Haunting, terrifying vision
I'm working on a play involving Tecumseh and his brother the Prophet. I'm sure it won't do him any justice. I have a strong desire to share this quote, even if my play does suck this quote doesn't.
Laulewasika was a drunk failure, grew up in Tecumseh's shadow. One day he gets too drunk, big surprise right? He falls into a fire. Everyone thinks he's dead. Then he wakes up. He has this to say:
"I died, and was carried in a dream by the Master of Life down into the spirit world, until we came to a parting of the ways. To the right lay the road to paradise, open only to the virtuous few. To the left, I saw an army of forsaken souls stumbling on toward three dark houses, fearful dwellings of punishment and pain.
I saw repentant drunkards forced to swallow molten lead, and when they drink it, their bowels were seized with an exquisite burning. At the last house, the torment was inexpressible. I heard their screams, crying pitifully roaring like the falls of a great river."
If this doesn't strike you as terrifying you didn't read it properly. Nothing like some horrible damnation to make us pay attention to what's going on. Sadly, the people I most identify with have not learned from this vision. I am sure some will be upset with that statement, and that is OK. I do not mind.
Laulewasika changed his name after this to Tenskwatawa. May not seem like much. Until you have someone translate it for you. He goes from basically the loud mouth or the one who talks too much to the open door. He becomes The Prophet.
This transformation on its own is no small happening. He as an individual begins to represent what all down-and-out, defeated, displaced and depressed aboriginals must become. He is that light brought through the darkness, shining all the more brightly after the darkness is rubbed off. But I'm left looking at the world as it is and our place in it, and more importantly, my place in it. And I have a great sadness, a great burden upon my soul, for, overused terms as they may be, my people and my heritage.
I do not think that all Indians all over are depressed and sad people. But we are not as strong as we ought to be. Sure there is healing, sure there is happiness and laughter, sure there is reconciliation and talk of a brighter future. But that is just talk, that is just a flimsy, filmy layer over the dark history schools didn't want to teach, I am not that old but I remember my teacher getting in trouble for teaching about residential schools, this was late 90's into 2000's, hardly ancient history.
I remember far too much and have heard too many stories to sit in restless silence with a false smile on my face, accommodating a world that would not accommodate me. The memories that aren't mine are those of my ancestors, passed down through personal testament and story telling.
Luckily there are good story tellers out there who weave the good with the bad and leave their imprints on listener's souls in such a way that the tragedy is felt and the comedy shines through. But every now and then I feel like The Prophet's vision must be remembered, if only out of fear that it may come to fruition, if it hasn't already.
I
want to take the road to the right, I want to be among the virtuous
few. But I was born into the world on the left. And the right side would
be lonely if everyone remained on the left, and how virtuous are you really if you leave everyone behind when you could have done something about it?
The brutal truth is just this: I don't have to have a vision to see that, I need only look out my window to see the dark houses of fearful dwellings of punishment and pain. I need only open my eyes to see the torment, unplug my ears to hear the roaring cries, stop listening to the meaningless filler and misleading political babble, sound out the background noise to hear the not-so-quiet muffled suffering of an unjust world trying to scream through closed mouth smiles. And this is not good enough for me.
