Our Holy Home


This place, our holy home, honors a child’s pleasure found in the sparkle of morning dew on a spider's web. Here we acknowledge the sunlight playing on a blade of grass or peeking through the ever-swaying willow trees to rest on the Mother’s deep brown soil. We hear the soft murmur of our creator in the dolphin’s song, and blow the conch shell for prosperity before each hunt or harvest. We look out to the band of blue sky, and know we are children of the Great Mystery who lives in all things. We speak to the Spirit that exists in each tree, flower, rock, and body of water. All life is viewed as sacred, and revered with ritual and song. The cool breath of the Mother, as it skims off the sea, lodges in our nostrils. Its salty scent is like the breath of life itself. We honor the harmony in the season’s cycles and respond to nature’s rhythmic chant – Her blood beat, the drumming heartbeat of life. This was the only way of life we, the people, knew before the great Deer appeared to our Elder.

The great Deer stag faded from sight as I sat atop the hill above our village. I called out, “Oh Spirit of the Deer. In the name of my father’s father come to me. Comfort me,” then I whispered, “The vision you offered terrifies me. How shall I guide and protect my people through this inevitable suffering?”

I held up Deer antlers to the middle of my forehead. "Grant me your courage. The courage that allows you to be slain in order that we may survive.” I needed this courage to course like a wild river through my blood. So much pain had this guide foretold with no hope of going around it: only through it. I needed the wise words from Deer and the Great Mother.

I held the antlers at arm’s length, extending toward the face of the full moon. Drawing down her white light I shuddered as the trance took hold. The energy I wanted, needed, entered my fingertips and traveled through my body, shining gloriouslyout the top of my head and tips of my toes. I reached out for the power of the Great Mystery equally from the sky and the earth.

“Many foreigners, more than can be counted, are destined to take over the Acjachemen people. Your ways, even the dirt you rest your heads on and bit of Mother Earth you call home, shall fall prey to the white man. The Mother, too, will lie down for the sacrifice, allowing Herself to be abused, nearly forgotten so that She may be born again with greater understanding.

After many winters, the foreigners will wake to their destruction. The Mother will again rise in power, but only if you can keep the mysteries and our memory alive. The understanding is no real secret, only an acknowledgment of the connection between you and I. It can even be perceived by some of their kind, but, for most, their idols are too fearful, too tempting, their God wrathful. Many will collapse under the pressure.

Do not lose heart, my son. Keep me alive and well. Sing my songs; whisper my memory in your children’s lullabies and nighttime stories. Remember I am with you. You and I are one. Like the rays of the sun, you are the energy from my light. I need you, as you are my expression. Speak to your children about the peace in this union. Tell them they can never be separated from each other or Me.

When the coos from the morning doves purr through the sky, and the indigo sky grows pale blue, know it is time to rise. You are a child of the Earth, like the Achjehemen people. Fear, hunger, sickness threaten to take over our ways. But with each morning, one solution rises: the sun, the light. Watch the last star fade from sight with dawn’s early light. Unabashed those rays washed the California Indian villages of domed huts with golden light. Today those rays stream through into your sleeping quarters with the same answer. “Farewell Starman,” I whispered. “We shall see you on the other side.”

I walked down the hill toward our village. In the ancient tongue, far from the foreigner’s ears, we will teach our children the stories to keep the lore alive. Time and again, without fail, we will tirelessly speak the whispers of courage, fortitude, and peace reminding, them the Starman and Mother Earth have not forsaken us, but stand nearby. Clearing my throat I began the morning song that would wake my family, my people. I sang in gratitude for the rising sun, the miracle of a new day, and heart for what lay ahead.

The Acjachemen people lived in peace and harmony for 10,000 years, much like, the many other Indians of California. They led by example, the ways of harmony and peace. Let us, the seventh generation since the coming of the foreigners, bring back their message. You are the ray of light from the Sun and beauty of Mother Earth.
Where will you shine?