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- Herausgeber: Lebensgeschenke
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
“My Life in Two Worlds”, gives the reader a unique insight into the life of a Nedni Apache / Cherokee living in the White world. The son of Wisdom-Keepers fascinates with his colorful memoirs, blended with “words of wisdom.” He covers topics like Genocide, beliefs, myths and religion of the Original Natives of the USA. Even covers the hope for a new era, in American politics for his people, and the accomplishments, obstacles and challenges of former President Barack Obama. He comments on the true meaning of Spiritualism – Outer-Body-Experience - Extra Sensory Perception – Mysticism of Shamanism. His serious example on a sacred Native ritual abused by white would be gurus, is most revealing. The detailed account of the religious fanatic who wrought a cruel edict upon his people is overwhelming. He writes of his vision, of 2012-2013, at age seven. His stories about his mother and father will touch you, make you laugh, weep and awaken you.
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Seitenzahl: 590
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025
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J. Reuben Silverbird
MY LIFE IN TWO WORLDS
Geschenke furs Lebesn …
www.lebensgeschenke-verlag.com
Impressum
© 2010 Lebensgeschenke-Verlag
www.inspirations-for-life.com
Layout: Irene Brischnik, www.brischnik.at
All rights reserved. This book (or parts) may not be reproduced without written permission from the author.
All photos (unless otherwise noted)
© J. Reuben Silverbird
Painting of the author (cover) © www.voka.at Publisher: Lebensgeschenke-Verlag, Graz, Austria
ISBN 978-3-902689-17-7
O – SI – YO / YA A -TEH
(Cherokee / Apache)
HELLO / GREETINGS
(English translation)
In the Ancient Traditional Original Native way of thinking: "One can only confirm and transcribe that which is in ones‘ own heart and mind, and not that of any other living person. "Thus, the personal memoirs I write about in this book are mine, from my heart and mind alone."
Arizona Beauty
Acknowledgement
It would not be true, if I were to say this book was an easy project. First of all, I had to consider the prospects of opening my life to the general public: I knew I was going to have to research deep into the archives of my mind, where the tales and stories had been stored. When I finally began, I found they had been there for so many years, that at times, I felt like I was fighting my way through a tunnel filled with ancient cobwebs in order to reach the dusty library of my brain. When a person decides to write a book, there are usually stumbling blocks and bleak moments that always get in the way: probably being the reason why it takes some such a long time to finish. The feeling of aloneness is always present, as you write about personal incidents that only you can describe. Surroundings can sometimes make a difference: they can either be a blessing or hindrance. I also knew I would have my fill of both, moments of strong laughter and blue emoti onal sadness. As I began to recollect the early times, they almost seemed like antiquated history. Having been an unusually reserved person most of my life: one who liked to keep things much to himself; I knew it wasn’t going to be easy unlocking the vault that held such powerful and treasu red poignant tales. Some of the stories I considered so private that I didn’t know whether I wanted to share them with the world or not; not especially at this stage of my life. Perhaps, what drove me on were the many friends that genuinely gave me inspiration to continue in the weakest time of creation. Of course I knew, the enthusiasm of many was just plain curiosity to know some of my most inner hidden thoughts. I knew well enough, that the final power of my manuscript would depend solely on what I had to say as a writer: and that thought, more than once, brought chills up and down my whole body: it was one of my greatest of all fears. I do have to say, there were those that just wanted to help in any way they could. I wish to thank some of them at this time. On my way from Europe to an Australian engagement, I had planned a holiday, in the home of my California, Desert friends, Makai and Michael Sagona: instead, I had to borrow their computer for twelve of fourteen days and spent, long hours on skype, making, what I thought would be last minute final changes. But upon landing in Australia, with luck, I had an unexpected week-off with my friend Marga Kocka, where again, I continued editing, with the use of her computer: I was lucky that Graphic-designer, Helga Julie complied with all my final desired changes without fail. German translator: Renate Layacker Schatzl was very helpful to Stefan Ladinig who, with meticulous enthusiasm, made the German translation flow as close to the emotions and feelings expressed in my English version. Writing and editing my own text was not easy: and neither was selecting and co-arranging the positioning of the photos with each subject matter in the book.
All the nature photos of Arizona and other areas I took myself.
In the end, whether good, bad or indifferent, I had the final say of all text content, choice of photo placement from cover to cover of this book. I truly believe that through it all, the driving force behind me was that of my parents. Their spiritual energy guided me throughout the whole book project.
Walk in beauty,
J Reuben Silverbird
Old Route 66
Miracle Child born, almost on Route 66
I’ve never met an Original Native from the USA that was on his way to Hollywood in the 1930’s in his mother’s womb, while his young father drove a Model T Ford, on the famous Route 66. They drove through Arizona on their way to California. Most original Natives in America, at that time were still trying hard to adjust, after being methodically induced or manifestly forced to live in a place the government called a reservation. In fact, approximately eight years later, Adolph Hitler would fashion a similar method for his own elaborate Concentration Camps. Of course, he was more realistic with his name: whereas ours seemed like you needed a special "reservation" to enter. However, getting back to the main story: one that has more to do with the two young lovers riding along the highway, with only one thought in mind; the safety of their unborn child, and that was I, floating in my mommy’s tummy. So now, here in detail is what I consider one of the loveliest stories ever told about a baby being born. It was related to me many times, starting at the early age of two. I could not forget it, even if I tried. I could not see the storyteller, but I could feel her deep love for me. It was the story of my coming forth into this world: and the reason for the unusual circumstances of the place where I was born; my mother always explained it to me in such a tender, poignant and caring way. The story began with two happy Natives singing as they drive along headed for California: I don’t ever remember a time when they were not singing as they rode in the car. And so, they were on their way. Two young romantics guided only by the stars and the all mighty Creator, who, at times can plan unprecedented surprises: some, humorous, adventurous, without even bothering to give us the most minuscule of hints; and now, about to come forth with a humongous and not so humorous one. Sure enough, the Crea tor had decided I should make my debut appearance right off Route 66: close to, but not exactly where my parents had intended. According to their plan: I was to be born right in the middle of the glitter of Hollywood lights. Parents, usually fantasize about their children being born in castles and such places of grandeur. And in just a few more hours, had it not been for my mother’s hunger pains, I probably would have complied with their wish. Giving birth to her child in the town, then widely known as "Tinsel Town" by movie enthusiasts, was not only her wish but my father’s as well: since his love for movies, closely rivaled that of the blind love he had for his young and very pregnant wife. According to her, she alone delivered me. She would always start the story by going back a few miles before it actually happened. It was a normal, beautiful July day in the state of California: in the early hours of the morning, as my parents drove on. Now and then, my mom Florinda would ask Joe, to reach over, with his right hand and touch her stomach gently: and she would say, "Sing with us" as they sang along. He would add, that he believed by touching or getting close to her tummy, he could transmit telepathic thoughts to me. She welco med his touch: but at the same time cautioned him to keep both hands on the wheel. After a year of trying, she had finally convinced her young handsome husband to come to Hollywood. And he was excited and enthusiastic, with full intentions of becoming the next great character actor on the movie screen. The young mother was famished and hoped they could get there soon so they could eat. She needed food for the two of us. Joe, in his happy excitement didn’t think about this: the only thing on his mind was that they were almost there. Now and then, between songs, he would talk about his friend, a fellow thespian who lived in Hollywood and used to be a clown. He was now doing quite well as an extra, playing everything from a Native falling off horses, playing dead until the director yelled "cut", to just being a part of the crowd. He had painted a golden picture of how you could become an overnight success, if you had any acting ability at all. You could make a very comfortable living. Joe was really a great and sensitive actor, with impec cable timing; it was a fact, that many singers and musicians had this special rhythm that automa tically gave them the built in ability that others did not have: his singing and musicianship, plus his dancing background gave him this great advantage as well. He was very excited driving our black model T Ford: I say "ours" because I was also in the car; not yet ready to make my appearan ce, but about to. Joyfully, he and his wife drove along the highway that led all the way from the states of New Mexico, Arizona and dead-ended at the Coastal Waters of California. In the days of little Air Travel, it was the only way to get to Hollywood. Route 66 became so famous that in the 1940’s a song was written and recorded about it, appropriately titled, "Route 66". And it be came like a household theme song at the time in America. I came very close to being born right on it too. Anyway, Joe kept driving along. They had decided not to stop and eat until they reached Hollywood. But his beautiful wife was getting hungrier and hungrier as she stared at the orange groves that lined both sides of route 66. I too, had plans of my own that came about because of my mothers’ hunger pains. Young Florinda could not take it any longer. Suddenly, she raised and pointed her hands at the oranges: she looked at Joe and, pointing to the orange groves said, "I want some oranges". Joe, being the loving husband, pulled the car to a sudden stop: he looked around, got out of the car and ran over: took his hat off and picked a dozen oranges, give or take a few; he quickly got back in the car and continued driving. Other than feeding some to Joe, Florinda devoured the rest, one by one until there was none left: and I certainly wasn’t very re ceptive to the idea. As we approached the city limits of a small rural town called, Placentia, Ca lifornia, I started to show signs of anxiety in her stomach: for sure, it had something to do with the oranges she had totally consumed. My father, nervous on the wheel swerved the car to a stop. He looked at mom as she calmly said those two words that most pregnant women are known for sometimes yelling out, "It’s time". The look on his face was not as pleasant as that of the sign on the road that read, "Welcome to Placentia". My father left the main road and traveled a short distance and spotted a Tennis Court Locker-Room with the lights on. My mother grimaced and said she could go no further. Quickly getting out of the car, he ran and knocked on the locker room door; he waited a second, and when no one answered, he turned the knob and it was open. My father left my mother in the tennis-locker room, while he went off to look for a doctor: not an easy task in a strange town at 3:30 in the morning. So a fairly large tennis locker room with a rectangular table, found open at 3:30 A.M., on July 27th, 1930, became my birthplace. Telling me that I was born in a Tennis Locker-Room must have been the reason for my affection for tennis to this day. Above any other sport, I have an affinity for, and am totally addicted to the game. With me it happens to be the only sport I have any respect for: I can truly say, I love it with ultimate fervor. I can never forget being present, in 1978 when Jimmy Connors played and won he US Open at Flushing Meadows. I admire Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf: two champions that now do such wonderful humanitarian work: Kim Clijsters, who retired to family life and made a come back to win the US Open a second time in 2009: and don‘t ask me why, but Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer remain two of my recent tennis favorites. Since Michael Chang comes from Placentia and is a US Tennis figure of note: I have to say, I followed much of his career as well; after all, I was about to become part of the community too. So now, back to my mother in the Tennis Locker-Room: This strong, focused and patient young lady: one I was to learn so much from in the years that followed, delivered me on her own that day. The doctor, who arrived half an hour later with my father, could not figure out how she did it all alone. The answer was simp le: most young Native girls were familiar with the miracle of birth. It was not strange for Native women to deliver their own babies: many times on the run, as they were being pursued by the US government troops; so what seemed like a hardship to a white person, to a Native it was just a part of life. The tennis locker was actually a luxurious hospital accommodation, compared to what Nedni Apaches had in the Sonora Mountains. All the essentials were there: running water, towels, a delivery table and there was even an electric light, provided by an overly large clear light bulb with thick filaments; one of the early thirties type, which hung overhead. It provided a strong light as my mother delivered me into the world. I was born a perfect child, except that soon enough, it was evident that I could not see. Our people consider, any child born with a physical deficiency, "a miracle child", and I certainly was one: I was born blind. My mother’s theory was: that when I opened my newborn eyes for the first time; the flash from the strong light bulb caused my sightless state. This hypothesis was better than the one the doctor could give my parents: my mother at least had a theory. The doctor recommended a well-known optometry specialist he knew in Beverly Hills. They left the following morning and rented a place for a month in Holly wood. Mom made an appointment with the specialist while dad went to look for his friend George. It happened that his friend had left the week before to do a movie and could not be re ached on location. But he had left dad a letter of introduction, with his girlfriend to his agent: she happened to live in the same Motel, just a few doors from the apartment they had rented. My mother also had a sister in Hollywood who had been in several minor film roles, like Count Dracula with Bela Lugosi. But she was nowhere to be found at the time either. They later learned she was on her way to Europe on a ship with some director: he was doing some sort of promo tion for her. She was so young and beautiful and a bit flighty. Many young aspiring girls came to Hollywood, in search of their shining star, and instead found dead-end after dead-end. More than often, some of them would end up on some director’s Couch. I am just stating, what were very strong rumors about agents, managers and directors in Hollywood in those days: and it still happens today. But to clarify things, I never heard such rumors about my aunt Mattie. I finally met her when I turned twenty-one years of age. I was stationed in the military service, near San Francisco, where she lived with my white uncle Rocky: I only refer to the white aspect of my uncle as reference, not as an act of indifference: I have no color differences in my heart. Many years later, she gave me a picture a photographer had taken on the very voyage that she was on at that time when my mother tried to contact her. The publicity people for the film company she was with wanted an unusual and different publicity photo. She took one of the ship’s curtains, wrapped herself in it, and the result was a beautiful young woman, with long black hair to her knees, draped in a window curtain. The picture was in many Hollywood papers in those days. She was a very exciting model type woman who knew many people in Hollywood at the time: but I’m sure that would not have been much help to my father. My father was young and hand some, and could have played a variety of roles. But once the agent asked him what nationality he was, and he said Mexican Apache, he didn’t stand a chance. Agents have a tendency to classify and place actors in categories. If you happened to be a Native, in those days, you became a sava ge scalping Native with your dialog minimized to dense words such as, "How", "Ugh" and "Kimo Sabe". My dad would have nothing to do with anything that he felt belittled or degraded his people. He wanted to act, but Hollywood was not ready to give a Native actor with my father’s acting ability a chance at that time. He was not familiar with the system between stage and movie acting. Many Hollywood stars had started their career playing small roles as "extras", and gradu ated, slowly, sometimes through political friendship, to supporting, and in many cases some were selected for stardom. I guess that the Creator had other plans for my dad. He came home every day after pounding the streets looking for some kind of work to keep food on the table and pay my very expensive Beverly Hills eye specialist who, although being very compassionate with them, because he liked them, his fee was still far beyond their financial range. The doctor was not giving them any hope of my ever recovering. The agent told my dad there was some work for extras, which meant not only riding a horse but also falling off and playing dead. Dad was a gre at character actor and felt it was a step backwards to doing something he did not understand or consider acting. Lon Chaney, who had established himself as "the man with a thousand faces" was one of my father’s idols: he was every bit as good, but there was only room for one Lon Chaney in Hollywood. And being a Native did not help either. Besides, he was totally against the way Hollywood was portraying Natives at that time. He felt the dignity and pride of Natives was going to suffer permanent and everlasting damage because of the lies and bad scripts that were being created by so many sleazy writers and directors in Hollywood. They began to feel the film industry was becoming like a new California gold rush: and everyone, in and out of the acting profession, without scruples, was coming in search of their own golden nugget. Film Studios were amassing tremendous wealth at the expense of the Original Native of America, yet they were not using Natives in most of their film productions. Dad came home one day and told mom the agent had offered him an extra role in a film called, "The Last of the Mohicans", but he would have to shave off his head completely and dad did not bother to go to the auditions for it. Ironi cally, the role went to an unknown actor at the time by the name of Anthony Quinn: and pro bably because of this film also became Cecile B. Demille’s son in law. By now, dad’s disgust with Hollywood showed more with each new day: he was beginning to feel way out of his element: like a fish out of water; all he wanted was an excuse to go back home to Santa Fe, New Mexico. But he couldn’t find the way to tell my mother. Meanwhile, mom had taken me to another eye specialist, but his diagnosis was no different than all the others. With money running out, and Hollywood, not really being a friendly place in those days, my parents had to make a decision: they really had no one to turn to, and desperation had begun to show on their faces, as they looked at each other: each day just seemed to be getting longer and longer; and there just seemed to be no hope for me. After six months in the "City of the Stars", one day he came in the door and mom made the decision for him. She looked at his sad face and said to him, "Let’s go home dear". He
took her in his arms and said, "Thank you my love". Without another word, the following morning, they loaded their belongings and headed back on Route 66 through Arizona and two days later we were back in Santa Fe. With steadfast immediacy, they made plans to take me to some of the hot water springs that our people always considered sacred and healing. They guided my every step. In those early days, several hot mineral water springs near Tierra Amarilla, New Mexico, a small town commonly referred to by locals as "TA". The mineral water was considered very me dicinal and healing. Natives came from miles around to take some of the water home because it was considered holy. My parents used to spend days with me at the springs, praying and bathing me two to four times a day: and washing my eyes with the warm water often in between baths. A Navajo acquaintance recommended and arranged a Blessing Way ceremony for me as well. Their prayers from the heart and faith were consistent. I could feel their positive energy comple tely around me, and that made me feel secure. They used to come to the springs and camp there for several days at a time. We came so often I began to know the area by heart: I could not see it, but I sensed the makeup of the place. Usually, they were there pretty much alone, except when someone, or some family would come to fetch water. I enjoyed a couple that came in a wagon: the man would have short conversations with my father, while his wife took water from the spring. I was also fascinated by the sound of the horse, and had many questions to ask my parents about this gentle animal.
Juana
My dad made a small Tipi, to protect me from the sun and some of the wild animals like snakes and insects: it really was a protective measure, against my wandering off too: it was also my sleeping place. Other than being in my father’s arms, everywhere we went, the rest of the time I remember spending much of my time while at the spring in the small Tipi. I created a strong bond between the Tent and my parents’ young wolf, Juana. It had taken to me and never left my side. This was my very own tent, and that too, became a fascinating part of my life. Tents became like second nature to me. I have always been a deep thinker, both in my young and adult life, I guess it came from spending so much time alone: it was kind of a self training program during that time; while sitting in the Tipi, the relaxing aura that surrounded me helped me, not only to think, but to think more clearly. I trained myself to think about more than one thing at a time. I found it easy to simply think about each one individually, and place it in its own particu lar place: in other words, it was like creating a separate compartment for each subject matter. I could tell when we were at the hot water springs because of the sound of the water going up, and then returning to Mother Earth. Within my ears, I would create my own musical rhythms, to sync with the water going up and coming down. I thought of them as musical waters: they fashioned a multitude of unique never ending rhythms; so different from one another, yet together within the general flow. I developed an exceptional sense of imagination. We spent so much time at the springs that even when we were not there, I could hear their peaceful calling: there’s nothing more enchanting to me today, than to sit or walk by a water stream and to stop and drink some of the crystalline clear water; there are several places still left in America where you can be assu red of the water being safe to drink. I remember learning to distinguish many other different sounds and the sensation of near touch. The fact that I had no sight, never really entered my mind. Instead of thinking about it, I improved the inner spiritual connection within me: the energy of my inner-being, or aura got stronger; I learned to feel without touching, since I could not see, I felt the sensation of anything or anyone that came close to me. And since I was born this way, it was not strange to me, for it all came instinctively. One day my father came in all excited, and I immediately felt his enthusiasm. He knew so well by now, how much I loved music: I guess he could see, that even at that age, how anything musical would light up my whole being. What he brought with him was to be my close companion from the moment I heard it: I glowed with total excitement, and felt complete joy all over; not only my ears sensed the splendor of it, but I felt it throughout my whole body. It was the most beautiful sound I had heard before. After lis tening to it for a while, dad explained that it was a new musical box: he described it to me as being a machine called "Victrola"; It came with very thick, heavy and overly large round records. Inde ed, it was to be, not only very unique, but my introduction and a way for me to appreciate clas sical music. At the time, I didn’t know how to distinguish, between classical or popular music; I just loved everything musical. Dad patiently explained the whole process to me. And then he taught me how to be able to work the Victrola by myself: It made me proud that he showed so much confidence in me. Neither of them ever talked down to me like some parents do to a child: this only began to give me the sense of being older than my age. And I grew, not only stronger physically, but mentally as well, because of their trust in me. One of the discs was an opera called "Carmen", which I played over and over again. To this day, I feel that the introduction of this instrument to my life not only added to my love of music, but was, like a healing process within me as well: I’ve always had a strong feeling, that it helped me tremendously in the recovery of my sight; I believe that music makes you dream from within. Since I had been shut-off from the world of light from the moment of birth, music took its’ place. Music helped to fill the void with spiritual healing and replaced the darkness of my life. It gave me imagination, building pictures with each changing sound: almost forcing me to open my eyes within me and see. Throughout my days, it has remained like the unsolved mystery of my life. Since music comes straight through your ears to your brain cells, flowing and affecting each and every part of your body. It can be so overwhelming that it fills your senses with positive warm and wonderful energy. Music has the powerful ability of reminding us of events gone by: It can bring a tear or a smile to our face as it interacts with our ears and our sensitive mind. I am no scientist nor hold a doctorate in medici ne, but I do know and have great faith concerning the healing power of music: I know because, it has been like a close and faithful healing partner, throughout most of my life; I was a very in quisitive child and always had a million questions to ask, about how music was possible to come out of a box: and there was no stopping me. I wanted to know every single detail: who was play ing this beautiful music? And, why could I hear it so clearly? I needed to know why it affected me this way: uplifting my spirit; bringing me so much joy that caused my whole body to smile incessantly. And yet at times, it was also able to make me feel melancholy to the point of being sad. However, the sad feeling was not really a part of my life. So, it was not lasting but only like a faint passing negative shadow. My father took the time to explain how Edison had invented the way to record: and so, early on, I also learned to appreciate inventors and invention. To this day, I listen to classical music and it thoroughly amazes me how one man alone can direct so many musicians. If he is a sensitive conductor, great musicianship will avail at all times. If I were asked what my favorite instrument is: without thinking, I would say, the Cello. One of my favorite cellists was Pablo Casals, who came from Puerto Rico. (Later, as a young man, I had the pleasu re of performing in San Juan during a Casals Festival): listening to a sensitive cellist can make me smile and cry; though I have to admit, that any good melody or lyric can have the same effect on me By age three I felt very independent because my loving parents had developed my brain with all the answers to so many of my questions and that gave me a strong feeling of self-assurance. I could feel their presence as they were approaching me. I learned to distinguish the sounds of their steps so I knew whether it was my father or mother coming at a short distance. Hearing them talk about all the different subject matter of life around them always intrigued me. So na turally, I questioned everything. Things like, the different colors and what the moon looked like: the sun and the stars; the difference between light and darkness and happiness and sadness. A few months before my fourth birthday, I had listened while my mother spoke to someone about the capabilities of an outer body experience. Later, I questioned my mother about it. I became so persistent for several weeks, that one day she finally confided the whole procedure in comple te detail to me; at first, it puzzled me completely: it had to do with a special energy, or power, to enable a person to duplicate him or herself. She told me, that in my case, because I could not see, the replica might be exactly the same: however, if the desire for sight was strong enough and further energized with spiritual faith, there was a possibility, the replica could have vision. I re peated it: you mean, if my spiritual faith is strong enough, the second person, or me, is able to see me? More than anything else, I don’t know why, but I was so fascinated by colors, that I asked her, "I can see the colors for me? And she replied, "it could be possible". She had explained much of her herbal medicine healing to me, and I trusted her implicitly. I asked her many questions about the mystical journey of the experience. She explained it so carefully and in such a vivid and believable way that I started to think about it more and more: and then slowly started to experi ment with this, almost scary, but fascinating idea that required deep concentration. I tried it, especially when I was completely alone. She explained how It would have to come from the most essential and powerful part of my body... the brain. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was thinking more like an older youth than my real age of three and a half, going on four. I guess in my mind, I just didn’t think or make anything of my age. All I knew was that what I was about to attempt was a challenge I had to be very sure of: I had enough time to think it through thoroughly. One day, I finally decided I was ready to try it. I had practiced enough times: placing myself into a trance could now come easy to me; it was the process that would allow me to accomplish this outlandish feat: I had spent so much time practicing, it had become like second nature to me. I began melding deep concentration and patience so they became one. I kept repeating one of my mother’s favorite sayings to myself: "There are no problems, just solutions". At first it seemed to take forever. It took much dedication and concentration to develop my own special unorthodox technique. At such young age, I showed strong signs of independence: I knew this would help me accomplish such a feat: I have to admit that sometimes I would feel a certain lose of patience with myself; but then it became easier and easier. I focused with the center of my forehead and third eye as mom asked me to. I felt like I was going into a deep concentrated stage. Then I felt a strong, unbelievable and painful headache. And before I knew it, I felt I was going into a deep meditative trance. I had seldom known fear, but this strange sensation was causing me so much pain that I didn’t know whether I really wanted to experience the final end result of wherever I was headed: and I wondered if what awaited me at the other end of the channel was worth this strange excruciating feeling and pain in my head. My guardian pet Juana was always at my side. If I moved she gently did as well, almost mimicking my every move. She was, not really a pet, but more like my friend that I could easily communicate with. It was always there, and I found her senses so much attuned to mine: like when you’re with someone and there is an understanding without having to say anything. Such was the power of communication between my friend and me. Thus I learned the invaluable relationship one can have with, what humans commonly call, "the animal world". I would even venture to say, I had stronger ties with her than I did with my parents in a way. Her devotion was instinctive, and what made theirs stronger was their over whelming love and care. Their ability to communicate through the power of speech was impor tant to me. But with Juana, I didn’t need to speak: she understood my movement commands. And so, I learned and believe that two human beings that understand each other do not have to speak and express their feelings; they can simply do it with their eyes and touch. Juana was my faithful and close companion wolf. She seldom made a sound, almost as quiet as silence itself. Every time I would start to exercise my gift, of inducing my mind into a strong meditative stage she would gently, but abruptly get up and leave the tent. This bothered me because I considered her my closest companion. And in a way, I had a feeling she sensed that what I was doing was probably against the laws of nature: something involving the paranormal, having to do with the occult world. I also had a feeling that the frequency waves of my experiment were probably too much for her keen sensitive ears. However, I also knew and felt she understood that what I was doing was part of my destiny and could not be changed. We had a brother-sister like relationship, and great communication with each other, because of our built-in, sixth sense natural mechanism: commonly referred to as "instinct". One day as Juana got up and left, suddenly, something inside told me to stop and I began to doubt myself: I felt a strong fire like heat all over me, and then began to perspire profusely, but my mind kept coming back, with strong positive energy that made me continue on the way to what I knew and felt was my final goal. Using strong will pow er, and blocking everything entirely from my mind, I slowly continued until I was able to fully cross and go beyond the headaches that seemed to block my passage from the side of total darkness onto the other side where a ray of light awaited me: at first it was only a flicker of light. After trying for so long, it was happening. Just when I was beginning to doubt, and in complete astonishment, I finally broke through and found myself on the other side: under a shining blue ray that quickly turned to a complete foamy-like white cloud of lightness; similar to what one would see by looking from an airplane window, flying above the clouds. The flicker of light, ever so slowly became an image and as it came clearer it was that of a child sitting, almost motionless, alone. At first, it was hard for me to understand: I wondered, and asked myself, "Could that be me?" On closer observation, within my confused mind, I instinctively knew that it had to be me. Since before this time, I had never seen anything at all. I could see myself, from outside myself. I have never lost my nerve in the face of danger, and though this was not dangerous, still, it was so strikingly different to my young life that it shockingly, jolted and terrified me momentarily: but it was a moment that lasted a lifetime. It is enough to say it completely mixed-up my emotions. Imagine seeing someone, when you have never seen anything before in your life? I know it’s very hard to explain, to anyone who was born with all his or her faculties. What I was witnessing here, for the very first time in my child life, was an actual image of me. But the most astounding part of it all, is that it was an image that was coming to me, or that I was experiencing not through or with my eyes, but with the most powerful miracle of all… my mind. The first few times, I didn’t know whether it was right or wrong for me to be doing this, but quickly recovering, I was amazed at what I had done. The energy did not feel negative. It didn’t last too long, I guess because I didn’t really want it to, or most of all, because I didn’t completely believe that I would be able to will such a miracle to become reality; all this, by simply driving myself far beyond the limits, by using thought and the strong energy waves of my mind. I had tried before, but this time I had allowed myself to go just that moment longer that brought me across and onto my elected path. In my feverish stage, I questioned myself, "What had I just done?" And was it really me I had seen? Was I really looking at me? At first it seemed like I was looking from a very long distance. But then, like a telescopic lens I moved in and got a close up view of me sitting down with eyes shut. It took all of my thought concentration and every bit of energy that I could muster within me to do it. I was completely exhausted afterwards. Shortly after, my mother was at my side. She wiped the sweat off my forehead and said, "Oh no, you have fever". Then she asked me how I felt: for a moment, I couldn’t talk; I was speechless. I didn’t know how to explain what I had just experi enced. I remained this way for a while, just clinging to her: I couldn’t talk about it for a long time. Then one day, I confessed to her: I told her that I had done what she thought I could do and almost crying I said, "Mom, I did it! I saw what I look like". Excitedly, I continued to tell her of my ext raordinary experience. I couldn’t stop talking about it. I told her I had seen the colors and ever ything she said I could see. But I also told her that it didn’t last too long: and I was not comple tely happy about it. Speechless, she listened carefully and then pulled me close to her bosom and hugged me. That beyond belief experience taught me a very important lesson at this early stage of my life: we are able to create such extraordinary and unbelievable miracles. Our brain has the capability of doing so much for us if we allow it: it has the ability to do more than one function at a time. Yet, we do not use more than ten percent of its power: it is such a waste of one of our most precious gifts. Just before my fourth birthday, my parents arranged a purification Ceremo ny for me: and that too, was a new and amazing journey for my young mind. I went through some new sensations I had never experienced before. This was totally different: it was something like a renewal that took place within my body. The only thing I was told was that it would be very hot, and it was: I was asked to speak about anything that was on my mind; I did, but really could not make too much sense, nor do I really remember what it was I spoke about, except perhaps other than to say, I was really wet. About six months later, at age four and a half: by the miracle of prayer and faith; a Blessing Ceremony, and almost constant hot spring waters in New Mexico and a purification ceremony, which was conducted, spiritually with strong conviction and tre mendous reverence. One day my mother came into my Tipi and said, "I have your favorite food, corn on the cob". I raised my head, and, from one instant to the next, that was the first time I ever saw, a faint image that suddenly came into clear and complete focus. The image was that of my mother’s angelic face with freckled cheeks and smiling eyes. She was absolutely beautiful. I looked at my favorite food for the very first time, and even to this day, corn, that Original Natives con sider one of the Sacred Sister Grains, is still one of my favorite foods. I reached up, with anxious curiosity, and touched the lovely beauty spot on her cheek. She smiled and gently looked up and gave thanks to the Creator Then, not being able to contain herself any longer, she called out in
a soft but audible voice: "Joseph, Joe, come here, he can see… he can see".
Then too, for the first time, I saw the gentle face of my loving father. He had the most pleasant smile and was everything I had pictured in my imagination he would be. I turned and asked, "Where is Juana"? She was nowhere to be found. For a long time, afterwards I wondered if she was just there to make sure I was going to be all right. Or, was she a guardian angel sent to teach, guide and protect me from danger and myself? I missed her silent presence around me for a long time. The following day, they took me to an eye specialist to see if I needed glasses and the doctor told them no. I had twenty-twenty vision. From that day forward the Creator blessed me with perfect eyesight. I had learned so much about so many things I had never seen before: and now, I could compare them with what I had imagined them to be in my days of darkness.
Darkness to Light
Coming out of the shadows of darkness was not the easiest process for me. Where there had been complete darkness, now there was light: it was like being born all over again. Eyesight,
only added to my growing spiritual power: but it took a long time to adjust to this new world in my eyes. It was to be a totally different way for me: I didn’t have to think as hard; but it wasn’t easy accepting such a sudden change either: maybe if it had been more gradual, it would have been different. Though I found it somewhat exciting, I found myself being slow and cautious: and this sometimes made me feel insecure. I had strange abilities, other children did not have: my thoughts were more in tune with those of adults; I could see or read through some adult’s thoughts as they were speaking, or merely looked my way. I was still able to feel, and have a sense of direction in total darkness. My sensitivity and perception was amazing: it was almost as if I had an unexplainable sixth sense that guided me; and helped me to see a step ahead at all times. I chose not to talk about it, because, as it was, I had a hard time being around kids my own age. I found that my thoughts were far beyond theirs and more advanced psychologically. I became reclusive, and because of this, I’m sure many thought that I had a standoffish attitude. My conditioning was not easy to explain; therefore, I just ignored the subject and kept it secret from the world around me. I found this was the only way I could get along, especially with children my own age. I understood they were not to blame for my being different: I had learned to see beyond other people while in my dark world; and in so doing, I had gone way beyond my age and learned to perform astonishing feats by using what most in the world had forgotten to use such a long time ago. I had revived the ability of expanding my mind into a realm of endless and spiritual energy that comes from using and learning to exercise your mind. You see, if we learn through certain exercises of meditation and prayer we are able to reach beyond, what is thought of as human abnormality. And now that I had sight, I also became exceptionally quiet, and unbeknownst to me, that was strengthening the energy within me. Still, this new world activity was shocking in a way: it was not at all what I had expected it to be; and yet, for a time, I was somewhat confused as to what I believed my expectations were. There was so much going on back and forth without any sense of direction: without thought of relaxation. Of course, compared to the world of today, I have to admit it was serene and silent. I was taking in all that I had missed for four and a half years. What I found more disturbing was that I could also sense when someone was talking about me. And it was not a good feeling, because I could actually feel the negative as well as positive energy. And for some reason, I could not understand: the negative was stronger than the positive. It was definitely not a good feeling at all. For a long time I wanted to disassociate myself from this power I had. It created a very lonely sphere for me: I could walk in a room, meet some people and know their true feelings or judgment of me, and vice versa. I wanted to get rid of it, but the more I tried, the stronger it seemed to get. This power lives within me, stronger than ever to this day. I have been able to tell businessmen of incidents to come or read their thoughts and find myself at times embarrassed in doing so. I refer to this ability as spiritual thought waves, for they have no boundaries. I can tell what some friend is thinking clear across the ocean. There is no distance when it comes to the miracle of thought waves. Yes, I believe it is a miracle, as I also believe each and every one of us is actually a miracle too. We have a boundless world of body and mind: inner capabilities that we neglect to exercise. We have become too complacent, because of our supposed intelligence to use them. That is one of the major problems with people of the world today. We are too conditioned, within the set of rules of an antiquated educational system to understand the power we possess. We have forgotten that everything material on this earth was the creation of the human mind. And more and more, we are denying ourselves the wonderful gifts of that, which some consider supernatural powers: they are truly lying dormant within our grasp; and we have the power within us to waken and enable them to perform wonders for us. To this day, I do not believe that my abilities are that great of an accomplishment: I believe many individuals in the world have this power as well: but in most of our civilization, it just lies in the inactive files of our brain: in fact with many, they are so dormant, that after time, they simply become dead files. One of the major contributions for me, to be able to have a small degree of this added ability, is the true and giving love in my young life. It must be true love from the heart: and that is exactly what my parents shared with me; since I could not see it, I had no other way to feel its energy, but through the direct passage of their heart and mind energy to mine. The energy I speak of is spiritual: It begins from infancy; it is so gradual and evenly distributed throughout your whole being, that it is hardly even noticeable to really detect. As you are growing up: you not only begin to recognize it, but are also more aware and prepared to accept its presence. It becomes easier to judge the difference between truth or false, negative and positive: evil and good and finally love and respect more readily. I was especially blessed with their teachings of their true kind of love and respect. Of course genes have much to do with it as well. My parents certainly contributed enormously to what I was to become in life. Had I not gone through, what many consider an abnormal birth stage, I probably wouldn’t have been strong enough spiritually to be able to withstand the years that followed. I didn’t know it then, but because I gained the miracle of sight, I was to see and feel more pain, at very close and vivid range, just one and one half years later, at age six.
Witness to my Mother’s Tragedy at age 6
