Archives for category: shamanism

Retort of the Iceman

July 10, 2013 //

Reminding myself I am a poet… this is a work from several years ago, exploring my (then) new surrounding by fantastic assumptions of western reality encountered; when leaving a so-called ‘primitive’ culture to become immersed in a culture that can only be described as a ‘passion-of-the-christ-matrix-on-methamphetamines’ world of tanks and drones whose peoples (supporting cast) cannibalize life sustaining nature (we’re all a part of) with near zero grasp of the macro-cosmic intelligence underwriting out existence. So, who/what is ‘primitive’ ?

To know nothing

And joke:

“He is the Ice Man”

Mocks reality unseen.

Fear your shards

Broken mirror

Selves boxed

In Ego

This fear

I see

In failed

Un-slain selves.

Who’d

Dare-risk-break-free

Im-prismed

Peoples

These many

Un-slain self

Image

Self

Serving

Collectively im-prismed

Peoples

Clinging

Each image embodied

In metaphor,

Reflects

Merely

Self-denied-selves-brittle

Where

Nature’s stone

Is-become-but-thin-glass.

Again and again

-seduced-just-so-

Inorganic agonies

In mirror box of ego;

Cowards

Deferential lies, encounter

Preservations illusion

In self-narcissis-self

Not only once.

Fear, yes

To release these many

Almost beings, surround

So many self-seen-self’s

In mirror,

Sentient awareness walled away

Where underlie reflective restlessness.

Cowards cannot scent

Pheromones

Or will image

To be broken when:

Spilt agony

Reflect illusory wound.

Casualties none-the-less

Conceal

Needs, wants,

Delicate hand with diamond tip

(but my tool is my Atlatl)

And arm’s intelligent strength.

Were I to break in,

Self-seen-selves-in-mirror…

…would you bleed

Like ten thousand shards

As abstracts in image cling.

Tags nature, poetry, primitive, western culture

Categories Author, culture, intelligence, male hierarchy, philosophy, psychology, shamanism, Uncategorized

Reminiscing Life In Blackfoot Country

June 30, 2013 //

Floyd ‘Tinyman’ Heavyrunner

This retrospective had been originally penned in 2004. It is a chapter from my book ‘Penucquem Speaks’ (graciously ranked five stars by Howard Zinn at amazon.com.) Today it is rededicated to Floyd ‘Tinyman’ Heavyrunner, my friend of 37 years who journeyed to the beyond at the beginning of April. Tinyman was a master of Blackfoot language, including ancient dialect, Oral Historian, Keeper of the Law of the Black Stone, Priest of Okan, and Chief of the Brave Dogs (Crazy Dogs) Warrior Society. Tinyman opened the door to my life in Blackfoot country and a window into its’ ancient past. I wish you safe travels my brother-

Life in Blackfoot Country

I remember the words of my Tibetan friend, Karma Tensem, when he first visited the United States: “Only the sky is the same.”

My first winter in Indian Country was an eye opener. I had never known such real physical poverty, and what greeted me here was the sort of poverty that is a grinding poverty, a gnawing hunger that visits and revisits, month to month. In Blackfeet country, unemployment hovers around a staggering 70%. Some of the luckier Indians still live in the countryside on this particular reservation, and their proximity to the Bob Marshall and Great Bear Wilderness complex on the south side, together with the border of Glacier National Park on the north side, still makes it feasible to supplement the Indian diet with hunting and gathering. But in the winter time, the gathering is not availiable, and the hunting is tenuous at best, because much of the game migrates to more sheltered terrain, and taken together with the storms and snowdrifts, what hunting opportunities, such as there are in the winter, are limited. The more traditional Blackfeet families and clans continue to band together to survive through sharing during this period. Because of the Treaty obligations to the Indians, whereby the Whiteman solemnly promised to take care of the Indians forever in exchange for the surrender of the Indian lands and way of life, these Indians are never supposed to be cut off from state welfare, which is the nominal care given per the treaties today, but the sustenance provided, such as it is, is mean. In the winters, those several that I spent with these people, each season the food would begin to give out, usually beginning around the 20^th of each month. On a few occasions, I witnessed entire villages exhausted of food. But these repeated events were just taken in stride by the Indian community.

That first winter I was domiciled in the area of the Badger Canyon, and the village of Heart Butte, my patrons, the old couple Alfred and Agnes Wells, sometimes stayed with their grandson, the young chief Floyd Heavy Runner, on their family’s assigned land near the mouth of Badger Canyon, and at other times, they stayed in Heart Butte village with one of their sons. My income, in those days, was a small veterans disability pension, about $140 per month. I recall it was more than twice the money those eligible individual Indians would receive to survive, so I was well off. I typically put most of my funds into the family pool for sustenance purposes, but saved a little to help the old couple with their travel- to pursue their traditional healing practice. I was a bit like their ‘dog’, which should not be taken in the negative context of the Whiteman, the Indian ‘Dog’ in a traditional context was held in high esteem, a protective soldier of the camp and hard working beast of burden that enabled survival. These old people kept a small handful of cattle on their land, and that first winter I made a better deal for them from a local white rancher, when they bought a few bales of hay against the inevitable storms that would be coming. I also would walk behind the house near Badger Canyon to cut holes in the ice at the edge of a small lake, so those few cows could drink. And I drove for them, whether to shop for better food and clothing prices in Great Falls, or to take them to work their healing practice, sometimes into Canada to the Blackfeet bands of Indians domiciled there.

Our diet was terrible. Often, there was nothing more to eat than white flour and lard, the larger part of the government commodities provided, in addition to the pittance of cash income to the Indians, and on one of these trips that diet caught up with me. I was at Brockett, Alberta, Canada, probably it was in November, where we were visiting the Skinni Pikuni, an identical people speaking the same Blackfeet dialect as the Montana Blackfeet tribe. We were staying with a family that had taken me for a Blood Brother, the Small Legs. I was at my Brother Arthur’s house. Two of my other brothers, Jim and Andrew, were visiting there as well, but we did not see much of Nelson Sr, he was the Band Chief, and was kept pretty busy due to his office. I had come down with severe intestinal pain, unlike anything I had ever known, and was in bad shape. The old folks, Alfred and Agnes, did not work on physical ailments, but attended to matters of mental and spiritual health, basically changing peoples luck, so another old man was brought to attend to me. He conferred with the other Blackfeet present, those that had been with me for the past 12 or so hours of my agony, and then helped me to sit at the kitchen table. Strong black tea was brewed, lots of it. I had an impacted feces, my rectum was plugged, badly, from a straight diet of white flour fried in lard, a diet I was not accustomed to. The old man poured me cup after cup of hot tea and would not let me stop drinking it until I had to go out to the outdoor shithouse. I finally went, and the relief was incredible, better than having sex. Every time I stood to pull up my pants, thinking it was finally finished, I had to yank them down again, after six or seven large defecations, I wondered if it would ever end. When I came back inside, the old man kept making me drink the tea, all morning, until I was pretty much washed clean inside, he wanted everything out. I made trip after trip to the out of doors.

After that visit, I instituted a change in the flour and lard diet at the house where I spent most of my time at Badger Canyon. I realized I could not change the fundamental diet, but what I could and did do, was invest in two gallons of Peanut Butter, the natural variety with oil separation, every 1^st day of the month. The new Peanut Butter pre-lubricated, flour fried in lard diet, did not impact anybody the way I had been impacted, after that. Peanut Butter, for the balance of that winter, when there was food to eat, this Peanut Butter was my communion. I had Peanut Butter on every piece of flour & lard frybread that passed my lips, Peanut Butter was my new religious practice.

The next month, December, was difficult, because the money that would otherwise go to food, was largely used up to buy gifts for the holiday season, and some of what food there was, was hoarded to provide for a Christmas Day feast. There were hungry days in the meantime. But this was nothing compared to what happened in January.

The Rocky Mountain Front, where the Northern Plains meet the mountains, can be one of the harsher winter climates in North America, when winter decides a visit with vengeance is in order. It happened in January. The old couples, Alfred and Agnes, were staying with one of their sons in Heart Butte village. I was out at the Badger Canyon property with the young Chief Floyd Heavy Runner, his wife of that time, Bernie, two of Floyd’s younger brothers, ‘Smarty’ and Francis, Smarty’s wife, Doris, their children, Floyd’s kids Josh and Sarah, Floyd’s 1^st cousins Jimmy and ‘Spud’, and a few others, probably about 15 of us in total. There were copious amounts of winter snows, and one day from nowhere, in about 30 minutes time, gale force winds had descended on the houses, creating a ‘ground blizzard’ that made it life threatening to go outside, even ten feet from the door. This wind did not let up for nearly three weeks.

Smarty Heavy Runner was the hero of that time, he strung a lifeline between the two houses, about twenty yards of rope, so it was possible to safely find our way and transverse between them and we could check up on each other. Smarty also made repeated and dangerous journeys into the aspen groves close by, to gather firewood. Nobody else dared to do that. Repeatedly, Smarty returned with an improvised sled made from an automobile hood which he had harnessed himself to, bringing loads of wood. But the storm became so bad that the young Chief Floyd ordered Smarty to stop the firewood forays. We made several communal beds to survive the subzero temperatures, getting up only at appointed times, to make a fire just long enough to eat, drink hot tea and go back into the beds, the combined body heat under the covers was helping to keep us alive. When the firewood gave out, we cut up old nylon radial tires with a hacksaw, to make the twice a day fire for hot tea to drink and have a bite to eat. Suddenly I understood the value of these discarded tires that were kept by the house. Then the food ran out. I remember several can of peas were set aside for the smaller children. I remember dividing up the last can of peas among those kids. For the next five days, nobody ate. We still made the brief mid-morning and evening fires, there were enough old tires, and we had the hot tea to drink twice a day. What impressed me most, was how the Blackfeet children put a brave face on their hunger, never crying, never complaining, just quietly stoic.

Smarty Heavy Runner, up to the time he had been shot twice, crippling him for life, was the toughest, and probably the most dangerous and most fearless Indian I have ever known. He was a living legend of danger in Blackfeet country. I once heard a young Blackfeet wonder aloud in Smarty’s presence, which would be worse: to be shot or stabbed. Smarty did not hesitate. “I’ve been shot and stabbed” Smarty stated, “and stabbed is by far worse.” There is a story of Smarty as a young man in the 1970’s when he in lived in a second story apartment at the Yegen Hotel in downtown Browning. On a summer day, sitting on the window sill overlooking the sidewalk below, Smarty noticed an enemy approaching directly beneath him. Smarty put his beer down, and stating to the other people in the room “I will be right back”, he swung his legs out over the sill and dropped out of the window, landing directly on top of this unsuspecting guy who could only collapse under his nemesis who had indeed fallen on him directly out of the sky. Smarty was right back, his enemy lay devastated on the sidewalk below.

One morning we got up, the blizzard had just begun to abate, but only a little, and we discovered Smarty had vanished with his weapons into the storm. Before noon he was back, covered in frozen blood, and dragging a small deer into the house. I had no idea, in those early days I spent with the Blackfeet; 1) how Smarty survived a hunting foray into the aspen groves behind the house, yes the storm was abating, but not by much, and was by no means finished, it was still a dangerously strong storm; 2) made a successful hunt in near blinding conditions; 3) found the strength to do it, not having eaten in nearly a week. But Smarty was the designated Hunter of the family, and took his responsibilities seriously. He was also perhaps the best hunter I have ever known. I have a grown son that is a world class hunter, I am from a family of hunters, and I know what I am talking about. Smarty was just that good. Smarty also could play a very good game of Chess, I had played him on occasion, he made calculated, but clearly dangerous moves, and he approached Indian life and its adversities something like that. Did Smarty save our lives? No, but if the storm had not continued to abate about that time, he might have. That was the winter of 1977-78, before my ‘Big Psychosis.’ This winter had taught me how to go hungry, the Indian way, and prepared me for both my dream fast, and the Sundances that would follow.

Jumping forward a few years, I recall it was during the winter of 1982-1983, I had returned the Riders house on the Two Medicine River to his family that previous spring, and was staying with Pat Kennedy’s clan at Starr School, north of Browning. By now I was deeply involved in traveling with Pat during the winter months, as Pat pursued supervising the ceremony of the very old ghost religion, Give Away Dance. Typically there is a mid-winter break from this activity, during the worst period of the winter storms, from about the 1^st part of December to the beginning of February. This period of recess is timed to the disappearance of a particular star on the horizon, and its re-emergence. I was living in Pat’s small 3 bedroom house with a sum total of 29 people. Even floor space had premium locations for sleeping, those areas that doors opening and closing did not allow the winter drafts to disturb your sleep, and people were not stepping across you coming and going in the night, whether to use the bathroom or whatever.

Typical of the poorer Blackfeet, the village inhabitants that early December used up their tiny bit of monthly money, buying gifts for the holiday season to present to their loved ones. Starr School ran out of food early that month, as did the south side (the poverty section) of Browning, and much of Heart Butte. When this happens, the Indian villages become eerily quiet. There is no energy for the children to expend at play and generally the only people out are either fishing or hunting. The streets look deserted. On the edge of Starr School village, small planes would come and go from the pastureland, the Blackfeet Christian Chief Earl Old Person has no problems, these air taxis pick him up at his house and he flies to and fro from Washington DC at his whim, his failed 50 years leadership of the Montana Blackfeet evident in the poverty and starvation going on around him with little relief. Earl gives his peoples hunger a bit of lip service, but he has not personally gone hungry in many years. Most of his endeavors seem associated with failed attempts at industrial enterprises, like the sawmill at Browning, which had caught fire and never ran again, while his administrations have sold his reservations premium house logs to sawmills abroad, and his people live 29 individuals to the small house and worse. Nothing is accomplished for his people and one only wonders how many of those going hungry in his own village could be fed, were the cost of those wasted plane trips converted to food.

I had gone from Pat’s house on a trip to Helena during this period, and riding along with me was a friend, Donald ‘Tiny Man’ Yellow Kidney. On our ride north, returning home, but before we had arrived back at the reservation border, we observed a large group of Mule Deer beside the road. I asked Tiny Man, “Do you have Treaty Rights?” Tiny Man replied “Damn right I do.” I swung my Volkswagen microbus off of the road onto a snow dusted dirt track leading into a wheat field, braked and killed the engine. The Mule Deer stopped moving as they decided what to do, I had blocked the direction they were traveling. I had my ‘Little Rifle’ handy to the driver seat, and grabbing it up, I chambered a round. The deer were moving again, probably 2 dozen of them, but were slowed by the barbed wire fence that they now had to jump, to go in the new direction the herds leaders had chosen. A very large doe hesitated at the fence, and standing, leaning against the open door of the microbus, while using the bottom of the open window to rest my rifle through the portal, I shot her directly behind the ear from 75 yards. She collapsed just like someone had dropped a large sack of potatoes. I jumped back into the drivers seat, started my little van, pulled into the field alongside her and we had her loaded in the cargo area and were back on the road, the whole episode could not have lasted two minutes.

Outside of Browning, in a safe reservation location, where you can be an Indian in possession of a deer out of season, we dressed the deer and cut it into quarters for distribution. We left one quarter with Tiny Man’s family, brought another quarter to a house where there was soon to be a ‘Black Tail’ (Mule Deer Dance, that was apropos) ceremony, where the meat would see a little wider community distribution, and dropped another quarter off to a large family related to Tiny Man that was needy. The final quarter I could have brought on out to Pat’s family at Starr School, but it was stolen while we were still in Browning and visiting at the other families houses. People were hungry. I drove out to Pat’s at Starr School without any of the Deer meat. I sat at the kitchen table with Pat and told him the story. He was philosophical about it all. While we were visiting, one of the neighbor children came to the house, the neighbors had a little bit of white flour to eat, but no lard to prepare it. Pat’s family had a little lard, but nothing to fry in it. Pat instructed one of his grown daughters to give up their last lard to the neighbor child. I had a little money. I drove back to Browning to buy our house some food.

In the spring, I moved out to a ranch on Livermore Creek, north of Browning, off the road to Duck Lake. The Blackfeet rancher and Honorary Council member, John DeRoche, had offered me a lineshack, a one room cabin, to live in. I shot ground squirrels that had overrun the property, for the most part, to stay busy. By now I was really used to living with essentially nothing, keeping few belongings other than a vehicle and a bit of tattered clothing. After meeting my few obligations in the outside world, I divested myself of most of my improved income (my military service disability had been increased to 100%) sponsoring giveaway dance, feeding people, or now, with summer coming, I would become a pow wow Indian, traveling throughout Indian Country in the region to play the Stick Game. So I was not much use as a cowboy on the DeRoche ranch. I rode horseback along the fences a little and kicked stray horses, mostly, off of the ranch property. I only participated in a cattle roundup once, to return a strayed herd.

While I was at the ranch, and without money, there was a stick game tournament in Browning. Old John DeRoche himself was a sponsor of the tournament, he knew and liked me from times we had played the game together, and he told me to come to town for the games. So I was there, observing but not playing. John felt sorry for me (I was not feeling sorry for myself), and offered to let me pick up the aluminum cans littering the floor of the large area where the games were being held, I could turn them in to the recycling people for a bit of money. I told him I would collect the cans, for him, and that I did not need the money. I was given a box of large (50 gallon) plastic trash bags, the task looked a bit big, there were numerous ongoing games over a large area, but I went to work. Now one of the proudest moments of my life in Indian country occurred.

I was a well know stick game player that had a reputation for being crazy. As a game leader, I had led my teams, on numerous occasions, to victory after victory, throughout the night. I was known as a stick game “Devil.” While building on that reputation as crazy, and a Devil, I had always been friendly with the Blackfeet that were ‘special’, the congenitally brain damaged, and when I played in the ‘open’ games and was a team leader, these ‘special’ people knew if they sat in, I would include them in the play, a chance to play they almost never would otherwise have. Stick game requires keen wits and there is inevitably money on the game, and few game leaders would risk their best players money by including these people in a game. But I did not care, these were my friends, and I liked giving them a shot at hiding the bones. Now these special people returned my favor. Here on a day I was not playing, I had no money, they saw me on hands and knees crawling through the litter of that vast event, retrieving aluminum cans, and the next thing I knew, I had a small brigade of these ‘special’ volunteers helping me.

In less than twenty minutes the entire event was denuded of cans, the half dozen or so 50 gallon sacks, all full, were piled in a storage room next to the events concession sales, and I walked away from a surprised, rather make that an amazed John DeRoche, without so much as asking for an Indian Taco in return. Little events like that are helpful for building on a ‘crazed’ reputation. And there was more than a little extra protection for being widely known as ‘crazy’ in Indian Country. Another advantage of being known as crazy in Indian Country is Indian people eventually get over their suspicion of you. If you were me, and wanted an unveiled look at the inside of that world, this is invaluable.

But I must close this story with a warning to any White that reads this and has the not-so-bright idea that they can do what I have done: to pull it off, you first must know how to be crazy like an Indian. To be crazy like a Whiteman will, more likely than not, just get you killed. Somebody like Smarty Heavy Runner could fall on you directly out of the sky. To many Indians, most White people are already crazy in a particularly White way, which is nothing at all like the Stick Game Devil, Ron West, or the Indian ‘special ones.’ That is largely why you are not trusted there. Your people are dangerously crazy from the native perspective and it is considered really poor judgment to trust Whites in many instances. But there is a short amnesty granted to the Whites that are curious. You are most certainly welcome (and safe) to come spend your money at the pow-wows. And at these events, you may meet truly gracious Indians, Indians who are anxious for you to understand who Indian people are, and how they live: their view of the world. You might discover and make lifelong friends. I just happened to stay around Indian Country long enough, under a set of unique circumstances, to get a real idea of what Indian Country is all about. And it could happen to you. But not like it happened to me.

Note: Donald ‘Tiny Man’ Yellow Kidney is not to be confused with Floyd ‘Tinyman’ Heavyrunner. Tiny man is a nickname shared by several Blackfeet based on having accomplished tasks beyond their years, as children.

Life in Indian Country

Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

A former Special Forces Sergeant of Operations and Intelligence, Ronald Thomas West is a retired investigator (living in exile) whose work focus had been anti-corruption. Ronald is published in International Law as a layman (The Mueller-Wilson Report, co-authored with Dr Mark D Cole) and has been adjunct professor of American Constitutional Law at Johannes Gutenberg University, Mainz, Germany (for English credit, summer semester 2008.) Ronald’s formal educational background (no degree) is social psychology. His therapeutic device is satire.

Contact: penucquemspeaks@googlemail.com

Tags Floyd 'Tinyman' Heavyrunner, Life in Blackfeet Country, Life in Blackfoot Country, penucquem speaks

Categories Author, culture, Folk Stories, philosophy, shamanism, Uncategorized

Introduction to Napi Mephisto

June 24, 2013 //

Napi Mephisto

I’m one of the nicest and most unassuming people you’d ever meet. All I wanted was a simple life with a woman who loves me, kids, a garden, a dog, and to be happy. I’d worked hard, for years, sorting out my personal crap and the potential was there

Then, these closet-gay fuckers called neo-cons, went out of their way to louse up my journey to happiness. On account of that fact, this ‘literary endeavor’ came into being

This is an autobiographical novel assembled around various essays deliberately intended to provoke outrage, get teeth grinding, and to put really creepy bugs up stupid people’s butts. Thinking people, on the other hand, could learn a lot reading here

In a world in which 48% of adult Americans believe modern man was ‘created’ in his present form precisely in 4004 BC or alternatively, within the past ten thousand years, and Christian fundamentalism drives the wildly popular sales of Tim LaHaye’s “Left Behind” series of books in which the ‘Anti-Christ’ manifests on Earth as the Secretary General of the United Nations, not to mention the Christian fundamentalist belief ‘Armageddon’, the Biblical war of the end of civilization set in the Middle East, must occur for the Christian faithful to advance to Heaven and now is the time… (The Economist, Special Report on Faith and Politics), one should shudder at the “The New Wars of Religion.” And particularly moving into 2011 with the USA’s military neo-cons pushing for a war with Iran

I was already acutely aware of the issues as put forward by the Economist’s writers, and I in fact have a deeper understanding of the underlying issues of Christian fundamentalism in some small regard at least, having been to Bible College as one of my several failed stops in attempts at social reintegration following my roughly one and one half years in a war zone, witnessing Man’s violence on Man. Both the war and Bible college, in retrospect, were a very American experience. The first time I put on a flight helmet and a little later reached up and flipped the ‘Nav’ toggle switch on the small console in the gunner’s seat of a Bell UH-1H helicopter, magically the Beach Boys were singing “Good Vibrations” in my helmets headphones as I watched the jungle canopy move a few feet below the landing skids on our aircraft. I was young, I was new and it was exciting, I won’t lie to you. I was thrilled. I was not thrilled, however, one and a half years after, on my departure date of November 8^th, 1971, after having participated in this corporate profiteering war against “Godless Communism.” The subsequent mental violence I encountered at Azusa Pacific College (now university) seemed no less ugly, in retrospect, the student intellectual violence over matters of doctrine. To be honest, I have been sorting out both experiences ever since. Do I believe in God? No. Am I an Atheist? No. Nor am I Agnostic

It seems to me that everybody has got it wrong. At least in Western Civilization, which has overtaken the world, and I would argue includes Islam and the classic Far East cultures. Any child should be able to grasp that a Human species which harvests life sustaining nature at a pace exceeding life sustaining nature’s ability to regenerate, is pointed to a wrong direction. Let’s keep it there for a moment, child and species. The math is kinder garden. The entire Human species is complicit, or soon will be, with the destruction of the last wild habitat of a possible handful of Amazon tribes not yet assimilated, to sustained economic development. Sustained economic development is the present western economic model which has overtaken the world, stemming from the Industrial Revolution of America and Europe. To deny this is tantamount to claiming the Moon is made of Green Cheese. Like I once heard a Black woman comedian claim: “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt”

Science and Religion, the great argument, both have it wrong. Science cannot deny it has provided the means to destroy the planet through provision of technology. Religion cannot deny it has failed to instill sustainable Human values that would prevent the planets destruction. Environmentalism as we know it, is a joke too, just more denial. Because the planet has produced a principle of cancer, Sustained Development, where we have already reached a point of no return for civilization, as we know it. To return to a balanced state in Nature, at the least in a presently unchanging social circumstance, most of Humanity must die. If the world’s leading scientists already know this, then they are lying to you by withholding the information or perhaps it is a ‘State Secret.’ Maybe none of them wants to be the first to stand up and say in no uncertain terms “It is all over for us.” If they do not know it, they are just plain stupid

This can all be covered up by arguing that Religion is even more stupid. That would be correct if something could be done about it. That is the problem. Nothing can be done about Religion except tell ignorant people the truth, everyone is almost certainly going to die on the present path. Of course to the ignorant Christian fundamentalists, that translates, yes, everyone except us, because we get to go to Heaven. They actually believe that, and that only makes them equal to those scientists that believe there is a possible ‘saved by science’ future, the greatest of oxymoron. Science put us in this circumstance and asking Science to save us is like using wild land fire control technique in the urban setting: Lighting a backfire. Set fire to the bottom of the building to take fuel away from the fire raging at the top of the building. It makes about as much sense

Here we live in an existence where Sustained Economic Development’s exploitation of nature allows a Saudi prince to own an Airbus 380 super-jumbo jet as a personal flying palace, a $300 million, 240 foot double deck fuselage with a wingspan just short of the length of a football field weighing in at 560 tons. A resource devouring colossus for friends and family that is nothing short of the western world’s greatest individual expression of what I have named “Ego Priapism.” What would be our world’s foremost collective expression of Ego Priapism? Space exploration. What is the point of exploring Space? To create an Ark, to escape our planet wide self-destructive madness? Our Human race should be quarantined. Or we should kill the most massive ecologically destructive projects of science and technology, such as Super Jumbo jets and Space exploration and the immense resource demands of these lunacies, as an investment in intelligence. And as an argument to the Cosmos and Mother Nature that we are worth having around. It makes more sense to make that statement, than to pander to the planet-wide life threatening technological aggressions of Science or the moral aggressions of Religion. Because in the end, they are both exactly that: The same Mental Aggressions. The bed partners that screw out of biological drive and hate, they hate themselves and hate each other with the resource raping of the entire planet, attended by technologically driven wars of faith and religion. It’s all the same thing folks. I’m calling it ‘Honky Mentality’, regardless of Race. Because it all began with the Industrial Revolution, and that happened in Honkydom

In the following ‘Novel’ I am going to take a little bit of Tim LaHaye’s “Left Behind” Anti-Christ away from him, reduce this bit of Anti-Christ to a good guy that is a Devil, albeit a harmless but otherwise highly threatening to peoples common fears Devil, to make a point. That point would be that I was able to learn more about Western Civilization’s foibles of science and religion from a man that had never been to school, completely illiterate, but spoke seven (now dying) Native American languages fluently and who was able to show me reality that does not exist for most of today’s world however, a reality that was once the predominant intelligence of at least two continents: The Americas. He showed me more real intelligence than any Western education, secular or religious, by far. It is a sometimes ‘satyrically’ MEAN read. But it is lucid, something lacking in our increasingly maddened world of the faith driven politics of Religion and the equally ignorant secular god named Science. If there were actually such a thing as a Native American god, it would be androgynous and its name likely would be “Lucid.” Of course the typically paranoid fundamentalist Christians would note the first four letters of that Native god’s name and freak out at the idea of Lucifer. Fine by me

It occurs to me to say an Anti-Christ might not be such a bad thing if one were to dispassionately study Christian fundamentalism. Christianity is a schizophrenic religion and the fundamentalists have the one half of it: that half following the teachings of Saint Paul. Paul’s intolerant teachings are diametrically opposed to the teachings of the Jesus who preached tolerance. It was Paul who made Jesus into the ‘Christ’ from whom we learn our cannibalistic social attitudes: concerning deferred responsibility for our behaviors and meanwhile pursuing the destruction of our planet. It has been established in research it was Paul’s followers who put the words on Jesus lips to conform Jesus to the idea of their supremacy and disregard of living an intelligent, responsible and accountable life. These monotheists need not concern themselves with intelligent living on Earth because they all have a better place to go to. This fundamentalism, in one form or other, has been around a long time. If an Anti-Christ came along to undo a bit of Paul’s work and get people pointed more towards the original ideas of, one could say the ‘un-Christianized’ ideas of the Jesus of history, that would be a good thing

I had a Nazarene professor who had a great regard for some of the secular writers, particularly Albert Camus. He had arrived at the conclusion atheism is Christian civilization’s prodigal son, the rebellious runaway living in denial. He got that right. Because the behaviors all stem from the same mental structures, whether secular or religious, for both. What he could not experience at all, and at that time neither could I, was the thought there could be non-Western mental structures framing an altogether different reality. This is on account of the Western Ego, which in a way, can only see its-self in its ‘imprisment.’ This small book, a mere ‘novel’ of hard hitting social criticism through satire, sets out to explore framing that ‘other reality’

Each segment and character has a point. If you become caught up in either mirth or outrage at the more crude or rude assertions, you will miss those points. So, hate it, love it, but above all pay attention if you want to get it. Up front, here it what ‘getting it’ is all about. People who cannot look at their behaviors, cannot let go of their behaviors. Psychologically ‘imprismed’ mentality, i.e. the Western Ego, cannot see anything beyond the mirror image self. That image must be broken for any individual, or even the World, to be healed

This book is an experiment in juxtaposing idiocy with intelligence, callousness with sensitivity, the obscene with the sacred and chauvinism with feminine awareness. It is a twisted book, deliberately. What might have seemed sympathetic or even smart ideas are sometimes trashed by inverting roles. By the end, a thinking person should question not the intelligence of Humanity, but solely the intelligence of Western Civilization

I am only good to the Indians. Whether their skins are White or Red (or Black or Yellow.) Why?

The most recent genetic research has all sorts of politically correct Social Scientists freaking out at the idea it will be misconstrued to bear out White Supremacy in intelligence. Their own lack of intelligence is to fail recognizing there are different kinds of intelligence in Humans. These politically correct scientists measure by a yardstick that is culturally biased to Western Science which originated with Western (European) mentality or intelligence, a world-wide contagious and malevolent social phenomena

Anyone can learn this mentality to one degree or another, but how useful is it?

Perhaps other people’s genetics are predisposed to an intelligence the European cultures do not know how to measure. Or perhaps it is merely a matter of how our brains are organized differently in disparate cultures. Read and think about it

The Characters

Stone Child is raised Indian in a White skin and subsequently immersed in a strict and stratified (hierarchal) charter school with a hidden administrative fundamentalist White Supremacist Christian agenda: posing as a liberal arts prep school. Because Stone Child has a White skin he is admitted to the school despite the school’s ‘fixed’ lottery admission which normally only allows a few select minority students, to conceal it’s Christian racist/fascist agenda. Discovering he is a “Pagan” child, Stone Child, a sensitive, kind and caring boy, is persecuted with covert but extreme hostility by the Christian staff at the school

Grandpa and Natooauts are a Plains Ojibwa shaman and Blackfoot shaman respectively, both have tribal kin relationships to Napi Mephisto

Spotted Buffalo is a German and the only non-native male Napi has ever known to achieve a fluent understanding of a universal shamanic concept called ‘the timing’

Napi Mephisto, father of Stone Child, is a Devil to the Whites at the school, but in fact is a mere man on an odyssey of personal evolution seeking to discover integrity in himself. He will trust people who easily betray him, including the woman he loves, and discovers how not to hate

Pompositee Succubus is a brutal White racist woman who has risen in paternal fundamentalist Christian society by adopting a male ego to compete. She is the school principal

Bozo is an example of a man who actually believes he is a good guy with credible motivations and yet has a remarkable American ‘good old boy’ chauvinism ingrained in his character, a trait he cannot see in himself. Bozo’s character, because he is always drunk, plays in the presence of women those traits many American men profoundly manifest behind the backs of women… a typical hypocrisy and common social phenomena. Although Bozo actually believes he has views sympathetic to liberal causes, he unconsciously works to destroy those causes with his personality, attitudes and approach. This is because Bozo’s draw to the cause is to stroke his own ego, more so than to do the right thing

Bozo is also a metaphor for the ‘progressives’ on the right and the left, people who do not realize the extent to which neo-con fascists play the game for keeps

Ego Priapism is a man who exhibits every sort of chauvinist, misogynist behavior imaginable. He epitomizes evil manifest in Christian behaviors

Christine is a sensitive, highly intelligent and physically beautiful teacher at the school who struggles to be free of depression stemming from child rape, is defeated by trauma, having contracted herpes from abduction and rape again as a young mother, sees her self esteem destroyed again and again, by men rejecting her because of her rape, herpes and a subsequent mastectomy. Finally, Christine is defeated once more by her own behaviors stemming from adopting aggressive male behavior to survive at the school and consequent instinctive retaliation against Napi who is in love with her

Christine, who does not know of the school administrations secret racist agenda, plays into the fascist’s hands when she deliberately flunks Napi’s son Stone Child, while taunting Napi he can do nothing about it. She does this because of her fear based anger at men and the school’s male teachers who exploit her fear when Napi has fallen in love with her. Christine, feeling sorry for herself, descends into insanity when she subsequently discovers she is actually loved by Napi, her rape and mastectomy would never have stood in the way of Napi loving Christine, the very sort of man she had finally hoped and dreamed of meeting. Or perhaps Christine is merely a cynical act

The teachers Vance, Jack and Marcus are the best friends and protégés of Ego Priapism. These characters are part of the school’s fascist/racist agenda who exploit Christine’s fear at Ego Priapism’s inspiration, seeking to use Christine to destroy ‘the devil’ Napi and drive Stone Child out of the school. Vance and Marcus are retired CIA agents, Jack is a fundamentalist Catholic

The Plot

Vance, with assistance from corrupt law enforcement, makes Napi a target of investigation at the school and in fact masterminds Christine’s abduction and rape with a view she will be manipulated to kill Napi, when her fear is exploited to suggest the ‘criminal’ Napi is bent on doing her and her child harm. Vance went on to personally attempt Napi’s murder

Napi’s dilemma: How do you help law enforcement organizations and intelligence agencies with critical information they need, when elements of the same had been coming after you hard, on false pretenses, with a view to cover their own crimes you had been in (involuntary circumstance) process of uncovering? Who/how/when to trust?

Christine mutates into a cynical cyborg, uncovered before the end of story as former CIA working together with corrupt undercover cops exploiting her tragedies while she is playing into trying to frame Napi for trumped up crimes even as Napi is blowing the lid off the real crimes by administration at the school

A happy ending??? Those have eluded me. But Napi is supposed to have learned not to hate regardless of the outcome. That either rules him out going crazy or makes him insane in a world where hate is normal

Perhaps Christine has been institutionalized by her ‘friends’ and Napi is unaware and eventually moves on to someday discover her fate

But I cannot know, and the story does not say, because her fate is unknown to me in real life. The book has morphed from a fictionalized account of real life events, to straight-up non-fiction at the end

Napi Mephisto can be read online HERE

For a free pdf copy of Napi Mephisto you may freely share with anyone, email a request to:

penucquemspeaks@googlemail.com

Tags bigotry, cancer, civilization, collapse, culture clash, ego, ego priapism, euro centric, eurocentric, gynophobia, hate crime, misogyny, Napi Mephisto, Native American, nature, priapism, religious right, sustained development, The Fall

Categories assassinations, Author, CIA, crime, culture, Espionage, Folk Stories, male hierarchy, philosophy, politics, religion, science, shamanism, social responsibility, Uncategorized

Essay on Native American Humor

May 24, 2013 //

Dreamt up at an out of doors café in Sant Feliu de Guixols

Napi. Just who is this guy? Napi is many things. Napi is a teacher, an archetype, our Blackfoot ancestor and much more. Napi is a god, he is like Jesus or a holy man. Napi is the devil, Napi is the first real human being, Napi is a fool, a friend, and the trickster- Old Man Coyote. Essentially Napi is all the possibilities embodied in any Blackfoot MALE

Everyone learns from Napi (his stories) in Blackfoot culture, and the idea behind Napi is to foster what is sane and healthy in men and put strict controls on what is not. Because men are men, there are the men’s Napi stories which are supposed to always be cleaned up in the presence of women (sorry.) Culturally speaking, some of the men’s Napi stories simply should never be told in the women’s presence at all

Did the women have the prurient Napi stories? Men were never admited (NEVER) to the women’s secret societies, so we (men) supposedly must accept at face value the idea the women only knew the cleaned up versions of Napi stories. But because I am Napi (a Blackfoot male) onetime I tricked one of the old ladies into an admission of sorts, that is I made a reference to Napi’s butt

When one of my elder woman teachers was present, I had an opportunity to identify myself in the Blackfoot language.. and instead of using my proper Blackfoot name Pee-ma-na-kwan (man with a rope), I identified myself as Penucquem (Puh-nuck-qwee-um) or that is to say I identified myself as Napi’s rectum with the proper/formal expression

That drew a belly laugh from the old lady, the spontaneous and deep sort of laugh burst out that would make a man think she had heard the dirty stories the men tell (but only behind the women’s backs.)

In actuality I cannot know, it may be she simply believed I am an asshole, that interpretation works just as well. And as she was my elder teacher, I had to stop there, because she subsequently gave a look of spine shivering evil, as though daring me to die for having breeched her dignity and caused her involuntary laugh. It is safe to say I never broached the subject with her again. She was what would be known in the old matriarchal times as a Ni-na-wa-ki, or a woman that was the highest form of Blackfoot chief. You do NOT cross these women

I will come back to Napi, and how he ate his own ass for lunch, but first I think I need to explain Indian humor is more typically healthy, and give folk here in the outside world some idea of how it works

Native humor is all about keeping things honest, in a fun and entertaining way, and consequently, this humor is often self-deprecating in a gentle or harmless way, that is laughing at having made a fool of oneself, or jokes can be created with a little license describing another’s encounter with life’s many surprises. Spontaneous jokes are appreciated, a quick, creative wit is a prized possession in the personality. The taciturn Indian is a face presented to the outside world only, within the community life is filled with fun and liveliness in most conversation.

A Honky Snow Cone

I was at a pow-wow in the southwest where people did not readily know me as an Indian.. looking like ZZ Tops. I was watching the dancers, there was a Rastafarian dreadlocks White guy doing what appeared to be a stoned southern style war dance, overly exaggerated and out of time and I was amazed at the Indians straight faces as this guy made an incredible spectacle of himself. I could not help but laugh, it was that ridiculous

I was thirsty, it was hot, I walked to a concessions stand to see the possibilities with this fresh memory of someone that made me feel pretty stupid about my original race. The Native ladies ceased their conversation, normal when a White comes into earshot, I noticed that and realized they would not know I was Indian. As I approached the stand, I did not have a joke in mind about my Whiteman appearance but being Indian, it had to pop out

The only refreshments on sale were all sugar laced poisons, generic colas and other pop, and I did not want any of that. I ordered what I figured was least sugar poisonous, a snowcone. The (quite pretty, actually) young woman dutifully scooped the crushed ice into the paper cone and then turned to face me and asked “Which color?” (sugar syrup, red, blue, green or yellow)

I asked “Can I have it just as it is?”

She seemed surprised “No color?”

I replied with the perfect musical reservation inflection: “We could just call it a honky snow-cone.”

She looked down at the cone of pure white ice she was holding for me with a dumbfounded expression and the other girls broke out in involuntary laughter but quickly recovered their straight faces and gave this what looked like a Whiteman with perfect Native expression a suspicious look (wondering for a brief moment what had happened, is it safe?) but I had got them

She broke out in a gentle and wry, but friendly smile as she handed me the little cone of ice and took my money.. as I said quietly “I am diabetic” and she replied while now smiling in a truly sweet way and with genuinely friendly voice, also quietly, “Thank you.”

That “Thank you” stated more than the outsider would ever imagine. Indians don’t typically say thank you except in sincere heartfelt circumstance. It was ‘Thank you for being genuine’ and ‘I recognize now you are Indian’, and it was ‘Thank you for the joke and bringing a great laugh into our day.’

Who Framed Melvin Bunny?

Because men are men (yes, in Native America as well) and because the culture is breaking down and becoming western, the humor is becoming ever more dangerous, as it must, to serve keeping the culture honest

So, to another real life Indian story. I hate to do this to my old friend Melvin Running Rabbit (his Indian nickname is Melvin Bunny) but here is how it is in Indian country today. It is a story about accountability

Melvin (if he is still alive) is a really good guy but he had a blind spot. He never looked at the possible consequences of those times he occasionally ran with the wrong crowd when he liked to go out of town to indulge in a really good Indian drinking binge, and those can be pretty stupendous events. I had checked it out for myself on a couple of occasions, any damn thing can happen, it is crazy to drink with Indians or, better said, when Indians drink, crazy things happen, like waking up from passed out with only one braid, the other having been cut off. Melvin was destined to a bigger joke. The Indian joke that backfired, but as the Indian world is not logical, neither are the consequences.

Melvin had, with several other Indians, drunk himself into the oblivion that seems required at these often extraordinary events, in a motel room in Great Falls, Montana, in the 1990s. There was a popular animated video out at the time: “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”

As it happens, there was one late arrival to this drinking binge who did not pass out to the typically near comatose condition and he was feeling a bit hard, or hard up. So he pulled the pants off of a passed out woman, used her like an ultra-conservative Republican on viagra would use a plastic blow-up doll for sex and then he had an idea for a joke. He pulled the passed out Melvin’s pants down and dragged him on top of the passed out woman he had just squirted full of his stuff, and left. That was a bad joke, but it gets better

If he had not done that second part of his criminal act, but rather had pulled the woman’s pants back up instead, he likely would have gotten away with the rape, because every Indian woman that attends these binges knows the risk, it has happened many a time and is often the joke story of the modern Indian drunks. She likely would have been disgusted with herself, having discovering what had happened to her, taken responsibility for being there and let go of it. End of story

But as fate would have it, along comes a family member looking for her and stumbles on the passed out old guy, Melvin, lying on top of the much younger woman, both with pants down. He called the cops and Melvin went to jail and was charged with rape

Melvin professed his innocence at his arraignment, the Indian humor telegraph was working hard on the story, supposedly in his cell Melvin was given a Viagra pill, a playboy magazine and a paper cup, to get his DNA and the subsequent big story on the Indian humor telegraph was:

“Who Framed Melvin Bunny?”

Napi Eats His Butt

I close this essay with a story of the proverbial trickster, our Napi. There were many stories of Napi holding philosophical conversations with his rectum, and this is where typically the Napi stories become really dangerous. If you can understand this story, then you will have a good idea of how to see where human nature has gone wrong in the Whiteman. Because this is the Indian story of the Evangelical Whiteman, the Whitemen we have met in Andrew Jackson and George Bush. It is about the Whiteman that rules America today. It is about corporate America and nacissism in the extreme. It is about narcissistic men like Barack Obama. It is about a man that does not learn from his mistakes. It is about a man that does not put two and two together concerning the consequences of his actions. It is about a man that does not understand his relationship to essential functions in nature necessary to his survival. It is about a man that does not pay attention or listen. It is about a narcissistic man so full of himself, he lies to himself about others good intentions. It is a story about how not to live your life. And perhaps most of all, it is a story about recycling old and failed ideas. The name of this story is “Napi Eats His Butt.” The story is told by Napi’s asshole, Penucquem, and it goes like this:

Napi had been to a great feast with his brothers. He returned to his camp very full of food and tired. Napi curled up to sleep by his fire, and you know where a dog’s nose is when he curls up to sleep!

Spuurrpp! Napi farted and it woke him up, his eyes were watering. Napi said aloud ‘Well, that was really rude’ and curled back to sleep…

Spuurrpp! Napi’s head popped up again, irritated, Napi shouted at his rectum: ‘Penucquem! If you won’t let me sleep, I am going to teach you a lesson!’ Napi curled up again.

Spuurrpp! That really did it. Jumping up, Napi grabbed up Tail, out of harms way, and sat on his campfire to get even with Penucquem. “Yii! Yii!” Napi really took off, like only a hurt dog does, and this started him on his travels.

Napi moved for a long time, he was thinking of how Penucquem had bit him really hard when he had tried to punish him, he didn’t understand how his asshole could do that to him while pushed down on the fire. It was Penucquem that should have cried out and ran away.

So Napi kept moving and thinking, he was traveling a long time in a big circle…

Napi walked and thought about it for so long that finally the large scab fell off of his rectum and still walking in a circle, he came across the scab and said “What do you know! Dry Meat!” Napi was getting hungry again about this time and he was happy to have found the dried meat some Indian had lost.

The Magpies shouted out to him “Napi! Don’t eat that! It fell off of your rectum!” Napi shouted back to the Magpies “You’re not fooling me, you just want this dry meat for yourselves!”

And then very delicately because there was not much of it, and with a lot of savor because he was hungry, and very deliberately, so the Magpies would envy him while watching, nip by nip, Napi ate his butt.

“Hun Neow Wah Nee Moo Oosss” (This is what your ass has to say)

The best part of the story about Napi eating his butt is, it was just such a good story I couldn’t help myself, I stole it from the Crees. I stole it from Wee-say-kay-cha (the Cree trickster) and gave it to our Napi. It’s a Blackfoot story now-

“Two Medicine Men, both teachers, visited the big city and took in a service at the cathedral. Returning home, they took their Indian students on a journey of ‘Discovery.’

“First, they killed the nicest kid in the group and told the rest it was their fault for being born. But now, if they would eat the nice kid and drink his blood, calling it communion, they would not be held responsible for anything, ever.

“And this conferred upon them the right to tell other people how to live their lives- what they can and cannot do” –Penucquem’s Journal

Two Indian Jokes

Two Northern Plains Indians talking about the Southwestern tribes, originating with one of the Northern Indians experiencing married life among the Apaches, beginning with a question: “Well, what did you discover?” Answer: “Apaches are feral Navajos.”

After I’d moved to New Mexico, and Floyd HeavyRunner called to see how things were going, Floyd asked me “Are they (the New Mexicans) on Indian time?” I answered “No, they’re on Mexican time.” Floyd: “Mexican time? What’s that?” Myself: “They fall asleep and forget.” Floyd [belly laughs] “That was good.”

Life in Indian Country

Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

A former Special Forces Sergeant of Operations and Intelligence, Ronald Thomas West is a retired paralegal/investigator (living in exile) whose work focus had been anti-corruption and human rights. Ronald is published in International Law as a layman (The Mueller-Wilson Report, co-authored with Dr Mark D Cole) and has been adjunct professor of American Constitutional Law at Johannes Gutenberg University, Mainz, Germany (for English credit, summer semester 2008.) Ronald’s formal educational background is primarily social psychology. His therapeutic device is satire, uh and yeah, he grew up with and spent most his life in close association with Indians…

Tags Blackfoot, circling buzzards of Indian Humor, honesty, Indian Humor, integrity, Jesus, matriarchy, Napi, Native American Humor, Old Man, Old Man Coyote, The Devil, trickster

Categories Author, comedy, crime, culture, Folk Stories, philosophy, politics, psychology, religion, satire, shamanism, social responsibility, Uncategorized

Napi in the New Age

May 20, 2013 //

A Modern Napi Story

The Great Oxymoron

Lester Log Roller was from a family of Indians named for a drunken forebear who had been ‘challenged’ by some White loggers in the Pacific Northwest to participate in the “Logger Olympics” of sport unique to their profession. Lester’s forebear actually had brought off his performance quite well, while keeping his balance on a log in a pond which he managed to roll with agility, both forwards and backwards… his fame for the event however, was the wild look of panic on this Indians face with his braids flying askew, because this Indian did not know how to swim.

The Indian’s champion log rolling performance was purely survival driven which made the event all the more hilarious to the redneck Whites that had sent him onto the log at gunpoint. The chief of this White Redneck tribe’s sense of honor, his name was Lucious Ludicrous Bean, declared Log Roller should be allowed to live for his amazing ability to mimic the loggers in the sport (“Damn, who’d believed”), but the Indian would hereafter have to be known by the new name and answer to it.

The Indian agreed to the terms required to save his life while still on the log, and was subsequently fished out of the pond both before he had drowned and nearing sobriety, because he had finally fallen into the water from pure exhaustion. Log Roller’s descendant, Lester Log Roller, subsequently was from a family of Indians that did not drink. They knew better. He went to Law School instead

Nobody in the White Academic world knew how to create a Native Studies Program because in fact to postulate a program as such in the western classroom was oxymoron. Hell, they did not even know that. Native Studies, if it was Natives doing the studies, would be non-interfering in Nature, observing the processes from which all Native intelligence had been drawn. Lester Log Roller did not know that, because he had been off to Boarding School from age five and then off to University in Kanadada.

By this time, Lester had mastered the provincial English linguistic trick of stating the just so “Eh?” after postulating something as mundane as “How aboot (yucky pronunciations) we run to the trading post for some smokes. Eh?” And his Blackfoot language was rusty, such as the time he was home from boarding school to visit and his Aunt told him to go back out (he had just come in the door) and bring in the “Napi-aki.” Lester started to go back out, he was confused, but then resolutely faced his Aunt and told her “I don’t have a White woman!” She laughed and said in English “I’m not talking about White women, I want you to bring in the milk jug.” Lester felt dumb. Napi-aki could mean either milk jug or White woman, but he did not get the context. He had been too long away at school

Lester was a conscientious sort, and so when his undergraduate major in ‘Native Studies’ was decided on, he returned home in summers and brushed up on his Blackfoot Language. But he did not realize that the answer to bring his university into line with the political correctness of the new times had been to establish a White Anthropology program staffed by White-educated mentalities in people with Red skins and call it ‘Native Studies.’ And so, Lester, like the now countless other Red skinned people of Native descent, thought this was real. He should have remembered the Blackfoot proverb “Everyone knows the Whiteman is crazy.” But Lester could not know this now applied to himself. So Lester questioned his former people’s elders to get ideas for his papers he would need to write in the discipline of anthropology disguised with the ‘Native Studies’ euphemism. And thought he was Indian

Lester went on to Law School and eventually became Director of ‘Native Studies’ at a great university which had been duly impressed with his achievements in the Whiteman’s so-called field of ‘Indian Treaty Law,’ having nothing to do with actual Aboriginal Laws of past times, but which combined with the idea he spoke Blackfoot, seemed to make him eminently qualified to run their program.

Here at university he met the great White theoretical physicist David Bohm and they had discussed David’s curiousity as to why it had been noted as early as the 1920’s the Native American languages seemed to have no problem describing many phenomena of the new theoretical physics, which western languages had difficulty coping with. Lester had no idea why either, but it seemed there must be something to it and so they began a dialogue… and eventually Lester became a god. To at least three or four people.

Lester, later on retired and living in a townhouse in the better part of Lethbridge, Kanadada, had continued with his anthropological interest in studying his former people and was particularly interested in their form of government before they had been conquered. His anthropological studies got him up and running on three legs in Blackfoot ways, like the proverbial wild dog that had chewed off one leg to escape a trap… and that was about it

Lester had by this time taken over the dialogue and thought he had some things figured out: Like how the old time chiefs circle of oratory had worked. Not. What he attempted to replicate in fact became a lunatic caricature of what had been his ancestral wisdom. It was not meant to be evil and in fact it was not evil. It was merely stupid. But Lester could not know that

By this time, these dialogues, with David Bohm now dead, had become sponsored by a ‘Wannabee Indian’ organization called ‘New Age in Native America’ run by an anal-retent-hyper-liberal White intellectual who fancied himself an enlightened feminist man. Though one might suspect otherwise, this man was not ‘bi,’ neither bi-sexual, nor bi-cultural

Narcissus Yabadabadoo Montenegro was a “Coyote” in the strict local Hispanic sense of the term, that is a ‘Spanglo.’ You would never know to which community of his ancestry he was loyal to, because this sort of Coyote could only be loyal to himself. His ego was of a soft burnished sort, the kind of lovely passive-aggressiveness whose nasty aspect was presented in the effeminate dark side aroma of the flower he was named for. As a real Indian, you just did not want to get too close to Narcissus if you were to enjoy the genuine natural beauty of his expression. And so it also was with the NANA sponsored dialogues he so expertly organized for the world to know the truth of the New Age in Native America

When Narcissus gazed into the reflective pool of the soft loveliness in his ego, he could detect no offensive aroma. His ethnocidal nuance as applied to Native American thought and philosophy was of a much prettier and more refined sort than that established for his intellectual forebears in the psychological literature developed by Erich Fromm: who postulated the Nazis much enjoyed the smell of their own farts.

A far cry from the camps and ovens, the ethnocidal ‘thrust’ of Narcissus’ ego priapismic tendencies was to bring about the immolation of the Indians beliefs and thinking with grandiose graphics of Taoist imagery superimposed on Native American fruits and vegetables extrapolated to western print: advertising the many ‘Red Skinned [Elmer] Fudds’ (PhDs) he would gather alongside White skinned western scientists in a grand orgy of psyco-somatic ego-stroking masturbation in high intellectual workshops of inter-racial discourse

Napi fell for it in the beginning. It was attractive, because Lester, a Blackfoot Indian who could speak his language was master of ceremony and that fact, taken together with the promoted agenda of Native America’s relationship to an observational philosophy of Quantum Mechanics, convinced Napi at the start he would learn something. Well, Napi did learn some things, he just did not learn what he had expected, like a wider understanding of Native Quantum Reality. Napi learned about Quantum Mechanics in the laboratory from the White scientists and absolutely nothing at all from the many PhD Native Americans because they had no idea at all of how Native Quantum Reality functionally worked.

Damn, it was sad. Not one PhD, not a single PhD from either side of the Racial divide, understood that to be Native American in thought and philosophy had absolutely nothing to do with Race. PhD. Wow. The White western scientists were sometimes frustrated with the Red western scientists who could only tell stories from anthropology that were totally out of context and consequently nonsensical. That fact only made the Red western scientists equal to the White western scientists totally out of context with Nature and nonsensical lab experiments

Napi simply observed the first year he attended. The second year he contributed a little bit of real Indian thinking and freaked out Lester because it looked as though the entire event could be shown up as a case of ‘The Emperor Has No Clothes!’ The third year Napi had tried to explain to Narcissus and had approached Lester directly about making a contribution, how some things could change to open up the dialogues to real learning, but Napi was frozen out instead. No upsetting the gravy train of ego allowed here!

Rather the ‘face’ of the event was to be preserved at all costs, a portrait of the mysterious and knowledgeable Indian, Lester, presiding over an event that might one day yield his great secrets held in abeyance: to his lesser Native beings and the handful of toadying sycophant Whites who peered upon his Native holiness with expressions of Heavenly reverence as though they were alter-boys seated upon the left and right hands of God. In fact, it appeared to Napi that Lester didn’t know shit. Lester only knew how to rest on his laurels from his former Native Studies program directorship at Harvard, look important, and otherwise act cool and all knowing. That’s it.

This lampoon of Leroy Little Bear and the ‘Language of Spirit’ dialogues at SEED Open University, goes to the point of what you see isn’t what it was and what it was, is something you’re not going to get at any ‘native studies’ program, either…

The women’s secret societies had been the driving social engine in the Blackfoot culture, the anthropologists were males and males were NEVER admitted to these societies. The upshot is, when every sister, mother, daughter and wife of every man of consequence delivered identical message, the men would meet and take the nation in the direction these women had insisted upon. The anthropologists only saw the men meet and come to decisions. The ‘circle’ at SEED supposedly replicating the ancient native governance system, is entirely devoid of the matriarchal concept and background. An important note would be, the anthropologists were allowed to keep mistaken assumptions (mistaken assumptions that now are integrated material of so-called ‘native studies’) because the culture they were studying did not have a concept of correcting so-called ‘wrongs’, people are supposed to figure out their mistakes for themselves.

The Blackfoot word for wife, ni-naki, translates literally as “boss.” Ni-naki is the lesser form of the word ni-na-waki, which had been the highest form of Blackfoot chief in pre-contact times, and could only be a woman. The equality there was really quite balanced, with a slightly higher female authority, with great respect between the sexes and women had been fully entitled to be warriors, the term for such was sak-wo-ma-oui-aki-kwan, loosely translated as ‘defiant women.’

The men with more than one wife were seen by anthropologists as polygamists in the western sense, the western observers not realizing the women determined this. Close sisters or best friends shared the man and without this female consensus, polygamy did not happen. And it was the important women who determined who would be a man’s ‘sits besides him wife.’ In the present time, relating to any politically correct western anthropology program with the ‘native studies’ euphemism, it is the western ideas are coming to dominate the native perception of themselves, with the loss of language and oral tradition through enforced western educations, these people don’t even know who they were anymore. But what had been was, the women instilled the culture’s values and stability.

Another misconception is the countless forms of gender in the language, the western linguists puzzling over how so many masculine and feminine forms could be kept straight and why so many when in fact this was the language expressing varying degree of androgyny in descriptions, an alien concept to western linguists.

The unfortunate conclusions concerning the western culture, drawn from thirty plus years work bridging the cultural gap, can be read in my essay ‘You’ve Got Apes!‘

The Satires

Life in Indian Country

Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

Tags anthropology, Blackfeet, Blackfoot, cultural anthropology, fraud, Language of Spirit Dialogues, Leroy Little Bear, matriarchy, Napi, Napi Story, Native American Quantum Mechanics, Native American Studies, Native Studies, new age, quantum mechanics, SEED Open University

Categories comedy, culture, Folk Stories, Law, male hierarchy, philosophy, politics, psychology, satire, science, shamanism, social responsibility, Uncategorized

Life’s Little Surprises

May 13, 2013 //

Written at Wiesbaden, Germany, Summer of 2008 –

I went to the university to see my classroom for the first time, visit with my boss in the law department and check on some important protocols, i.e., would a self educated Honky raised Indian in the Rocky Mountains, be thrown out of a university in Europe for basically being himself. A matter of personality.

As I entered the law department and traversed the halls to the department chair’s office, this new Professor Witch-Doctor garnered stunned looks of disbelief from the rather straight looking lawyer academic males and friendly laughs from the women, I wondered what that said about my new life in academia.

I have known my boss for years, relating to past human rights and international law work, as an investigator in Indian country, and in his office I have questions relevant to current affairs. This is in regards to my stand-up comedian nature and my new professorship; will I be able to make the point to my students the name of the law professor who composed the Bush administration memos authorizing torture had inspired a change in the spelling of the English language expression ‘Fuck Yoo’

Also, I established I do not own a tie and was not about to acquire one. I believe the tactful language I had used in negotiating this important parameter was “I don’t believe I could manage a tie.” I was duly assured casual clothes would be fine, after-all, I am Professor Witch-Doctor Ron, having never subjected myself to PhD imprisonment in any ivory tower.

In the Native world, life’s little surprises are ascribed to The Trickster, and when we encounter these events, we are supposed to pay attention because life is trying to tell us something. Such as the time I had been wandering about the Arizona desert, and picked up a Horned Toad for a pet to give to a child. I slipped the creature into my jacket pocket and it had already slipped my mind by the time the day warmed up and I tossed the jacket into the back of my car and forgot about it for a week.

Subsequently, I was driving down a desert road and my heart nearly blew its way out the top of my head when some flat, cold scaly alien about the size of a tea saucer suddenly was attached to the right side of my neck. With the missed photo opportunity of a lifetime, the look on my face I am sure, I grasped the horned toad and pulled it free of my neck and into my line of vision and started to laugh somewhat insanely.

I stopped, walked the creature back into the desert apologizing profusely and set it free. Life had just told me in a moment of unfounded terror, to leave Horned Toads alone. In the Native view, even such a small and harmless creature has real power.

These many years later, I’d gotten to be the Horned Toad.

On my way to university appointment, I spryly hopped onto an escalator at the train station, and was quickly sandwiched in by people front and back and noticed the little woman in a nun habit standing next to me. She was staring at the new Professor Witch-Doctor with an expression indicating if she could leap off a twenty story building to escape me, there would be no hesitation… my camoflage bandanna and shades can do that? I had forgot… I looked down at my t-shirt with a cameo portrait of the devil and the name “Mephisto”

I did not wink at her (Oh, the temptation was great) but merely wondered at people who are prisoners of fear… with my life dedicated to peace and non-violence (not to mention free expression)

In student emails to me after the course was completed; “you showed me there is more than one way to learn at university”, “I’d take your class again just for fun!” and my favorite “your class was so refreshing after all of the suited and stiffed up law professors.”

These students are the truly bright minds

I suppose when I have survived life’s present international intrigue and achieve fame, perhaps the university could consider awarding me a honorary witch-doctorate of satire in letters and law, and I will enjoy teaching again-

A true story based on my summer semester (2008) adjunct professorship at Johannes Gutenberg School of Law (Mainz, Germany)

The Satires

Tags 2008, adjunct professor, American Basic Law course, constitutional law, Johannes Guttenberg University, Law School, Mephisto, Ronald Thomas West, University Mainz

Categories Author, comedy, culture, international law, Law, politics, satire, SCOTUS, shamanism, social responsibility, Uncategorized

The DIA and Shamanism

April 30, 2013 //

For those of my readers who are unfamiliar with the ‘far side’ of the intelligence world, I will simply note the MKULTRA ‘mind control’ program was (and perhaps still is) a very real CIA program with roots in NAZI behavioral science. Since, both the CIA and Defense Intelligence Agency had seriously investigated (and perhaps still are) certain parapsychology phenomena as noted in the U.S. Marine Corps War College academic paper:

Unconventional Human Intelligence Support: Transcendent and Asymmetric Warfare Implications of Remote Viewing

“Transcendent warfare’s impact extends well beyond remote viewing, which offers a glimpse of the possible. It also holds the potential for fundamentally shifting and expanding our current understanding of reality to such an extent that manipulation of established reality parameters, such as time, becomes possible if not plausible. The first nation or group that actualizes transcendent warfare will therefore possess a strategic advantage that may prove insurmountable”

It is noted on page 15:

“Remote viewing could not be controlled and the CIA knew it”

And in this context it is very interesting to read:

“The real challenge for the United States is not asymmetrical warfare, but rather what this writer calls transcendent warfare, the ability to conceptualize and subsequently actualize an entirely new form of warfare that transcends all previously known models. Said ability could enable a nation state or other entity to redefine and to advance warfare to a completely different level or dimension, possibly comprehensible by only a selected but powerful few”

Indeed. And those powerful few need not belong to any nation-state. Nor to any organization. Nor be limited to ‘Remote Viewing.” In fact ‘remote viewing’ (as known to indigenous shamanism, but they do not call it that) is but one aspect of a phenomena of which knowing how to ‘read’ (entirely unknown to the Marine Corps study author) is every bit as important as knowing how to ‘see’

***

The DIA & Shamanism

‘The spirit puts into the mind of a man, to know what to do’ –Native American Proverb

The Defense Intelligence Agency, CIA and FBI, all, have sought the Native American knowledge and advanced understanding of ‘remote viewing’, the Native grasp of this phenomena having been far and away superior to any of the western psychics. Native ‘Remote Viewing’, simply put, is the ability to picture and follow events at a distance, in real time, using only the mind.

The Native ability to do this had been, prior to the enforced Anglo-centric education in modern day Indian country, truly phenomenal. And this fact, the enforced western education, is the first clue to the DIA failure. Coinciding with the western education destroying Native thought forms, is the language barrier, wherein Native concept does not easily translate to western, this is the second clue, and underlying this is the coup de grace; a world view so fundamentally different to western, to bring the understanding across would require a rare and uniquely qualified person indeed. I happen to be that person, and I don’t work for the DIA.

In the 1930s, noted linguist Benjamin Whorf postulated language shapes reality (and that Natives know a reality the westerners cannot see), following his learning and subsequent study of Hopi Language. His work on this observed a different concept of time and ultimately led to his (argued over by academics ever since) conclusion there is a distinct similarity in Hopi language to Einstein’s theory of relativity. Hence Whorf’s theory or variant of ‘linguistic relativity’ came into being.

Following Whorf’s pioneering (and much disputed) work, noted ‘action anthropologist’ Karl Schlesier, observed in his book ‘The Wolves of Heaven’ (on Cheyenne shamanism) the resemblance of Cheyenne world view to famed Einstein associate and theoretical physicist David Boehm’s theories. Boehm himself, altogether independently of Schlesier’s observation, entered into an exploratory dialogue on the subject of a Native American world view relationship to Quantum Mechanics with a Canadian Blackfoot Indian, Leroy Little Bear, Director of Native Studies at Harvard. Following Boehm’s death, this dialogue, now comprising a mix of mostly western scientists, some specialized in physics and others in Native American Studies (a form of Western cultural anthropology), had been relocated to SEED Open University at Albuquerque, New Mexico. It was at SEED the dialogue had hosted keynote speaker James O’Dea, then president of the Institute of Noetic Science, and by this time the entire process had been fairly hijacked by New Age influenced science and become hopelessly misguided. How this ties into the DIA will be dealt with in the narrative of this article.

Reputedly based on work initiated in part by the [then new] Institute of Noetic Sciences in the early 1970s, by 1995 the Department of Defense ostensibly discontinued funding of research into remote viewing:

“The foregoing observations provide a compelling argument against continuation of the program within the intelligence community. Even though a statistically significant effect has been observed in the laboratory, it remains unclear whether the existence of a paranormal phenomenon, remote viewing, has been demonstrated. “An Evaluation of Remote Viewing: Research and Applications” -American Institutes for Research, Sept. 29, 1995

The problem with this [foregoing] statement, particularly the language “..it remains unclear whether the existence of a paranormal phenomenon, remote viewing, has been demonstrated” is, the Defense Intelligence Agency, CIA and FBI, all, are aware in fact it is VERY CLEAR there is ‘existence of a paranormal phenomenon, ‘remote viewing’’, based on investigations into the Native American use of remote viewing technique. Remote viewing had been taken into the lab for studies for a period of roughly two decades. Considering this had been a Defense Intelligence Agency funded study, and further considering the Department of Defense spent $350 million on brain research studies in 2011 alone, and in fact remote viewing is known to have highly detailed and reliable instance outside of the lab (in indigenous cultures), it would seem more likely the effort to exploit this indigenous knowledge had shifted away from the lab failures and amateur efforts of western psychics and into clandestine cultural anthropology fieldwork. This thought is supported by a short study on Transcendental Warfare at the United States Marine Corps War College, proposing the CIA [or the DIA] may have done exactly that.

Bolstering this preceding thought is the fact momentous steps have been taken in the field of Quantum Mechanics since the 1980s particularly, to a point where today’s theoretical physicist Bernard d’Espagnat can state:

“The doctrine that the world is made up of objects whose existence is independent of human consciousness turns out to be in conflict with quantum mechanics and with facts established by experiment”

The problem faced by DIA/CIA in this instance is, all lab science to now has been based largely on Cartesian dualism relevant to matter, the scientists brains are trained up this way and suddenly the DIA finds itself dealing with an unexplored unity principle, insofar as pursuing indigenous knowledge. The vaunted laboratories of western empiricism are in fact useless to pursue what lies beyond the grasp of nearly the entire body of science on account of how the mentalities of the scientists themselves are shaped through life-long training. Suddenly it makes sense to revert to cultural anthropology in the chase for an understanding of reality beyond the present purview of western knowledge, bringing them to Benjamin Worf’s work as a point of reference. I will propose not only did the DIA throw away much money in the lab, but continue to chase rabbit trails with their penetration of Institute of Noetic Sciences shamanic studies, where there is as much self-deceit generally, as there is in a culture particularly devoted to exploitation of phenomenal nature they had failed to grasp from the time of Plato and the inception of western science.

Native languages are pretty much ‘noun free’ languages, where everything is described in terms of process, and process is a moving thing, hence the Native differing concept of ‘time.’ The present is never static, it is always perceived as moving and you are moving with it. Past and future, both, have a present tense. Our world is perceived as a living clock of sorts, the clock is time in motion and we all are part and parcel of this clock. So, it is easy to see how the western mentality is not equipped to fathom Native thought and its attending abilities and how enforced western educations in Cartesian based or Platonic philosophies and concepts of time would destroy the abilities of the present Native generations through the deprivation of their language and its attending intelligence. Simply put, western education, from a Native Quantum Mechanics based perception of reality, dumbs people down, severely.

How is the ancient native mind shaped? From infancy, the child is included in nearly everything. An infant sleeps with their parents until they wean themselves, that could be to age three or four. A baby that does not wish to be held, must not be held. A toddler is distracted and enticed away from danger rather than shouted at. Behavior is explained, never demanded. The children are NEVER lied to. Teaching the child is primarily via setting highest ethical example. The same respect accorded the child is accorded all living things, to include trees and even stones. The is no ‘adult’ world versus a child’s world.

The result of this upbringing is the child learning to ‘see’ the world they live in, the ‘living clock’, as a state of self-integrated/ongoing process. The ‘product’ of this process is people who cannot be told what to do except that they should decide for themselves following a leader is in their best interest. Western educations, of course, kill this process, and development in the ancient Native mentality is arrested. But it was my good fortune to experience teachers in the truly ancient Native mentality, and at a point in life I was prepared to listen and discipline myself in ways westerners, as a class, are nearly incapable of, particularly the males. And so it is, over a span of three decades, I learned to ‘see.’ Once set down that road free of the constraints of western culture and education, the ‘sight’ only grows, for the entirety of one’s life. Cartesian/Platonic mentalities can never fully know this, or that is to say ‘science’ and mentalities trained in western thought. The Cartesian/Platonic disciplined mentality is ‘masculinized’ out of the ability to ‘see’ from infancy. And though it may be possible for the western mentality to intellectually grasp this (or westernized mentality, e.g. Leroy Little Bear), it would be nearly impossible, for the males particularly, to overcome how their minds have been shaped and actually ‘know’ these phenomena, except they were able to authentically reject everything they have learned, a highly unlikely prospect, and begin from scratch. Ready to throw away that PhD, as well everything you’ve learned since in the womb, and begin all over again at age 30-50? They can’t do it. Even were there necessarily qualified Native teachers remaining who would agree to share their knowledge, something a properly trained ‘seer’ would NEVER do for DIA, because it would take them out of alignment with the living clock and consequently out the window would go their gift of sight. Why? Simply recall d’Espagnat stating human consciousness cannot be arbitrarily separated from objects, which is what Cartesian-Platonic shaped science sets out to do.

When contrasted to the ‘living clock’ Native understanding of reality, the Native could be said to be allergic to the western concept of reality, which is almost certainly why the gifted Native cosmologist, Leon Secatero, became ill and died, following his immersion in Western culture. Leon had tried to bring related ideas from Native Quantum reality across, to among others, Seed Open University, in that organization’s attempts to ‘feminize’ the masculine western reality, but the fact remains the result is not Native reality, but instead a ‘feminized’ western masculine reality. There cannot be any honest integration of the western duality outside of the ‘living clock’, because the androgynous nature of intention in the living nature aspect we are all meant to be integrated to, cannot know separation from the self. This requirement of Cartesian/Platonic philosophy shapes the western culture’s mentalities which only know intention as manipulation exterior to any integrated to Nature experience. Nature hates you and you will die.

A short manner of restating all of this preceding is, if “the kingdom of heaven is within”, and you “must be like little children” to get there, a culture subsequently shaped by the worship of a sadistic political murder of those very ideas, can never know the experience.

Having much of my youth in close proximity to the Montana Blackfeet and knowing Indians growing up, it was a no-brainer [in my thinking] to immerse in that culture when I’d realized I was not adjusting to western culture on my return from Vietnam. Our Indian tribes have a special –and different- relationship to their veterans and the fact of my being a veteran, as well acquainted with Indians for some years already, eased my move into that culture in the middle 1970s. I immersed in the Blackfoot language community, their way of life and ceremony. I was fortunate to be initially ‘adopted’ by an old couple living on the Rocky Mountain Front, south of Browning, Montana. He was a healer, she was a ‘seer.’ Via my relationship to this old couple, I became a member of the ‘Black Door’ clan.

I gathered fire wood for the old couple, cut holes in the ice at the edge of a small lake, so their few cows could drink, made better deals for them when doing business with White ranchers to buy hay and was their driver. The old woman, the ‘seer’, was my primary teacher. I learned to play the ‘stick game’ and became perhaps the only White grandmaster, of that ancient oracle, in Blackfoot history. To be a grandmaster player of the stick game, you must be able to ‘see’ and to ‘see’ quite well. But what the old lady could do, outside of the context of that [in my case] ‘training’ game, was extraordinary. She was reminiscing one time about her younger days when she’d owned a small accordion and was thinking aloud she would like to play one again. Then she looked at me and said “Ron, you know someone who will give me an accordion.” I did not say anything, did not react, only waited for her to continue. She described a man she was absolutely certain I would know, and thinking about it, I thought perhaps she was talking about a German neighbor I’d known growing up but I’d never known him to play accordion. I drove her across the mountains to visit this man I’d not seen in several years, he welcomed us, listened to my explanation, produced an accordion from his storage closet and gave it to her.

I thought that was a pretty interesting event, but it paled by comparison to events to come. Going to this thought, I will recount one more of the old lady’s ability to ‘see’ that was nothing short of amazing. In the 1970s reservation area south of Browning, telephones were nearly unknown. Our rural house had electric lights and that was it. But with the old lady around, we did not need any form of electronic communications. One day she announced we would drive to the house of people she knew on the Blood Indian (Canadian Blackfeet) Reserve at Cardston, Alberta. We would wait there and there would be people driving from the other direction, looking for a healer skilled in the art the old man knew, and they would stop at that house to inquire. I drove the old couple to their stated destination and there we waited and in drove a car of Cree Indians from the north, looking for a healer with a certain ability and the old man was already there, waiting for them. It worked out precisely as the old lady had stated it would, consistent with our planned timeline and departure. In 1981 the old man became ill, he eventually died and she retired. Then began my next experiences, with a new teacher.

It was in 1981, having moved to the foothills of the Rocky Mountains on the border of the Blackfeet Indian Reservation west of Browning, a remarkable man knocked on my door. This man was Pat Kennedy, a Plains Ojibwa Oral Historian and Medicine Man who had married into the Blackfeet tribe 30 years before. Speaking seven native languages fluently, including the Blackfeet language, and with a fluent and creative use of the native pidgin English we held our initial conversation in, Pat had never been to school. His Irish name had been assigned to his family by the government when the apartheid system called Indian reservations had been established. When Pat had knocked and I opened the door for him, his introduction was: “I’m Pat Kennedy. I like where your house is and I would like to use it for ceremony.” For the following 24 years, until he died, I was this remarkable man’s student and became one of his close and best friends. For the first eight years of my learning with Pat, I traveled with him widely and met other masters of the Native American science based in advanced understanding of Quantum Mechanics. These people live a reality that can only be described in western terminology as sort of low key ‘lucid dreaming.’ Here again I met ‘seers’ with uncanny accuracy in describing real time events which manifest precisely as predicted, in one instance it had been announced by a ‘seer’ another medicine man was approaching in company of several persons he was not acquainted with. The old man detailed each individual precisely as they appeared on arrival. Now begins the journey of several ‘coincidence’ [noting coincidence is not a valid concept in Native American thought] that take Pat and myself to the Institute for Noetic Sciences, but first a bit more on the ‘seers’ in Indian country, and Pat’s relating experience to me about meeting the FBI and information on ‘others’ involved with seeking out Native American’s gifted with accurate real time ‘remote viewing’ skill.

Pat related to me that, some years previous to our becoming acquainted, he had been one of the Indians the FBI had expressed an interest in, on account of ‘remote viewing’ (Pat did not call it that) and he had initially been amenable to meeting with these people but soon changed his mind and decided not to work with them. The best way I can explain Pat’s and other of the valid Native seers rationale, is to state a well know fact in Indian country: “Coyote is crazy because he has a maggot in his brain.” Now, if the FBI (or for that matter, the DIA/CIA) were to hear this perfectly logical statement (to the ancient Indian mentality) given as a reason (the Indians do not provide the reasoning, they simply do not show up), they’d be stumped, because they cannot translate Native thinking to begin with, let alone Native proverbs. What has actually been stated concerning Coyote is crazy because he has a maggot in his brain in relation to the FBI is, ‘these people are killers.’ Alternatively it is a polite way of saying ‘we saw a murder agenda.’ Well, of course they would see an agenda, where any agenda might be, because they are ‘seers.’ So, in the end, the FBI, CIA and DIA investigations of the Native ‘seer’ phenomena, became stuck with the petty sorcerers, the self-employed dilettantes and out & out fakes in Indian country, because the real McCoy wanted nothing to do with them. This coyote proverb refers to an ancient method of murder in Native America, by introducing a particular larva into the nostril of a sleeping person, a method that almost invariably killed the victim, after a period of insanity. In certain contexts, Coyote represents the Mankind when at his worst behavior.

In the ‘living clock’, which has its own power of volition, there is no concept of coincidence or accident. And so it was my teacher, Pat Kennedy, had been the first Native American awarded the “Temple Prize”, for creative altruism, by the Institute of Noetic Sciences, in 1997. On first sight, the actual award was a disaster. Nominated by an IONS member so low as to be a worm, speaking of the dualistic nature of many western personalities, the man’s name is not worth mentioning here, but better consigned to the ash heap of history. Once the prize had been confirmed as awarded to Pat, his nominator had a panic attack of ego driven self-importance and the moron completely and totally hijacked Pat, in a quite literal sense. Rather than allow Pat to ‘see his way through’, which would include the route taken on the drive to Palm Springs for the award ceremony, the nominating ‘worm’ who’d manifested a side no one of us (except his ex-wife, I called her and was debriefed after the fact) had seen before, took the wheel in a fury of self-importance and direct intention he would be ‘the man.’ As it happened, I’d taken a carload of other supporting cast from Indian country, on a separate route and arrived at the IONS convention site first. Pat arrived literally shocked, battered and bruised, his ‘worm chauffer’ had hit the brakes so hard on the drive down that Pat, in a wheelchair recovering from surgery, had been sent flying across the van and crashed inside, wheelchair pounding him on top of having been violently thrown out of it. I assessed the circumstance, saw the totally changed personality and emergence of the ‘worm’ only in it for himself and stepped in as Pat’s inseparable bodyguard.

For an ancient Native mentality, to be knocked out of the timing, can be fatal. Pat was not able to recover his equilibrium but at least I was able to keep him from the ‘worm’s’ intentional self aggrandizing ego-inflation and other persons who would be pleased to exploit him. For Pat, it was all worthwhile in the end, because he was able to spend the better part of two hours in a private conversation with ‘the man who’d gone to the Moon’ [Edgar Mitchell] while I sat nearby with a near literal ‘I’ll kill you’ look for anyone who it even crossed their mind to get close to the two of them as they talked. Pat used the prize money to begin a series of annual ‘Peace Camps.’

Meanwhile, in the early 2000s, I’d taken an interest in the SEED Open University’s sponsorship of ‘Language of Spirit’ dialogues, originally initiated by the theoretical physicist and Einstein associate David Boehm, attempting reconciling Native American Quantum reality to western science. Concurrent to this I was also investigating organized crime in government related to American intelligence agencies and charter schools providing cover/training environment, for CIA officers. It is no accident the famed Anna Chapman Russian spy ring appears never to have gotten any closer to Americans with sensitive connections and information than charter schools. But if you are the USA counter-intelligence authorities and the massive push for, and funding of, charter schools as cover for intelligence embeds throughout society, this is not something you’d want to escape the ‘pound’ and most certainly the USA would prefer the Russians looked incompetent, something they most certainly are not, in matters of HUMIT (human intelligence, i.e. spies.) Meanwhile, having penetrated a charter school serving precisely this purpose, the East Mountain High School at Sandia Park, New Mexico, staffed in some part by CIA, I was also attending the SEED dialogues in Albuquerque, with a continuing interest in bridging the chasm between Native American Quantum reality and western concept, if only to try and point out to the Cartesian/Platonic science they are at a world threatening dead end, with their attitude and approach shaped by western thought.

The expression ‘as fate would have it’, a dim memory in western culture of faraway time lived in the ‘clock’ that is nature, is an apropos expression to describe what happens next. Former Amnesty International (USA) board director Francis Boyle had stated:

“My conclusion was that a high-level official of Amnesty International at that time, whom I will not name, was a British intelligence agent. Moreover, my fellow board member, who also investigated this independently of me, reached the exact same conclusion. So certainly when I am dealing with people who want to work with Amnesty in London, I just tell them, “Look, just understand, they’re penetrated by intelligence agents, U.K., maybe U.S., I don’t know, but you certainly can’t trust them”

And viola! A MI6 officer, James O’Dea, in a quid pro quo relationship with DIA/CIA based on information sharing, had gone from Director of the Amnesty International’s Washington DC office, to head up the Institute of Noetic Sciences and took enough interest in the dialogues at SEED, in Albuquerque, to attend as “keynote speaker”, where we became acquainted. In fact O’Dea took a direct interest in me at this event. It was not long after this, by now I’d penetrated the spy cover at the East Mountain High School to stir a hornet’s nest of intelligence agency paranoia, I’d experienced my first brush with assassination in some years, since I’d been an civil investigator in Indian country. I had to bail out of the USA and within four months of my arrival in Germany exile, a senior CIA trainer from the school, assassin Vince Langan, made the first attempt on my life abroad and blew it because I know how to ‘see’ my way through. And although I knew James O’Dea personally, and had copied him on communications prior to sorting this, Amnesty International had shut down any hearing of my fugitive status, cold. Former Amnesty executive O’Dea, with it all falling apart, quit IONS and returned to ‘international work’, likely to assist tracking down and eliminating this reporter. Since, Amnesty International has provided new leadership to Freedom House, a CIA front fingered by rogue CIA Officer Phillip Agee, when Sue Gunawardena-Vaughn took over that organization. And so it is humanitarian organizations intermingle with intelligence agencies in support of humanitarian violence.

The nice thing is, the ‘living clock’ is failsafe, Cartesian-Platonic shaped personalities will never be able to exploit it. The DIA, CIA and FBI come out the losers, irrespective of what happens to me.

The author, Ronald Thomas West, is an anti-corruption investigator with military special operations intelligence experience, author of exposés on the power-corrupt and fugitive from multiple intelligence agencies since 2007

Life in Indian Country

Collected stories, folklore and anecdotes concerning my many years life with Blackfeet Indians and traversing Native American territories

Tags Benjamin Whorf, CIA, counter intelligence, Defense Intelligence Agency, East Mountain High School, FBI, Institute of Noetic Sciences, intelligence, Leroy Little Bear, parapsychology, quantum mechanics, remote viewing, SEED Open University, transcendent warfare

Categories counter intelligence, intelligence, parapsychology, psychology, shamanism, transcendent warfare

Retort of the Iceman

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Reminiscing Life In Blackfoot Country

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Introduction to Napi Mephisto

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Essay on Native American Humor

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Napi in the New Age

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Life’s Little Surprises

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The DIA and Shamanism

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