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Category Archives: Native American

American Karma

26 Sunday Jul 2026

Posted by Bill Watkins in America, Native, Native America, Native American, Poetic Blog

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

America, Bible, Christianity, First People, God, Jesus, Joy, Karma, Love, Native, Native America, Native American, Native Americans, Peace, Spirituality, Truth, USA

For full-color PDF, click: American Karma

Ame to Love, “rica” to love riches,1 a German mapmaker and friend named the region in a sixteenth century map, “America” – a feminized Latin version of Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci’s first name.  They were big fans of Vespucci!

But who are fans of the region’s first human residents?  When will we pause long enough to consider the crime first of dehumanizing those first people because they were not Bible-reading Christians.  Second, the Europeans who came in waves starting in the seventeenth century failed to be humble and Christian enough to get along with the first inhabitants.

***

Karma is a you-know-what sometimes.  Do we actually think this will all go well, claiming a people-rule “democracy” by first removing the first people?  After they are gone… it will all work out?!  No.  We have sinned gravely.  Gravely.

But not irrevocably!  We can go back and make amends…  This could still be okay, if we collectively make an effort to HUMANIZE those we initially marginalized and cast aside.  How?  First off, we ask the First People what THEIR name for the land was… 

Who are we who descend from Europe to name land first inhabited by non-European earth-loving native people of different earth-loving nations?  The “conquest” of this land could not be more unchristian, abusive, and antithetical to that which yields peace of mind and good karma.

We reap what we sow.  We sow a foundation of division and white supremacy?  Have fun with the MAGA – Liberal divide.  HATRED.  Name-calling and worse.  Fifty-one percent majorities scoffing at the losers with forty-nine percent…

A Fiasco.  Brought about by our own conceit, racism and deplorable treatment of human beings with darker skin and less clothes than us, who walked in barefoot spirituality – not perfect – but perfect for this land.  They taught us how to live here, what and how to plant.  They gave us furs to get through those first few winters on Paspahegh hunting ground we stole to make “Jamestown.”

They saved us in what one could call the first application of DEI.  They took pity on the dying immigrant English, saved our lives, and so I’m here as one of those descendants calling for a peaceful Revolution in thought and action to return to the “Founding” of whatever this is here, BRING NATIVE PEOPLE into the discussions, NAME THIS LAND APPROPRIATELY WITH CONSENSUS OF ALL PEOPLE – Not just White Bible-toting and GUN-toting “Christians.” 

1 https://originalfreenations.com/the-crown-corona-virus-and-the-business-of-america/  

The Greatest Democracy on Earth (lol)

13 Thursday Apr 2023

Posted by Bill Watkins in Anti-Political, Humor, Humorous, Native, Native America, Native American, Poetic Blog, Political, Political Satire, Politics, Spiritual, United states, USA

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bible, God, Gun Control, Gun Reform, Guns, Humor, Joy, Love, Native, Native America, Native American, Peace, USA

USA5

-by Bill Watkins
(he, she, it, Christian, liberal democrat, unregistered ex-patriot conservative white liberal)

***

Congratulations.  I assume if you are reading this piece, you are:

a. literate
b. intelligent
c. humor-curious, at least
d. alive.

E., you might be confused about your nationality, and I aim to help you with that.  Your sexuality and identity politics are yours, so there, and stop putting it in my face please.  I’m not angry, just enraged as a displaced European land thief, thousands of miles from my roots and hundreds of years since the great theft that gave us the United States of America.

Pause.  Consider the glory in creating a perfect people-rule democracy after removing the first people of this land!  Brilliant sleights of hand gave us white Euros a sound footing to tell our old world monarchs to buzz off, while with the other side of our mouths we taught the bible to the heathen, earth-loving naturals.  We scared them next with our guns, then threw money around until we claimed ownership of this land, carving our likeness into the natives’ spiritual mountains and worshipping our concrete, asphalt and steel creations.

Pause.  Consider us some more!  People-rule!!  Never mind the earthquake, hurricane, wildfire or tornado, we are certainly in charge!  We bow to nothing because we are white and use gun powder to explode things and kill people better than any living organisms in the history of this world!  Never mind those guns are now turning on ourselves, civilization itself proving that the “homeless” dude living in a tent may have the right idea.

There were many nations here before guns created the United States of America.  Without those guns, we might be a collection of native and migrant nations peaceably trading and honoring mother earth, what a bore!  There might be no roads, cars, mass burning of earth blood, litter and pollution.  There’d be less noise and no mass shootings, but what would happen to the wonderful, perfect people-rule democracy those brilliant ex-patriot British established on land formerly inhabited by earth-adoring savages?

Geocracy?  Earth-rule?  Insane!  Mutual respect of different nations, races, cultures and creeds?  Ridiculous!  Consensus between all people instead of alienating elections filled with winners, losers, majorities and minorities?  It couldn’t be!  Nothing could be better than democracy except the truth itself, which knows of a Power, is humble to it—enough so to refrain from the self-worship of Eurocentric auto-erotic secular religio-politics.

Guns Are for Cowards

24 Friday Jan 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Guns, Native, Native America, Native American, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Anti-Gun, Cowardice, Faith, Firearms, Great Spirit, Gun Control, Guns, Joy, Love, Native American, Peace

The native bow and arrow, quiet
and flowing with nature not good
enough to the conquering European
with our war sickness, our gun
powder blowing up targets loudly
and cowardly from distance.

Like splitting the atom, some think
it’s good while others see a diabolical
power unleashed, the Asian invention
and European application satisfied
the war addict, put humans above
nature and God.

Bombs, guns, fireworks—do they please
the Creator?  The birds?  The beasts of
the wilderness?  In battle, do guns
show someone’s courage and honor?
Or… do guns show cowardice, a warrior’s
unwillingness to face his enemy?

From the fields of the native Great Spirit
let us dive into the bible, the other
weapon England and Spain used to
conquer America.  What would Jesus
say to guns?  What does the bible say
about killing?

It’s so easy to hate your enemy, try to
kill them or scare them with something
like guns.  Anyone can hate someone
they do not like, but what strong heart
and soul can love their enemy as a brother,
see them walk on and come from the same

Earth?  From the same great Mother, all
humans human with the same needs,
hopes, fears, doubts… Faith?  Where is
yours, in a loud weapon that creates
fear and noise?  Mine is in love and Peace,
In the rainbow after the rain, in

the great but worthwhile struggle to
love those who persecute you, to see
them as fellow children in this merry-go-
round called Life

Thanksgiving Lie

28 Thursday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Land Theft, Native, Native America, Native American, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Thanksgiving Lie

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

America, Dishonesty, History, Land Theft, Lies, Native, Native America, Native American, Native Americans, Paspahegh, Powhatan, Thanksgiving, Truth, Wingandacoa

Thanksgiving Lie -- Native1

There was partnership with
native tribes to be sure, after
we had squatted on their land.

There were allies, in-fighting,
out-fighting, and all the normal
chaos that comes with coveting.

Competition with Spain and others
so fierce, the sickness of conquest;
Viking and Roman member measuring.

We came, we saw, we coveted,
we indeed stole—first erecting
a Fort in Paspahegh land without…

communication nor permission.
White, Christian and armed seemed
enough to the sick and damaged

English, attacked and vulnerable
at all sides of its island at home.
“Attack first, hit hard and win”

Now plagued America, the coast
a notch on the belt of a warring
people, who knew no other way.

June of 1676 was a time of party
for the English settlers, who in
writing set down Thanksgiving—

A prayer of thanks to God almighty
for victory over Native Americans
in war for their land: “It certainly

bespeaks our positive Thankfulness,
when our Enemies are in any measure
disappointed or destroyed…”

…went the document, “Thanks for
killing the native people, Lord, so
we can inhabit their lands in peace.”

Have a nice turkey, if you think the
feast a proper one.  Not me, I’ll spend
the day as much as possible making

amends for stealing land.

Wingandacoa

09 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Native, Native America, Native American, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Britain, Conquest, Imperialism, John Smith, Love, Native, Native America, Native American, Nature, Peace, Pemisapan, Poem, Queen Elizabeth, Sir Walter Raleigh, Treachery, Truth, Vanity, Violence, Virginia, Wingandacoa, Wingina

Wingandacoa1

There was a name for a place.
It was named how it was named
for a reason, thousands of years
of tradition, story, repetition and
heritage made that place special,
its people living, dying, circling
the earth in spirit and land—

Gratitude for the water, the food,
the abundance and song.

Then came the British white man,
who was vain and violent enough
to change the name of the place
at a glance because its inhabitants
were not Christian, bible-toting or
“advanced” enough in war (cowards)
to carry and use loud, destructive
firearms—

the kind that still kill in malls,
churches, streets and schools today.

The British white man called this
land “Virginia,” after their virgin
queen Elizabeth.

Vanity.  Violence.  Usurpation…

To first usurp the Bible and Christ
for violent land acquisition.

Then to usurp the land itself…

Wingandacoa lives and breathes;
is the place I cherish and maintain
in my heart one of abundance,
native beauty and tradition.

No Roman-influenced conquest by
a people bedeviled by war and
violent competition with other
European nations can change
the essence of a place, unless
one yields to untruth.

I do not and call the land
where John Smith landed:

Wingandacoa.

Land Theft Invalidates USA

30 Friday Aug 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in History, Native, Native American, Poetic Blog, Politics, USA

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

America, History, Love, Native, Native America, Peace, Politics, Truth, USA

Native People Mapping1

by Bill Watkins 9/5//2019

Men will not think that robbers and pirates have a right of empire over whomsoever they have force enough to master, or that men are bound by promises which unlawful force extorts from them.  —John Locke

Land theft is no basis for a valid government.  Someone could appeal to violence and war, rationalize the European conquest of the Americas, but underneath the movement and close to the soil of this land is the truth that crimes against humanity established the thirteen colonies, who rebelled against England to assert themselves as the United States of America, while America’s original inhabitants were to be killed off, subdued, moved and forgotten.  A criminal for-profit enterprise, leaving us with usurped land, its native inhabitants pushed into small reservations—a miniscule percentage of their natural inheritance—people who never gave consent to be governed by Europeans, and never should.

When Queen Elizabeth chartered Sir Walter Raleigh’s exploration of the American eastern coast in 1584, she granted him license “to discover, search, finde out, and view such remote, heathen and barbarous lands, countries and territories, not actually possessed of any Christian Prince.”  The first “Virginia Charter” backed up that thought, as King James urged English adventurers to “bring the infidels and salvages living in those parts to humane civilitie and to a setled and quiet govermente.”  Professed Christianity would help the English usurp the land called Wingandacoa by the natives, James ordering his sailors to propagate the “Christian religion to suche people as yet live in darkeness and miserable ignorance of the true knoweledge and worshippe of God.”

Having studied native American culture diligently for a few years, sober for twenty years, sensitive and aware, hungry for truth, it is clearer to me every day that it was the alcohol-consuming, cursing, armor and gun-loving Europeans—not the natives—who lived in darkness and miserable ignorance of the truth that the Earth was to be honored, respected and preserved. That guns, explosions, killing and noise were not strength but weakness.  And strength?  Witness a piece of it in the eloquence of a great native chief:

From Wakan Tanka, the Great Spirit, there came a great unifying life force that flowed in and through all things—the flowers of the plains, blowing winds, rocks, trees, birds, animals—and was the same force that had been breathed into the first man.  Thus all things were kindred, and were brought together by the same Great Mystery.  

Chief Luther Standing Bear1

Chief Luther Standing Bear, Oglala Lakota Sioux

Like the English, the Spanish were guilty of land theft, starting with Columbus’ 1492 raid, leading to a threatening letter from King Ferdinand to the Taino-Arawak people of the West Indies.  In the letter, King Ferdinand informs the native people that the Pope is the ruler of the world, the bible’s God is the ruler of the universe, and that Spain shall be the ruler of all non-Christian lands they discover.  Should any of the native tribes resist, the Spanish would declare “war upon you from all sides and with all possible means, and we shall bind you to the yoke of the Church and of Their Highnesses.”  Further that “we shall enslave your persons, wives and sons, sell you or dispose of you as the King sees fit; we shall seize your possessions and harm you as much as we can as disobedient and resisting vassals.”

And so these supposed Christian people stole land, people who touted a bible that forbade stealing.  We erected laws and a Constitution that also forbade stealing, even though the privilege to write laws and hold land here was obtained through armed theft. Usurpation and theft can never be a valid basis for government, something John Locke proposed and I hereby second today.

…the aggressor, who puts himself into the state of war with another, and unjustly invades another man’s right, can, by such an unjust war, never come to have a right over the conquered…

Yes, Sir John, you speak the truth.  So should all of us, so should all of us!

Wilson Lake

12 Tuesday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in California History, History, Native, Native America, Native American, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

California, History, Joy, Love, Native, Native America, Native American, Native Americans, Nature, Peace, Rain, San Marino

San Marino used to have a lake.

(The San Marino in Southern
California, not the tiny country
in Europe.)

San Marino used to have a lake
until the settlers came, made
a claim, had ideas and acted
before asking what the land could
actually take.

Soon a guy named Wilson “bought”
God’s land, called it his, used all
that water to farm aggressively—
crops not always indigenous or
natural, or free.

“The lake had dried up into a swampy
morass due to excessive water usage
by local settlers”

an article reads.  So, then,

They brought the dirt down and filled
in the lake.

I have no judgments to make,
nothing biting or sharp, just
the observation that mistakes
mostly happen at high pace,
on the way to claim a lake—

or even on the way to the bank.

When we fail to ask before
we take—

The mass of swirl that is “Karmic
Gate,” opens up to teach us,

sometimes a hard lesson that will
be remembered and never again
re-made.

Every choice has a consequence,
every single one—

so maybe it’s not the first thought
that should win, but a third
thought fought for, prayed
for, asked for and won.

Concrete River

11 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Los Angeles, Native, Native America, Native American, Nature, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

God, Joy, Life, Los Angeles, Love, Nature, Peace, Poetry

We fail to see what the Indian saw;
goalposts moved, the feeling is raw.

God gave all peoples land, but fate
brought white Euros away from theirs,

Hope was in the “New World,” except
that for its old inhabitants, a grave

challenge emerged from the golden
ships on the Eastern horizon, the

Atlantic bringing bibles, armor, guns,
horses and a love for gold not seen

by the decorated native soldier, the
adorned native explorer—who roamed

a wild land with ease, the world a
welcome mat to sleep upon, gather

and hunt.  A river was sacred, a waterfall
the same; trees, even rocks worshipped

as gifts from the Great Spirit.  Instead
of human art, a reveling of God’s art

was the native way; instead of a written
history or spirituality, there was one

passed down with poignant, well-placed
words and teachings, songs and music,

Ones about the “L.A. River” before it
was called that I’m sure existed.

It would be full and running wild at
times, dry and trickling at others,

through trees, brush and local wildlife—
including bands of Indian tribes,
grateful for the flow.

Civilization is a double-edged mess.
I think I like it.  I hate it.  I’m sad
about it, but sure like the plumbing!

***

What of the river?

Concreted over now, we took away
its beauty.

A crime by any view, there is no
possible way to support killing
it and doing God’s will, we stopped

the wild flow, the thrill.

We placed our destructive flag on
its top, moved wildlife off their spot,

Came with horses, buggies, then
cars and our own urinated rain,

the plumbing’s good, but we are
not—

God’s Earth is full of things still
pristine, and those like the L.A.
River—

That dies every day civilization soars,
roars and choppers rot.

I dream of a day when time
forgot.

Looking for Native America

22 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by Bill Watkins in Native, Native America, Native American, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Discovery, Earth, God, Great Spirit, Love, Mother, Native, Native America, Native American, Native Americans, Peace, Revival, Spirit, Truth, Wales, World Peace

It’s a long journey from Wales
to here;

400-plus years of wandering
makes one wonder what they feared.

We left our fathers’ graves behind,
Welshmen and women ground into
the winter soil, Celtic calls for
adventure, armored up and ready
to go, sir!

Captain John Smith is noble enough,
we can handle this sea, this new
land, the savage race—look at us!!!

We’ll make the Crown proud, become
stars, make names for ourselves,
but only if this colony comes off okay.

We’re British and militaristic; we see
these brown-skinned people, compare
and contrast, seek advantages, a way
to squat and succeed.

“Success is a peace of mind, knowing
you did the best you could to be the
best you were capable of becoming.”

Best Christians, John?

Best warriors?

Best Explorers?  Businessmen?  Reps
of the Crown?

People.  The best People we could be
requires more looking back than forward
if the looking causes you to cringe with
regret and shame.

Go back, see the poverty of the native
tribe, the reservations in shackles
of bison’s spoiled hide.

Hunted and sold, looking for gold—

Not realizing the real value was in
the wisdom of the land, expressed through
its proud care-takers.

There are many differences from nation
to nation today, and as much or more
between the native nations then and
now as the Great Spirit

hides under Western medicine, civilization
and money.

Stop taking it.  Fight for your land, still,
Native America, seek out the documents,
the treaties, the promises made, take
them to court, and win.

Hire attorneys and win.  Reclaim and rise,
never give up the spirit to try, we are
a part of the land, it is God’s

and is our pride.

They break the rocks for concrete, burn
the blood for rocket fuel, we pray for
the lost Europeans, that they find
their way back home.

Matoax

30 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Native, Native American, Poem, Poems, Poetry

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Love, Nature, Peace

american-2029937_1280

Never in vain.

God keep me whole and pure
as I try to explain.

Words fail to describe the oneness
with falls, rocks, streams, and nature—
a people at one, praising in song,
movement and dance.

The hug with your land complete
on a shore invaded by armor.

British with Bible were a different
thing; in 1607, written on a Roman
guide, people came and Oneness died.

But not before a native princess kept
my people alive.

She came, first to save a captain,
then she visited us when in the Winter
of our wanderings we had run out
of warmth, food and all other
provisions needed to live.

Dead and left in the wind, until
Matoax and with her God came.

Native Great Spirit—the river of life,
warmth and skins, food and love.

We were dead in the Winter, beheaded
in a tent, our armor and fortress failed,
weapons of war useless.

She came to us, brought by God.

At the princess’ feet we prayed thanks;
she, at one with God.

Us, white and ignorant of the land,
the lowest of her ranks.

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