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Friday, 5 September 2014

Intention Transforms - First Nations Leaders Dream?

Respect Intention in Everyone

Upon awakening my mind was filled with snatches of a dream. Brief fragments, flashes of scenes from the night. Do you remember dreams this way too? Take up a pen, stylus or keyboard and scribble those fragments down - you may be surprised by what you learn. What was last night's dream?
Here is the second draft.

He Who Brought Me 

I'm standing at a 50 degree angle looking upon a scene in a high school room. Just behind  my right shoulder stands the one who brought me here. Who brought me here? A very old First Nations man - medium build, slightly taller than me - 5' 7"? Long grey-black hair centre parted- a bit frizzy, not straight, a large oval  .... kind face. A leathery face  creased with a lifetime of laughter.
Not laughing now.
His face solemn, pensive, disappointed (? ). Disappointment in himself, not with others.
"He Who Brought Me" raises his right hand motioning to the scene in the classroom.
"Look," he says simply.
"Look."

"He Who Brought Me" - Young Boys? Young Men?

I look to where "He Who Brought Me" motions. It's as if we're looking through the wall.
Boys - young men in the making, with earnest faces are gathered in a circle. These boys sit silently some on desks others on chairs -a collection of odds and ends in their hands and beside them. They've an odd assortment of items, but gathered with purpose: old green cloth covered text books, plastic ridged water bottles, wooden rulers, ancient wooden spoons. They are quiet, somber yet hopeful. An air of purpose about them.
Behind my shoulder, I sense an air of.... despondency (?) from"He Who Brought Me". Not despair, no, but a sense of one who wanted to accomplish something, and was thwarted by time.
"Look," he sighs.
"Look."
We are there, and yet.... we are not there.

He Who Brought Me - Words

The lead boy sits on a desk at the right end of the circle, his feet on the seat of the attached turquoise Bakelite? chair - a large empty square plastic water bottle upturned between his knees. A shock of straight black hair hangs over his eyes from a side part.  The tidy - not fastidious, but neat young man has short black hair - a face that will become square, still round with youth. The phrase"Twelve going on twenty" seems important in his description. Yet the young man is older than twelve  - perhaps fourteen? perhaps sixteen?
This lead boy, usually smiling and laughing  - is solemn.
Still.
Still with purpose.
Still with contemplations.
Still.
The stillness within him sets the tone for the room and enfolds his friends.
Friends gathered together in support.
He listens to an inner urging.
Still.
I glance up at "He Who Brought Me"
"He Who Brought Me" nods towards the young boys becoming men exuding a mixed feeling. Pride? Pride in the young men? No, not pride, not quite the word, - deep ..... satisfaction. Satisfaction in the boys' actions, yet the feeling is tinged with longing.
"Look," he urges
"Look."
"Ai -ai- ai- Y ai ya-ya-ya!
"Ai -ai- ai- Y ai ya-ya-ya!
Voice tinged with grief, the lead boy releases energy built inside him.
Throwing his head back, he gives reign to the urging within him.
"Ai -ai- ai- Y ai ya-ya-ya!
"Ai -ai- ai- Y ai ya-ya-ya!
He drops his head in prayer.
A cry out to God.
[I struggle to phonetically record the words. "Lord!" I exclaim in frustration. "Show me how to write this!"]
"Abba cosh née ama cosh abba nã mo que nee ama."
"Abba cosh nã mo que ee mee a-auqun, nã ama mã-K-ô-tã."
"Abba cosh nã mo que ee mee a-auqun nã ama mã-Kô-tã."
"Abba na mée mée a que-ô-tã [K - O- teh]"
"Abbe nōsh née ama que-ô-tã."[The word Coyote keeps popping into my mind]
A prayer.
A prayer asking for peace in their hearts, and peace between peoples.

He Who Brought Me": Time the Enemy?

"He Who Brought Me" sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging.
These are his students.
Not formal students, but students just the same.
Ones who were to learn from him.
In the classroom, now all have raised their voices.
Voices raised separately and together of one accord.
Unleashing, vocalizations according to the urging inside each young man. Unbridling their throats in rhythmic  pentatonic tones, releasing in faith, removing the filter of logic.
Raising voices to God.
Behind me, "He Who Brought Me" broods.
"With time I could have taught them the words... I could have taught them the words. with time..."
His voice trails off... gazing down at his shoes - [something significant about those shoes - something I'm not grasping yet.]
"He Who Brought Me" continues brooding"With time.."
"With time?" he scoffs ridiculing himself.
"With time?" he rages against himself. " I had time,"
"I had time" he mourns a lump forming in his chest.
"I had time," he remorsefully chokes out.
"I had time"accepting, he sighs.
"I should've taught them the words."
Anguished, "He Who Brought Me" rails "How will they honour the old ones if they know not the words? How will they sing the songs of the ancestors when it is time? "
"How will they teach their children and their children's children?"he aches - tears spring to his eyes.
"He Who Brought Me" gives in, allowing a single tear to spill over and wend its way down the leathery tanned cheek through the map of laughter creases.

Comforting "He Who Brought Me"

The single tear, scornfully mocks the face of this gentle warrior, mocks the life of "He Who Has Brought Me".
Righteous, indignant anger wells up inside me.
Gently, I catch the drop on my outstretched finger.
A phrase springs to mind."See the intention."
"God knows the meaning of their hearts," I urge"God knows their hearts, just as God knows yours."
"He Who Brought Me" raises an eyebrow.
"Yes," I agree. "Words are important, but God - God sees our hearts."
I long to put my arms around this good caring man - this "He Who Brought Me" - this "Grandfather of Grandfathers". I want to absorb his pain.
I want to pull "He Who Brought Me" awkwardly onto my lap, cradle his head, and rock him gently ignoring his long legs and tall body. I want to remove his pain, to show him God's love, as a mother with a child. Simply, wordlessly  - hold and comfort him.
Yet,...  this would not be respectful.
This would not be allowed.
This would not be welcomed.
I restrain my urges to physically comfort.
Instead, I push forward a wave of comfort, a wave of compassion. Compassion to envelope and wrap in a blanket around "He Who Brought Me" An absorbing blanket of compassion.
"Lord," I silently pray, "Remove his pain."[Tears stream down my face as I write. His emotional pain, unnecessary, unwarranted, seems almost too much to bear.]

He Who Brought Me - The Lesson Realised

In the class, voices continue, now accompanied by drumming.
Makeshift implements on makeshift drums, with makeshift words.
Makeshift?
Real.
Made real,
Made real by intention.
Transformed by intention.
Transformed into words not heard for centuries.
Words not even this "Grandfather of Grandfathers" could possibly know.
This "He Who Brought Me", this "Grandfather of Grandfathers" hears the transformed voices, the transformed words, the plastic drums made real.
"He Who Brought Me", smiles "Yes. Yes - intention."
"He Who Brought Me", sighs a new sigh - a sigh of satisfaction.
A sigh of contentment with a goal accomplished.
A deep satisfaction,  crowned with joy.
Joy in being a part of these young men's lives.
Being a part of this circle within a circle within a circle.
Being a part of the circle of intention, a part of God's plan made right.

He Who Brought Me - Revealed

"He Who Brought Me" firmly grasps my right shoulder with his left hand, giving a small squeeze of thanks, blessing annnd.. something else... Happiness? A happy satisfaction in my learning the lesson?
"Yes, " he smiles- years leaving His face"Intention."
Incredible joy bubbles up within me as it dawns on me.
This lesson was for me! 
OH How LOVED I feel!
I want to run and shout from the rooftops about His Love!
I want to tell EVERYONE!
What a Teacher!
Oh what a Teacher!
I feel so blessed and so loved.
Running the gauntlet of grief. This lesson was for me.

 He Who Brought Me? NO  - He Who Bought Me!

I want to stay with "He Who Bought Me".  I long to stay and learn more from this "Grandfather of Grandfathers".
I'm filled with indescribable yearning. Yearning for more, yearning, yearning.
I want to learn how to teach like this "Teacher of Teachers."
I want to learn, how to to learn, how to learn.
"He Who Bought Me" throws back His Head in a hearty laugh.
Indulgently He Smiles, shaking His Head compassionately at my puppy-like innocent exuberance.
Smiling broadly, He suppresses a laugh.
"Now go," He urges "Write."
I awake to record the dream.
~ ~ ~
So How is God Treating You today?
I am feeling incredibly blessed and loved.
Oh what an important lesson! -
See the Intention in Everyone!
Look compassionately through the Eyes of Christ.
God knows what lies in our heart of hearts, God sees our intentions.
If my scribblings interest you, you might want to Subscribe to My Christian Contemplations by Email - It's free!
May God Bless you today not only as you bless others, but with His Grace despite how we bless others.
Suzanne