By MICHAEL BARNES
I was watching the news and saw that my mother was being assaulted by the family. I am currently incarcerated, so it hurts tremendously and makes me cringe to see the abuse. My mother is old, feeble, and spirited with innocence. Prior to her violent assault, she viewed a rainbow in the eastern direction of a clear sunny sky. She voiced to her children that if she caught the rainbow, it would bless her with youth again so she can snuggle her love upon her children and continue to provide. She walked towards the visioned rainbow and a time later her children began to hail a heinous assault on her.
They wanted her to feed them jewelry, cars, fancy things, and illicit crafts that gain acceptance from others in competition. She struggled to keep moving and some climate advocates voiced their disdain and paused the irrefutable behavior.
The climate advocates scolded my narcissistic family and said that if my mother struggles on her wounded journey, then so be it. It is her choice to sacrifice for her destiny and many a number have given their lives for so much less. A year later from the west in spring season a rainbow appeared, and my mother trailed. Coincidence or not she appeared to be in her youth.
All the world has been a witness to the assault upon my mother, if you look through the city buildings and broken pavement you will glimpse my mother. Cast your eyes towards the east and you will realize that you are within our mother’s diaphanous womb on the same struggle to catch the rainbow. Insight into the Indigenous allows the hearts to understand why the primitive ways birth the present and future generations of all walks of life.
The primitive was assimilated, eradicated, and disinherited from protecting the environment which gives birth to innocence. The primitive panacea was violently hushed so the blessed sins of radical terrorism can carve and paint the graves of those yet to be born. The strokes of genius are marked by the blinding effects of conceit. The earth’s womb struggles to whisper to me, but it is the unheard scream that stirs and frightens my blood of primitive lineage.
The Indigenous are the primitive and it was our ways of life and culture that breeds the heartbeat of climate change…I am climate change; my religious destiny is to allow the birth of tomorrow. My earthly mother chases that rainbow to become young again every year and I stand by her side as my murdered ancestors have done. Primitive ambitions, Trickster.
Barnes is a One Feather reader and a member of Mechootea Indian Tribe Rancheria, in Chico, Calif.