“It is a good day to die…” Or...how I got my call sign...

 

I can remember a time in the early 1960s when a purported quote from Chief Crazy Horse was making the rounds of the “coconut wireless” (today it’s the Internet). When faced with defeat, he supposedly said, “It is a good day to die!” with the implied meaning that he was being brave.

Well, that’s not quite right. Yes, he was brave. No question. But, as explained to me by an Apache elder in ‘59, and later confirmed by an elder Lakota friend, the phrase is actually pronounced (more or less) “Ho-ka-hay.” The meaning is that, because we do not know the time of our going “end of watch,” we should live each day of our life as if it could be our last.

Nothing for which to have to tender apology...no regrets.

I sort of equate the concept to Camus’, “I live my life as if there was a God, and so if I find at the end that there really is a God, no worries.” The converse, of course, is that you live your life as if there is not a God, only to find at the end that there really is.

Karma’s a bitch, ain’t it?

I’ve been blessed. Seriously. I’ve seen a lot in my life...some very difficult times, and some rather flush times...and, in effect whatever mankind can do to itself. Not everyone has the opportunity, or perhaps the internal will, to have those experiences. In the end, I’m still here (subject to future question, according to my docs) and still learning every day. Something...no matter how small or insignificant...if I don’t learn something each day, I’ve failed. That’s also seriously.

Why would that little bit of “learning” mean so much to me on a daily, even moment-to-moment basis? I would refer to myself as an information addict. That itself is a condition arising from my physical, and not emotional, condition.

So, I think I need to briefly (I hope) relate some “stuff” that connects directly to my present position, my future, and perhaps my physical ability to make it some more years.

My call sign (Firetree) came about in USCG Combat Squadron One, and the Special Services company (Oscar), when I shared the experience of my vision quest with one of them, and they sort of “broadcast” what they heard. I have to say, though...the kid was 18, and part Cherokee, so no worries. At the time I felt it was an honor, at least from him. There were also, of course, a number of folks who made it clear they thought it was nuts.

I promised a couple of people yesterday, who mean a great deal to me, that I’d finally get this piece out. You’d think, given the premise, that the task would be quick and simple. I am, at least, trying (with great difficulty) to keep it concise, clear, and...well...fairly short.

I figure the end result will be folks responding with one (or all) of the following: (1) quite a few saying, “Yup! I always knew she was a nickel short of a quarter!”; or (2) “All trannies have a screw loose…”; or (3) “Where does this person live? I’d like to off her”; or (4) (in rare instances) “Crap...this sounds real...what if she is for real? Maybe I should pay attention…”.

So, as one can see...the title is pretty descriptive. I’ve tried all manner of coping suggested by a long line of mentors, counselors, mates and others. I’ve been blessed with something called ME (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis) from the war; a major part of it is fatigue that defies description much of the time, and is made worse by either physical or emotional stress.

I’ve learned (and not from Google) that the effects of ME have been killing people. That doesn’t surprise me, but it certainly gets my attention. I’ve also been gifted (thanks, Mom) with certain “spiritual gifts” that most (sane and reasonable) people don’t accept as real, but which are now proven to be quite real. I’ve spent too many years making excuses, or jokes, or whatever in that regard...even when I pastored congregations (because parishioners generally can’t deal with that level of stress relating to their believing). It has even overshadowed any stress or other affect due to my gender identity (change was in 1981).

To cap it off...it wasn’t until I moved to Kaua’i Island in 2000 that I was enlightened as to Pop’s “work” outside of the railroad...and it didn’t have anything to do with Freemasonry. I had no clue for 60 years...but maybe I should have, if I’m really that smart (hold the laughter, bunkies…) and saw the signs for what they were.

Well...here goes.

This is how that call sign came up. I’ll try to address the other points in following posts.

Climbing the Mountain

Boy Scouts of America in the 50s (and early 60s) was the epitome of the Leave it to Beaver quasi-reality. Our family, though (including me), didn’t really buy into it. We owned our home, a decent car, etc. by the grace of Pop’s being on the railroad, Mom being the accountant for a large local retailer, and the two of them having done well “flipping” acreages over the years. I played Little League, etc. I’d made it to Eagle, earned the God & Country, and was tapped for Order of the Arrow in summer of ‘60. The OA was in direct response to get me “qualified” to go on an upcoming European tour.

The national BSA office had come up with an idea to organize and conduct a European tour with eight scouts, four chaperones, a rep from the national office, and a professional tour guide. It would visit six countries by bus, ending up in Athens where the World Jamboree was being held. You had to be an Eagle, and 14, to go. I found out later that I’d been cleared only because I turned 14 soon after actual departure, and I had been “recommended” by someone highly regarded in the business/political community at the time.

I’m pretty sure they might change their “recommendation” today.

That “O.A.” process normally (operative word) consisted of essentially bookwork, learning Native American history, values and expectations, perhaps a couple of natural skills, and the responsibilities. You’d be tested on those things in various ways; while not dangerous, they were not easy, and required a good bit of focused commitment.

This was where it got (what’s that clinical word?) weird. I had a number of Pima and (fewer) Apache friends (I’ll address that in more detail in future writing; I tended to “stick up” for especially the Pima kids at middle school, where they were treated in a systematic, bigoted manner). They, as friends, had me meet with an elder about doing a “real” vision quest. I had no idea what they really meant, but my folks (who had to sign off on the “project”) were told by BSA leader types that if I completed this “task,” I’d be on the roster for the tour, as they had promised to pay the USD$1,200 fee. The meeting was at the elder’s house southeast of Apache Junction; a Pima friend’s older brother drove us out. The elder Apache (~80) was very personable, smart, fit...and had a dynamic quality to him that I recognized even with my young age and limited experience with family “explorations.” There were four others...one of whom was a younger female. I’m going to try to recount the exchange as accurately as I can, but it’s primarily elemental; I’m just trying to get by an emotional block, here...not write the Great American Novel...and I don’t want to screw it up.

This was also the point in time when I would find that Pop had history of which I had no clue; but, apparently, some others did. That will come later, as well. It’s connected to remote viewing and similar.

Where to go, and what to do…

Briefly, the task given was to go to a specified spot at the base of Superstition Mountain where there was access to a route up that didn’t require tools or ropes. I was told to then take time to focus on the task ahead (the climb), clear my mind, and ask Creator to keep me safe.

All of this will be done, of course, alone. All I would have with me (in terms of gear) is a small canteen, and a very sharp twelve-inch Bowie (this was before Kabars). People knew where I should be, and when I should be back (by 1600 the next day). If that was exceeded, there would be a search.

It was a good day; clear, not terribly hot (around 80), slight wind. It was a rather long walk to the valley behind the mountain, then more to the opposite end as directed. One would not notice that there was a way up from the look of the base spot; without the specific directions, I would have missed it.

It was not, however, an easy climb. I was very fit then, six-one, 160, and no old injuries or whatever to slow me down. It took from around noon (when I began the climb) right up to sunset to get to the top (around 1800). I was exhausted. I looked around in the fading light; there was literally nothing up there. It was essentially a flat mesa with a few sagebrush growing in cracks, but otherwise barren. I found a slightly hollowed out area in the smooth stone, and curled up to rest.

Whatever was supposed to happen, the elder said, would happen. I didn’t have to do anything “special” to cause it; there was no special substance to consume, or secret ritual to perform; Creator managed the whole thing, and all I had to do was just let it happen.

That’s a lot harder to do than one might think.

I did, however, fall asleep. I remember dreaming about when I was three, and my “trip” to the library (that will come later). I remember feeling calmed by the aroma of fresh sage, and the light tickle of a slightly brisk breeze (early summer).

I was wearing a watch, an older Bulova railroader’s piece that glowed in the dark; it was a gift from Pop when I passed my FCC license exam. There was a sound of crackling, and I scented a horse; I also smelled smoke. I awoke in a start, looking at my watch; it was just short of 02:00.

As I sat up, and turned myself northward, what presented itself to me was a rather unsettling view. The crackling was a rather large kiawe with small, bluish flames on all branches; the smell of kiawe smoke was definite. The tree, however, had no charring on it, and seemed oblivious to the flames.

To my left, next to the tree, was a black male wolf. He was sitting silently on his haunches, bright eyes fixed on me, and calmly breathing. To my right, again next to the tree, was a large chestnut mare, also standing quietly, looking directly at me.

I simply knew what each was feeling; not thinking, necessarily, but feeling. Those feelings were of calm wisdom, and of welcome. I’d been told by Mom from around age three about the “gift,” one that she apparently inherited from her mom, and she had received a limited amount of “support” from a couple of older women in Eastern Star. I was taught how to recognize it when it happened, and how to use the gift to help the person. She taught me that Creator would want it that way.

She also taught me early that it’s called “empath,” and that I would do well to be very careful in how I allowed it to steer me (and my mouth). That’s another story, as well.

Raising my eyes to the sky overhead, I observed a meteorite while I noted the North Star, and under my breath I let out a (I thought) subdued “Wow...thank you, Creator…”

When I looked back down in front of me, it was all “gone.” Not there. Not even kiawe ash. All the aromas were gone (There were, however, I would find in the morning, a single set of canine prints, and horse prints that were shoeless).

I took up my curled-up position again to try to rest. Oddly, the experience had not (at least to my perception) caused any anxiety...quite the opposite.

The sunrise got me to climbing back down, and it took just as long as coming up; it was a difficult route. It was a little after noon as I finished; the younger female Apache, along with the elder, was waiting for me at the base. After affirming that I was healthy and unhurt, we sat in a small piece of afternoon shade by a large rock, to talk.

This needs to be kept short, methinks, ‘cuz the “talk” lasted some four hours, and we had to finish in order to leave the wilderness area before dark. There was a lot that got done, though.

A lot.

So you think you know what you know…

One thing up front; I had been aware of the gender dysphoric situation since my first year. That’s usual for those of us with the issue. So, some of what came up was not exactly earth-shaking, but how it manifested, and how it was perceived, was all new to me.

I was asked what I saw, heard, smelled, or even touched in the view of the burning tree, wolf, and mare. The two of them conversed in Apache (no, I don’t understand); the elder then addressed me directly, eyes steady...but full of love.

Elder: “Thank you for completing your quest. You have done well...far better, actually, than expected by anyone.”

Me: “Well...I guess you’re welcome? (Smile) Uh...what was so special?”

Elder: “We think you already know...please...you can sense it.”

He was right. I was sensing that he was actually wanting so badly to blurt out what he knew, but thought it inappropriate; the young lady was doing better at maintaining, but I could tell she was holding something back. I thought perhaps I needed to open the gate.

Me: “Please...share my truth for me. I must know.”

The elder nodded to the young lady.

Young lady: “You have had a vision...one like most would spend their whole life trying to achieve.”

Me: “Uh...perhaps a dream…”

Young lady: “You know damn well better. You had a damn vision.”

Me: “Why?”

Young lady: “You already know why, but you need to understand this. The tree that burns but is not consumed...that is Creator’s approval. Then, you are blessed with two spirit animals...because you are a two-spirit person.”

Keeping in mind that literally no one knew of my thinking, etc. on the gender issue at this time, and I gave no “signals” of being gay, or effeminate, or anything like it. It had been there all along, though, and this experience cemented not only the validity of the situation, but the acceptance that it was no longer any particular secret.

We left, and of course the tour happened, and that’s lots of other writing.

I just thought that I could perhaps approach the primary things I find that define me, that cause me pause to think/act, and that...given where the political brouhaha is headed...will likely put more than one target on my back.

So, what you can figure on is me taking these concepts into real world situations/experiences (empathy, precognition, remote viewing) in future diatribes, and venting my frustration with ignorance, greed, and downright cruelty in the name of religion...or anything else, like a dictator…

So...that’s where I got my call sign...Firetree.

Ah...there’s the door...

-30-