Category Archives: Native America

Dear Native America:

28 Tuesday Mar 2017

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I am sorry for my people.

We heeded the Devil, and made “conquering” a part of our goals, which is a bad instinct.

We are punished daily, for our crimes of stealing land that does not belong to us.

Kanekuk, the Kikapoo prophet said wisely that neither does the land belong to native peoples.

It belongs to the Great Spirit, to God Him or Herself.

***

However, that land was given by God to the Native peoples.

And it was not right for my people from Europe, to take it by force.

***

I am leaving.

Bound back for Europe to my homeland in England.

My people left the land of my forefathers over 400 years ago, came here, and usurped land not belonging to us.

And now the land suffers beyond most people’s understanding, in the form of horrible noise pollution, trash, crime, metals and cement blocking our walk with God in nature.

***

Please pray for me, and thank you for having me in your land for so long.

Rise up, using legal language and means, and reclaim your birthright, so that I might visit again years from now to see a thriving land, us the people serving and in harmony with it.

***

I hope my removal serves God, you and this land which will surely know that a strong Welshman from across the ocean came here 400+ years ago, stayed too long, but finally realized his mistake and is making amends.

God forgive us our sins, and God reward Native American peoples for teaching us so much, the lesson I will take home the most important:

We are a part of God’s land, the one given to us.

Highest Peace, Thanks, and Apologies with Highest Hope for your Revival of the Land upon My Departure!

—Love and Great Spirit, my Heart to this Land and to you, its Caretakers!

Bill “Naked Horse” Watkins

Disease of More

18 Sunday Dec 2016

Posted by in CIA, Mob, Native America, Poetry

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Oswald’s 6th and CIA Omerta
seem lesser concepts when compared
to native plight, the
White man coming, conquering
and killing in the night.

The mob our government has locked
inside, from Ivy League schools
or wherever nice but lonely
rich kids can be recruited to be
in a family of brotherhood and togetherness.

To gather around crime is tempting
and even easy.

We group together, then justify wrong
acts because our brothers are doing them too.

The mob speaks of omerta, taking
secrets to the grave, and the CIA
is of the same mold.

God bless us all to proud truth of
who and what we are;

No matter how sick, perverse or wrong—

There is always a way out and back
to love and goodness.

The gospels are there for us when
we ask, we receive.

Or the Tao Te Ching.

Or the native river, writings of thanks
written on the wind, the leaves
changing so why not us?

Give them their land back, and let’s go
back to ours.

Lost Gratitude

14 Wednesday Dec 2016

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This white man apologizes,
as I look East out over the plain
of regret.

Peace, once a birthright of an
indigenous soul… it dreamed
to always be, leader in a land
it felt blessed to soar in, Truth
was in the water that flowed clean
and crisp and clear—

Cold and refreshing to the touch.

White men came.

Why did they come?

What was wrong with the land God
had given them?

Did we lose our gratitude?

Gold, Riches. Indian Wisdom?

14 Wednesday Dec 2016

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We sought many things.

The thing we should have taken back to England
was Indian Wisdom:

To love your land,
stay loyal to it, give to it,
and thank God for it every day.

“Have No gods Before Me,” God hollered
down to Moses and the people.

“Not even alcohol?” was proposed back
by a wide path called ignorance.

On “Ownership” of Land:

Some of our chiefs make the claim that the land
belongs to us. It is not what the Great Spirit told me.
He told me that the lands belong to Him, that no
people owns the land.
—Kanekuk, Kickapoo Prophet

Why Should Indians be First, Not Last?

This is their country, not ours.

“Aspire for Less”

More and more, every day.

“Be As Children”

More and more, every day.

“Growing Down”

Become more as a child,
and prepare for heaven.

White People Must Leave.

Follow me.

Stray Dogs, Helicopters and Trash

08 Thursday Dec 2016

Posted by in Los Angeles, Native America, Poetry

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norwich-terrier

Stand down, army, stand down.

You are worse than the British over
the colonies years ago.

You are loud, helicopters—and I can think
of no benefits to you except for maybe
that kind that dowse forest
fires with water.

The modern American city is
a modern American blasphemy.

Then call the police station to complain
about their loud helicopters and hear
the voice of stupidity talking back,
trying to justify the violent, loud
way of life while bad budgets
have stray dogs pooping in our storm
drains.

God, we should have learned from the
Native American people, listened to them.

Respected them.

Enough to leave when we were no longer
welcome.

Back to our lands of origin.

The lands that God gave us; the ones
in which we buried our fathers and
mothers.

Concrete, metal and trash litter the ground
that used to connect us with Mother
Earth.

We have cut ourselves off from Love
itself, then wonder why the homeless
congregate in urine-filled gutters,
homeless dogs, too. This one from
England, this one from Australia—

Even the Dogs are lost in a country not
their own!!!

Disenchanted. Disillusioned, but so often
blissfully ignorant we immigrants squat on
Indian land.

We laugh the empty thrill of victory
that defeats ourselves with every cigarette
obtained, smoked and littered.

We laugh the high shrill shriek of killing
ourselves with alcohol and drugs,
because we know no better than we were
shown, and Dad hadn’t a clue.

“We are searching for a suspect in your
area.”

Officer: search for yourself, for YOU—not
they, are the Criminal making noise beyond
reason into the night over this supposed
City of Angels.

Be quiet, and change your life.

Find your roots, go there.

Indians: come back

Open Containers, Joints and Disillusion

29 Tuesday Nov 2016

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Lost Angeles is not where I started.

My home may be more to the East,
depending on where you are standing.

From Wales in 1606, three Watkins Brothers
came for what?

Freedom, fame? Wealth, riches? A
new start?

On a later date I will explore
the U.K. and Wales in particular
for problems of that age and ours that
would make people uproot, leave their
fathers’ graves, and take to new land.

Unfortunately, it was land inhabited by
a great people, those we now call
Native Americans.

Over the years, friendship with the
“Indians” became a “conquering” process,
where—in the end, we conquered nature.

All around me now in L.A. I see
proof of disillusionment, proof of
fish out of water, people without
homes—

A fractured race, littering trash, “getting high,”
trying the cope with being uprooted so
many years ago.

Slaves brought in chains against their will.

Criminals dumped on our shores.

Melting Pot or Waste Pit? This is the place
where you go to “start over” or “escape?”

To Wales I go someday to find my
answers, about “my” people.

I hope you find yours, and if
brought here illegally like the slaves
aforementioned: demand of
this corrupt American government
restitution at least in the form of
twenty or so thousand dollars each, so
that you may go back and visit your
homeland—

the one they tore you from, to decide
if maybe that is where you want to be,
not in the trash pit that kicked out
God, Nature,

And the Native American in one fell
swoop.

Bud Light Cans and Butts

28 Monday Nov 2016

Posted by in Native America, Poetry

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“Who cares?” the great anthem
of all who squat and steal Indian land,
steal it over and over again as we curse
with our language and actions to kill
off nature, one block at a time.

I love God. Indians were one with
their Creator—the Great Spirit, but lost
out to the vast numbers of usurpers
coming West by the thousands.

Usurpers, who left their fathers’ and mothers’
graves behind them.

How could they do such a thing?

Why would they do such a thing?

Wasted, and washed up on the shores
at one time calm and peaceful with
an attitude of gratitude prevailing like
a wind through Sunday, the birds and trees
our music.

Now we have butts and beer cans, the
sad memory of what we did calling
it “the best we could,” a sham as alcoholic
squatters open up another alcoholic
drink, use curse words that native Americans
never used before the invasion.

Cursing, spitting, not caring is the way
of today’s Los Angeles.

I am leaving it, with the hope that the
Indians return to care for the land here.

God bless us to stop and care
as they used to care.

As they used to care…

White Man Leaving

24 Thursday Nov 2016

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I do not accept the spoils of
war, got through lying, deceit
and bullying against Native Americans
in this land.

I plan to move East from California
in June, after forty-four years of
unknowing blissful usurpation.

I want to leave room for a native
American person to take my spot,
and to inspire other white people
to follow my lead, and leave this
land into the better, more spiritually-
sound care of native peoples.

We have driven this place into
concrete, metal, smoke and trash.

We drive and fly around making noise,
because deep down, we have no
reverence for land that God gave
not to us, but to the Indigenous people.

I squat on Gabrielino/Tongva land
now. Will soon depart and give up
my illegal hold on their God-given
birthright, move northeast toward
Montana.

There I will briefly squat with great
gratitude if the Crow Indians allow.

I will check with them before I arrive,
and during my stay—make sure that
I only give and do not offend them
in any way.

To do so is to please God, the Great
Spirit that lives in, under and above
the land we called America.

If God blesses me with life for two
or so years living and working in
the Crow land, I will then say
good-bye to America, and go back to
where I belong, to the United
Kingdom.

I will go to bring back Native American
wisdom to other European people.

So many years ago, England, France and
Spain sent explorers out to find gold
and riches.

The wisdom of the native American
people is the greatest gold I ever found
here. It has been here since time began,
since before any records of men or women
exist.

I will bring back a love for native land,
seek out the burial places of my
ancestors in Whales and England,
visit other Northern European lands
if remnants of my people are there,
then will plan to settle if God so blesses
me, in the land the LORD God gave to
my people in which to live.

It will become clear in this journey,
I believe, why my ancestors left, but
I hypothesize they left in fear of
unjust monarchs, unjust class structure,
and religious persecution.

Ingratitude and boredom was a sickness,
as well.

We had not yet met the love of Native
Americans, who are an example of how
to live in gratitude for what God gives.

I humbly apologize to Native Americans
for what white people have done to
them and to the land we call
“America.”

It has become a trash heap, compared
to the glorious natural wonder it
once was—when you, not us, watched
over it in good faith, respect, and love.

May you return to rule it under the Great
Spirit again someday, and may other white
people follow me away as grateful visitors.

Away… home.

Concrete, Pills and Metal

23 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by in Native America, Poetry

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The Indians lived with the land.

Honored it.

Did Europe lack this profound respect
for its land?

Was the corruption of monarchy
so corrupt, so abusive, that
the free-thinkers and free-believers
had to cross an ocean to be free?

Perhaps.

***

Then the hosts, the Native Americans,
they pitied their guests, helped them through
a winter or two.

The natives thought rightly that it
was their duty under God to help
fellow humans get through their hard
times.

But surely they would not stay there
long. And surely, there would not be
many more, would there?

For how many white men and women
could possibly stand uprooting, and leaving
their birth countries to settle in “America?”

How many could stomach abandoning the graves
of their fathers and mothers?

***

So thought the Indian at first, most of them
anyway. And most of them had it wrong.

***

A cold edge came. The rifle. The warlord. Fear
and racism. Lies that come with any
bedeviled people.

Sickness, disease. Alcoholism, greed.

“You cannot change the world.
It cannot be done,” said Lao Tzu in
600 BC, and he was probably right.

But it is ours to try. Just to try.

***

And we try by standing up for Truth.
Writing about it. Seeking it. Expressing
it.

Truth in this case was the sad lie
told again and again by the sick, Godless
and greedy white man—

set up I suspect by Satan himself, to lie and
cheat the Indians out of God’s land.

The native peoples were its great and
honorable caretaker.

Not a perfect people, but imperfect only
in the way that a buffalo has a scar,
or a bear cub stumbles on the way down
to the river.

The Indian was one with the land, one
with nature.

Admired the rocks, the cold running water
and the animals that inhabited their glorious
home.

They were and are human, like us, one doesn’t
have to reach to great unknowns to imagine
the life of the Indian.

It was natural. Naked. True.

***

So, who wins? The group that admires
the rock? Or the group who knows how
to grind the rock down, make gravel and cement,
make square blocks of building blocks,
roads and walkways to separate man from
other animals?

Man from dirt. Man from Nature…

We’re the same species, the Indian and the
white man—different in that the Indian
loved and gloried nature, fit itself to honor
it and live gratefully within it.

While the white man for some reason had
always a mind to cover it up, to be the
head “creators” on board, to exert power and
control on it—

then marvel at our achievements over God’s.

***

Then laugh with me at the notion of a Catholic
missionary trying to give the Indians a lesson
in spirituality!!!!

It was and is always the Native American, not
the missionary, with the more true
and honest conception of God, of true
living and humility.

Dress, pomp, and ceremony in fancy robes?

Haha!!

Godless, We Named it Jamestown

17 Thursday Nov 2016

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la37

We know that the white man does not understand our
ways. One portion of the land is the same to him as the next,
for he is a stranger who comes in the night and
takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not
his brother, but his enemy—and when he has conquered
it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers’ graves,
and his children’s birthright is forgotten.
—Chief Seattle

Godless, we placed a king in God’s
spot;

started doing it in 1 Samuel chapter 8,
and the corruption began.

A curse was upon any people who did
not supplicate to a Power greater
than themselves.

See it in England, among other places,
the United States with its “democracy”
and “separation.”

All a curse, seen and manifested in slavery
to kings and perversion.

Slavery!

God said it would be, and it was—and so
they set out in 1606 under kingly mandates,
the will to please a man, not God.

Godless, they arrived in Virginia.

Godless, they see a native people, but ignored
them long enough to erect some timber
and a fort.

Long enough to nod “hello,” but by the
way, on order of a godless king who thinks
he is God:

You do not matter.

And this land, we usurp for our king,
and we shall call it “Jamestown,” after
the godless King James—

The people sheep to a man, as they
were since “crowning” Saul.

The Judeo-Christian cursed itself, banished
God, ignored the Indian, and called it
“Jamestown” in 1607.

My forefathers were there, befuddled, confused
Welshmen three.

Watkins brothers cursed for the concept
of “king.”

And so they called it “Jamestown.”

The “conquering” had begun, by killing
the Indian we killed ourselves, the land.

By conquering the Indians, we conquered ourselves.

I am “white,” my people from Wales,
invading in the name of a man named
“James” in 1607.

We left our fathers behind, instead of
standing up to the insanity of men
oppressing men and women at home.

We robbed land, without natural or
God’s right we “named” the land after
a godless king.

Wales awaits my return, I hope—

for what else can be done but action
amends for the insanity of our
godless past?