How humanity fell in love with itself once again

Lyla June article, published in The Moon Magazine in English

Translated by Warmichashi for the Cyclic Women’s Blog

I spend a lot of time honoring and invoking my Native Americans. I am very aware that my father’s people also have a venerable medicine. He has the ancestry of the great Native Sacred Earth of Europe.

They have called me mestizo. They have called me Chucho. Impure I have been told that my mixed blood is my downfall. I am curse for having an Indian as a mother and a cowboy as a father.

But one day, while I was sitting at the ceremonial house of my mother’s town, a wonderful revelation landed delicately inside my soul. I heard within me a song that still resonates. A woven song of the voices of my European grandparents and grandmothers. His songs were made of love.

They sang their lives before the trials for witchcraft and before the Crusades. They told me about a time before the easements and the Roman tithes. They told me about a while before the plague; before the Medici; before guillotine; A time before their people were extinguished or enslaved by dark forces. They told me about a time before the existence of the English language. A time that most of us have forgotten.

These grandmothers and grandparents put the old Welsh blue stone on my sore heart. His songs danced as the flashing light of the bonfires of the Tuscan caves. His cheerful laughs resonated again and again as the waves of the Baltic against the Scandinavian coasts. They made worlds fly by my mind as the snow swept by the wind on the ridges of the alpine mountains. They showed me the vast and beautiful world of indigenous Europe. This beautiful world can barely be found in any literature, but lives silently within us as a dream that we cannot remember at all.

While all this happened, I looked at the flames of the fireplace of our Hogan Diné. These voices of ancient Europe whispered to my heart to help me understand. «You see, our songs are not so different from your Diné songs,» they seemed to say with a smile.

At that time, the moment I recognized and connected for the first time with my beautiful ancestors, I could not do anything other than cry. It was one of those messy, mockery and shocking cries, in which my face was filled with tears with joy and pain. It was the cry of a woman who meets her grandmother for the first time. I always wondered where I was. What would your appearance be like. How his voice sounded. Who was it. And now, for the first time, I could feel his delicate hands traveling my hair while telling me that he loved me. He sobb and sobb and sobb.

There were also tears of intermingled regret. All my life taught me to hide my European «side.» All I knew was that my father came from Dallas and that was all he needed to know. They taught me that we had to forget those fathers and mothers of pale skin. They carried violence in their blood and greed in their smile, they taught me. They taught me that they were garbage. They taught me that you should not ask themselves about them or think about them. Whenever I wrote my race in the official forms, I only wrote «American native», as they taught me.

But then, while thousands of European ancestors swirled around me and reassured my fearful heart, I wanted to have honest before. I wanted to have not repudiated them. I wanted to have known how beautiful they were. I wish I could have seen through the fine wall of the time that dominates our understanding of Europe. I wish I could realize the days when indigenous Europeans were deeply connected to the earth and kinship. In my mind, I told them that I was very regretted to have them abandoned. But, of course, they didn’t care. They only hugged me stronger and assured me that they would be with me until the end.

The sweetness of this beautiful experience changed me forever. I have come to believe that if we do not totally love our ancestors, then we do not really know who they are. For example, it offends me a lot when people call the Native Americans «good drunks ~ you at all.» Because in saying this, people do not take into account the centuries of attempt of genocide, rape and drugged of the Native Americans. They do not see the beauty of what we were before the onslaught. And now, it offends me when people call the descendants of Europeans «privileged and useless pilgrims.» Because saying this, people do not take into account the thousands of years that European peoples were raped, tortured and enslaved. They do not understand the beauty of what we were before the onslaught. They do not understand that, even if we have free will and the ability to choose how to live our life, it is very difficult to overcome intergenerational trauma. What happens in our years of training and what our parents teach us at that time can be very difficult to reverse.

It is estimated that between 8 and 9 million European women (** see final note **) were burned alive, drowned alive, dressed lively, beaten, raped and tortured in another way for being the so -called «witches.» It is obvious for me now that these women were not witches, but were the women medicine of old Europe. It was the women who understood the medicinal herbs, those who prayed with stones, who transmitted sacred songs, which whispered that night in the Hogan. This war without barracks against European indigenous women not only harmed them, but also had a deep effect on the men who loved them. His husbands, children and brothers. Nothing drives a man crazy how to burn the women of his family alive. If men respond to this hatred with hatred, hate is transmitted. And who can blame them? Although peace and love are the correct answer to hatred, it is not the easy -to -answer or much.

The indigenous cultures of Europe also suffered a forced assimilation by the Roman Empire and other hegemonic forces. In fact, just a few decades ago, any Welsh child who was surprised by the Welshman in the school was tied a block of wood around his neck. There the words «WN» were registered, which meant «Welsh Not» (not Welsh). This type of public humiliation will be very familiar to any American native who reads this and who has assisted internships of the United States government.

In addition, our European indigenous ancestors faced horrible epidemics of biblical proportions. In 1300, two thirds of European indigenous people were eliminated from the face of the Earth. The black plague, or bubonic plague, struck entire peoples with huge lymphatic sores that were filled with pus until bursting. Is it familiar?

The parallels between the genocide of the European indigenous people and that of the Native Americans are amazing. I am surprised that there are no more people who do not see that we are the same people, who have suffered the same spiritual assault. The only difference between red history and white history is that we are in different stages of the spiritual war process. The Native Americans have just become something they are not. They just begin to succumb to drug temptations, alcohol, game, self -destruction and destruction of others. Like some Native Americans have been contorted and twisted for so many centuries of abuse, so were the surviving European genocide. Both are completely forgive in my eyes.

Now I see that I have a double duty. Not only should I honor and revitalize my Diné culture, but also that of my European ancestors. This ancient European indigenous culture is as beautiful as that of the Native Americans and was equally killed and hidden from history books.

So, a few years later, armed with this new knowledge, I traveled to Europe. I climbed a beautiful mountain in Switzerland to see if I could hear signs of ceremonial songs in the wind. I stepped on the land guided by those whispers of the grandmother and grandfather. I arranged a strand of the scalp hair and placed the offering on the earth, still wet by the morning dew. I walked through the forests enchanted by the new views and odors. And I saw flashes of visions of the peoples of yesteryear. And they were full of people from the land that lived in a harmonious community. And they had beautiful music.

When the sun set, I lay on the grass and looked at the sky. At that time, he was going through a very painful separation of a person who loved. To my surprise, I felt as if the earth dragged all the pain that I carried to its nucleus, where I could transform it into beauty. Heaven told me that I didn’t have to worry, that one day I would be happy again. The earth and heaven cured me that day of the great weight that I had taken for months. It was a special reunion with the mountains of my ancestors.

My experiment with the mountains gave surprising results: great sacred native land in Europe is still alive and breathing and waiting for their daughters and sons to return home! He is waiting for us to ask for songs to sing again. He is waiting for us to tear beyond the surface of time, in the period before Christ, when our languages ​​were prosperous and our dance feet kissed the face of the earth. She is waiting. You are waiting for us to remember who we are. If you have this ancestry, or any other forgotten ancestry, I ask you to join me in this prayer to remember who we are. I have the feeling that this prayer will heal the entire world.

In 2009, archaeologists found a female effigy that is believed to be the goddess of the earth, buried in German soil. Radiocarbon dating tests arrived. They indicate that this clay deity was molded by European hands 40,000 years ago. 40,000 years ago. This is the time he calls us. This is the world that she hopes we remember: where man and woman held the earth in their hands and saw the value and holiness of women and mother earth. This is the world that still flows through our veins, no matter how much we have deafen. With prayer we can learn to listen to it again.

I compare this European indigenous culture based on the earth with the psychosis of the burning of witches of the first and second millennium. I cannot avoid asking me when and how this egalitarian culture, lover of the earth and honors the woman, became the conquering and colonial and genocidal that reached the American coasts. Could it be that our beloved European indigenous people were raped and tortured for so many thousands of years who forgot who they were? Could it be that they lived in a pressure of oppression for so long that all they knew was to conquer or be conquered ~ or? Yes, that …