.
Your magic is deep and true
comforting and soothing - soul surviving.
The gifts you leave are impressionable, non - forgettable.
Mama look into my oak coloured eyes and tell me which gifts you leave me specifically; 'tis birchbark, 'tis stones, 'tis jewellery, 'tis hides, 'tis canoes or baskets, or pueblos, or even longhouses?
No don't tell me surprise me."
"Son, Big Bear, I leave you and your people all these precious gifts and more.
Mother Earth bears these gifts without asking anything in return thus you do not destroy these valuable gifts and say a prayer each time you use Mama's Magic - Earth Magic."
"Meegwetch Mama, Meegwetch Mama.!!!"
Copyright 2003 Michelle Kafka
Human element
Autumn winds blow, Red Man dies
White Man runs away
Copyright 2003 Michelle Kafka
Spirits and Stones
My moccasins took me to an ancient path where I had a single vision.
I looked on with pride.
My hearts lips turned up a sensational smile.
My spirit soared to the place where our ancestors had gone and returned from - the moon.
The structure and plans washed upon the shore in the sable sand.
Seeds of wisdom were sown.
Tomorrow I paint the valley with my people.
Flames and embers take the form of legendary ghosts as we share, meditate, and incantate.
Father Spirit gently stirs the sitting ash as I boldly tell of my promised plan.
Moccasin mania footprints upon the humble hill as we ran for freedom.
Our home, our land was mapped.
The signposts read Our land, our native land!
We are held together by a new beginning with an infinity of many hopes.
Tis our "Doctrine of Discovery."
We are the internal and external spirits under this new horizon.
White and crimson sways in on the breeze.
Fog around their body's outline and mist in their eyes, hearts, and minds.
Seeing without sight, hearing without ears; the presence of ill - tongues and ill - ways.
We met these people at sunrise.
Their tracks, their ways imprinted on the village land.
Whatever or whoever your tribe, should walk on back in the morning light.
The retaliation is: Our people will put up a fight, we will battle.
This land has many prospects, but only for us.
We are the shifting stones under the horizon.
Above the setting sun, many moons passed.
No one could live together in harmony, for there was too much disputes and bloodshed.
A solution sprang from the Spirits - "the two row wampum belt", seperate ways, seperate paths; never the two shall meet!
Never sholud the stones be thrown at the Spirits!!!
Copyright 2004 Michelle Kafka
Life's Essentials
Weave the strands of life - the wild wampum beads together.
Stroke the golden - bodied husk of corn to soothe its satiated spirit.
Hold the small remarkable rosy raspberries close to your beating heart.
Bundle bolting beans in beautiful moccassins.
One soul - Mother Earth met with one soul - Father Sky to produce Earth's bounty.
One soul - "Spirit Wolf" met with one soul - "Red Eyes" to produce one small soul - "Little Bear."
Sit in the deep deep valley with a clay pot and watch the trickle of bluest water find its path into the clay pot.
Stand in the birch tree and hear the chimes and cheeps of flighty animals.
Take out your carrying pouch to capture the white breath of air.
Jump into that white air to steal some sacred yellow sunlight.
Lie down to gather buckets of red red blood.
Spin and dance 'round n' 'round to borrow the brown nourishment from Mother Earth; for don't forget you are but a mother too protecting and feeding her newborn child.
At the day's end prepare to nourish your needs as well.
See with your eyes the big buffalo herd ready for your mate to hunt.
Hear with your ears the howl of wolves, the call of the quetzal, the honk of the heron.
Smell with your nostrils the baking of bannock.
Taste with your tongue the maple sugar.
Touch with your hands the soft deer hide ready to clothe you with.
Sense with all your strength the Great Spirit all around comforting you.
Copyright 2002 Michelle Kafka
Cherish
Mama with her apron bright up on the russet ladder.
Her arms stretched wide.
Her hands skim sienna stems.
Her hands seek ruby roundness.
Her nose encounters the bough's essence.
Her eyes see tens of thousands of blossoms.
Into mamas basket they go.
The fruit all nestled in.
Mama cocks her head to the right and a chipmunk nods in approval.
Grandmother in our little wooden kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, and the depths of her eyes all aglow.
The smile on her face is as large as the great pine tree out front.
Grandmothers cheeks all rose and plump.
Up on the kitchen table sits a large orange lollipop with an upside - down crooked little stick.
Up on the shelves sits nutmeg, cinnamon, and spice.
Tea towels, rolling pins, and flour scattered about; that's grandmother in her shrine.
Father and grandfather in the fields and forests wild; hunting for the turkey that roam free.
The men search for small golden pieces on large lively stalks that go good with potatoes.
The maize I could taste now.
The mild autumn air plays with all around.
A turkey is spied in the distance.
Father and grandfather lift their heads with a song to the ancient giver and sing to the spirit of gratitude, for the turkey's life about to be taken.
Thus is the way of the hunters.
Brothers and sisters bundled in hare fur and deer skins as warm as jellied toast, fleet and fret about in autumn's pastry - like flakes of leaves.
I sit waiting patiently with dear affection for my family.
I play my flutes and drums.
I, in the background blanketing all with my native sounds.
Cherish mama with her apron bright.
Cherish grandmother in our little wooden kitchen.
Cherish father and grandfather in the fields and forests wild.
Cherish brothers and sisters who fleet and fret about.
Cherish I waiting patiently.
But most of all cherish Thanksgiving and family!!!
Copyright 2002 Michelle Kafka
Painting Trials
When I'm alone at night I paint before I go to bed.
I paint to relax, to bind up my painful spots, and to heal my broken spirit.
Upon a stone I paint: a wolf to give me good instincts.
Upon a tree I paint: a bear to give me strength.
Upon a lily pad I paint: a swan to give me gracefulness.
Upon the water I paint: a fish to give me great depth.
Also upon the water I paint: a dolphin to give me great knowledge.
Upon the grass I paint: a cheetah to give me great speed.
Upon the fire I paint: a butterfly to give me direction.
Upon the day sky I paint: an eagle to give me sight.
Upon the night sky I paint: animal spirits to keep the human spirits in company.
Upon the sand I paint: an ostrich to let me bury my head when I've done wrong.
Upon the shelter I paint: a polar bear to give me warmth.
Upon the ice I paint: a seal to give me swimming skill.
Upon the wind I paint: a rose to give me great colour when I am blue.
Upon the clouds I paint: an elder to give me wisdom.
Upon the flower I paint: happiness, kindness, and passion.
Upon the satin sheet I paint: a lamb to give me gentleness.
Upon the deerhide I paint: my lineage.
Upon the drum I paint: our heartbeats.
Upon the smoke I paint: a shaman to help guide me during my vision quest.
Upon the forest floor I paint: a vision quest to fulfill my duties in life.
Upon the rain I paint: abundant crops to feed my people.
Upon the sun I paint: life to live and enjoy.
Upon the moon I paint: sacred death and rebirth.
Upon the bark I paint: tobacco to offer in friendship.
Upon the four directions I paint: my native/aboriginal brothers and sisters.
Upon the air I paint: the creator to watch over my people.
Upon the corn I paint: thanksgiving of the wonderful food grown to nourish my people.
Upon the stars I paint: my ancestors.
Upon your heart I paint: myself to bring us closer together!
I paint these trials with patience, love, and knowledge.
I am Red Eyes.
I am man.
I am chief.
I am possessed.
Possessed to make a way for my people!
I am not a feature of fatigue.
I am not a fallacy.
I am not a chronic coward nor a coward of any kind.
I am not a queasy quitter.
For those I am not.
I will bring peace and recognition to my people.
I will retaliate against all encounters of evil enemies.
I will awaken the sleeping coyotes but no food shall they have,
for I am the bear employed by hunger and thirst; I do not share.
I protect my territories, my females, my cubs.
Red Eyes is the corn, the stone, and the wood that provides for his people.
I will not let barrels of our blood spring forth on our Mother Earth; Mother Earth who brandishes gifts in her grand hands for us.
I will not let slain spirits lie uncovered like firstborn fowl.
Why am I called Red Eyes?
Red Eyes because alone at night, in secrecy, I cry for my people, shedding tears like a new mother.
But tears of joy mine are not.
Red Eyes because of heated fury; heated fury like the intense fires we create to cook with.
I am Red Eyes.
I am man.
I am chief.
I am possessed.
Possessed to make a way for my people!
Copyright 2002 Michelle Kafka
Tree Treasures and Foliage Fortunes
Along many lakes - the birthplace of the trees, forever in contact with Mother Earth as she holds her perfect children.
The pulse of the trees throb.
The lips of the trees whisper.
The trunks are a steel spine to some, while others bend to and fro.
Regular trees, ordinary trees, plain trees - no!
Elegant trees, special trees, sociable trees - so!
Long emerald, mint leaves tickle the black bears, beavers, coyotes, and snowshoe hares.
The full, fertile foliage furnishes the Eastern Woodland Warriors with a multitude of medicines.
The trees stretch thoughtful hands to lend the Eastern Woodland Warriors what they can - nuts and fruit, every item for the clan.
Wildfowl roosts in the trees.
Remarkable rabbits and wee woodchucks burrow between the roots.
Beavers bare the trees to build their deep dams.
The dams create playful pools that provide fabulous fish to the Warriors.
Whirls of trees mingle with their rustling vivid buttercup, crimson, and walnut foliage.
The leaves slip up to heaven and rain back down again.
While the trees shed their crumbs, a sweet aroma is in the air.
Maple trees provide magnitudes of maple syrup to the people.
Birch trees provide numerous nets for familiar fishing.
The vast display of trees enable the Woodland Warriors to be both frequent fishermen and hearty hunters.
The evergreens are up near the mountains - green with individual form wedded to chocolate/ cinnamon brown bark with russet floors beneath.
The evergreens encounter a wild waterfall at the end of the path.
The evergreens armed with great height see and know all.
A minty foresty aroma lingers near the Warrior's homes.
Winter falls upon the land.
The clouds sprinkle the trees with snow.
Frosty cream flakes sleep on bare branches under the moonlight. The Eastern Woodland Warriors enjoy the fresh crisp aroma of winter dancing into their nostrils as they hunt moose, beaver, and partridge.
A creature pokes its head out of its porcelain burrow.
The Eastern Woodland Warriors satisfy their hunger spells.
The people seek additional treasures from the trees.
The whack of the red axe against the adirondacks send the animals scurrying far and back.
Without their branches the trees are embarrassed - almost helpless.
The wild fire ablaze on the trees crackles, crackles and laughs aloud as the trees once again provide for the people.
The trees offer walls of stakes to strenghthen vast villages, lengths of wood for a sensible stock of snowshoes, and finally a barrel of wood for a beautiful baby carrier.
In the homes of the Eastern Woodland Warriors the trees are the spring, the summer, the autumn, and the winter guests.
In the black cottage tree skeletons accumulate.
Dead were all the trees answered!
Copyright 2002 Michelle Kafka
Two Bodies
Framed beneath the maples two bodies stand.
Her hair satiny like the black wolf's coat.
His hair thick like the bark before him.
Simple jewel - small squash blossoms adorn her hair.
Dominant black and white eagle feathers decorate his hair.
Upon both bodies deer and buffalo hides hang.
Upon each wrist black, blue, white, and red bracelets sit.
Framed beneath the lingering nighthawks two bodies stand.
The air 'round the two bodies like an inner dome of heat.
The foliage 'round the two bodies like a mother's warm embrace.
Her personality - an open flower.
His personality - an open palm.
Upon both bodies life is blessed.
Upon each mind an eternal night ever so kind.
Framed beneath the night's sleepy gems two bodies lie.
Her skin is liquid in his hands.
His skin is a crazed maze in her hands.
Ripples from the nearby lake touch her skin.
A lone leaf from the tree touches his skin.
Within both bodies smiles shine.
Within each soul a void has been made whole.
Framed beneath the sunlit sky three bodies play in a new time and space.
Copyright 2003 Michelle Kafka
Spirit Painter
The unsatiated spirit enters the soothing shelter of the flesh to create visions.
The canvasses are a circle of containers, a bulk of buffalo robes, and a total of tepee coverings.
With brush of chewed cottonwood in hand, Spirit Painter captures the essence of the Plains environment.
Upon the canvasses, the assemblage of animals mingle with a variety of vegetation.
Upon the canvasses the embellished earth and sober sky sit.
Trimmings on robes include information of the wearer.
Spirit Painter tastes the tender teardrops of white made from clay.
Spirit Painter hears the bark of blue being applied.
Spirit Painter touches the yoke of yellow made from bullberries or buffalo gallstones.
Spirit Painter inhales the gloriness of green made from plants.
Spirit Painter sees the relish of red.
Spirit Painter senses the balance of black made from burnt wood.
The significance of colour leaps forth, but can be interpretted in many ways.
Visions on two live canvasses - the horse and the human body appear.
Upon the human bodies the paint is a shield from the suns' glare and the winds' deathly cold hands.
Styles of signatures and broad biographies appear upon the canvasses.
The paintings are like the earth; full of interest with shades of mystery.
Spirit Painter advances to create a magical myriad of murals on lavish lodges.
Tribal leaders voice the designs to be created.
After Spirit Painter completes all required visions, the now satiated spirit leaves the shelter of human flesh to journey back to the spirit realm.
