Newspapers / Brevard College Student Newspaper / Dec. 12, 1997, edition 1 / Page 2
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Editorials Chances of Sky by Jim Monroe Chances of sky follow to the ground, between is why we do! roots of the Great spirit rise to the trees; they said it would come one day, after the hatchet has been buried with man and earth. Care is not possible! Stranger to this place, I am now the hunted -1 possess no weapon but if my instinct and timid nature which must be unleashed. Tamed mind and body is wha,t I am becoming never did I feel the thoughts of this way. Soon, we will not find the answer for the tears of the god of the sky reign over thoughtless encounterments of the white man. In the links, between my feet and the earth, create an imagination that speaks from the poison of two tongues. Grown to be loved by water, touched of the deer, mountains and hills caress my fears and comfort my uru'ested spirit! When may we say “It’s time to go!?” What must my spirit do now that it is being paved and trapped by the ones who say they care? My state of being requires nothing of the sort to have care, my Indian fathers miss my stand. I must go back to the wild for I am not the one who is seen with a scare, penetrating silences grasp the treails on the west face to which I am facing the north. Leaming into the regular life of the parents who raised or frowned me into what is called the “norm.” May I go in my way nothing to harm, no one to harm, skies that fill the oceans blue - brother of wolf, friend of earth, son of the great trees, subject of the Great Spirit. Few may pass and see my glitch, my powers are hidden beneath the trees, may we walk along the same paths as my ancestors; may they once again walk in their same paths as if that is of choice. The red man gave me the eye to see past the lights, past the industry of the white man. Generating views and kind ness from then - not now. Beauty of minerals perished from the seed. Natural leaves are what will be the artificial claim of the future. Instinct says I must go... Until. Now me the war party, subtle and blind regrets I have for the fellow white man. Conscious of the castle and the worth of gold and brandy, forgotten the knowledge we are said to leam, frost and winter came over the hills and frontier which machines now have captured. Few are left in my speaking land. Toma hawks are not close to foresee the burial. The shine of the ax and blade of the knife are the color of my own blood for not speaking the word of my spirit. Kind and gentle may my feet proceed to think as they walk, may I join what is right beneath my senses the smell of earth, rocks and moss with the leaves on the side direct my passage safely to a place I was before. Spirit say, “Well runs dry to hurry and push on with the honor and strength of the cougar, the overview of the hawk, and the speed of the serpent, charge the rainbow of thieves who compel me to speak in the tongue of bear. “Leave me Be! ” Yellow, red, orange various forms on the gitty feelings inside my eye. Heart has been wounded in the direct trance of love for my surroundings and my people. I am yet among the last; my cry stretches across the skies, my blood runs through the last stream full of spirit and truth. Comers of my hatchet symbolize the reign of terror whom the chase on the wild had begun. Osage, fox, link, bear, and deer who would call me a friend to the Great Spirit and his blood of rivers means the ways of the white man. For me to sacrifice my soul to accommodate his greed. No one is behind me in which to stand for my wild and untamed spirit, 1 am in my natural element which have said for themselves to use my help. Give me the power of all dying spirits and save them from rest, time is near for my spirit to be full. When the time comes my back won’t be turned my head will stay high until the last of the leaves has fallen from the deadened free. Give me sfrength Great Spirit - grace of the wind, time of my ancestors, the last of what IS honor and truth. Put these in my soul for now they must not roam forever The frees were of many, now they are but few. Chances to relieve the sfrains upon the recreation of their souls. No place to dig their roots, only capfrire the fire scorched to be leamt. Now unlearning ourselves - back to nature for this does not forgive, only the light of a tumiel sfrikes the visions of future’roles to whoever wants to play god next. ^ 3long the roads another has already taken, paved away the nght for my feet and children to walk there? Never is already in the past for the lands behind the frontier are barren for a mark of nothing less than defeat. Alone IS where I want to be, my ancestors speak pride in me to hold on to our mother as long as we can. My sfrength stays the same but dies as my blood returns to the gray-haired. Great Spirit, welcome me in your home and place me around the council fire, you’ve given me the sfrength to survive this long only if my roots and eyes could see as honorable as yours. Friday, December 12, 1997 Brevard Changes Lives AsapiuciuLiui niLNuit ^tonc walls unci landscapcd grc gone to a different collcgc or a i essential life lessons I've learn but maybe not.as harshly, or ai My freshman year at Brc several different baekgrounds'i I learned that we arc all truly d small hometown were false, b from people who reminded me It was near to impossible. 1 un months of cruel and unneces eondoms w-ere left at mv door) The Clarion Staff Views expressed here in The Clarion do not necessarily reflect the opinion of The Clarion staff, faculty, advisor, or the adminisfration or Staff of Brevard College. Letters can be deposited at The Clarion office, MG 104. Editors-in-Chief Jamie Tomasello Walter Hackett Sarah Carpenter WillGinsler Chrystal Rollison Bobby Dodenhoff Danny Breece Amber Jefferies Andrea Messenger Kristen Grice Molly Kummerle Tracy Borden Justin Misselbeck Lindsay Davis Advisor Rhuemma C. Millei Campus Life Features News Sports Staff Copy Editor DistManager Staff Writers
Brevard College Student Newspaper
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Dec. 12, 1997, edition 1
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