posted on Jul, 4 2009 @ 02:10 AM
When you head northwest from Zia Pueblo on old highway 44, the landscape bends and shapes into a parody of itself, more resembling what you would
think the surface of a comic book moon would look like. Grey mesa's, red rocks, crushing desolation and wind. Soon though the high desert along
the Continental divide , the terrain is more forgiving and soft with ponderosa pines and aspen, the wind gentle and soothing. But the forest respite
is short lived and as you descend the mountain switchbacks, you return to the desert with it's harsh beauty and mystery only the locals can
appreciate and understand.
Tonibah and Little Wing were very familiar with this stretch of two lane blacktop on the way to Window Rock, Yah Ta Hay and Chinle on the Dine' land,
having traveled it many times to gather with the others that called themselves "the people". This time it was different. An urgency was known and
even the 70 GTO seemed to respond to the call. They pulled off 44 onto a rutted track with nothing but Juniper, Pinon, Chamisa and yellow dirt as far
as they could see. Shortly after dusk the headlights revealed a hogan close to the road surrounded by pickups, junkers, dirt bikes and the drums
could be heard echoing off the canyon walls. Around the fire perhaps a dozen people in their teens and early twenties were gathered and a few elders
off by themselves sitting on some worn out seats scavenged from an old wreaked school bus that now stored fire wood and was home to a family of goats.
The elders were not there to give any direction or assistance. They were just renters of the hogan, that was owned by the tribe, headquartered in
Lee's Ferry. In 50 years they had never paid any rent nor seen any tribal officials. This place on the rez didn't exist in normal time or
Wing and Toni joined the circle and noticed that the Ritual had started without them. Beaded leather bags of the sacrament were being passed around
along with 40oz jugs of Budweiser beer and pints of Jose Cuervo tequila. The intensity and beat of the drums increased and all heads nodded in unison
with the pounding of hardwood on sheepskin drumheads. A youth, perhaps seventeen years old, with braids down to his waist and jet black eyes started
the chant. The one and only chant for this last ritual.
"Dzil baahgoo daadzaaz inda dadzigaigoo da. Abinigo nt ee Dine' yee aido bik'i yidzaaz lago dadiiltaa."
All joined in with the high pitched almost nasal sounding chant. And from the canyon walls a low almost inaudible rumbling started. Accompanied with
a bright electric blue light and as the drums and chanting abruptly ended, The Ancients stepped from solid rock and joined the young people.
No words were spoken but all gathered knew the truth of the message given by the Ancient Ones. The Ancient One's , now that their message had been
transfered to the new clan, faded and drifted away like smoke on the wind.
All over the planet, groups of youth with their own esoteric rituals had been given the message by their own Ancient Ones. Some groups had met in
suburban garages, ghetto shacks and apartments, adobe haciendas, Island huts and beaches, yurts, mansions and country club meeting rooms. The ritual
transcended economics, status, culture and all things normal and appropriate in what would be considered modern society.
Back on the Rez and all over the world the last ritual had ended. "The People" from the Rez were on their way from the land of peace and headed out
to Denver, Tuscon, Albuquerque, St. Louis, Lubbock and Austin.
It was now time for the great Cleansing to begin.
[edit on 4-7-2009 by whaaa]