Learning How To Be Human

Learning How to Be Human


I return to the betrayal.
It’s a self-betrayal first, or a betrayal of spirit.
Isn’t that how betrayal works?

There’s some kind of inner warning and it may be subtle
and difficult to perceive with the television going
or music made to sell you false dreams spinning in your ears.
I felt the tug of my spirit.

I watched others go out into the etheric ocean and when
they veered into a danger this protection came to them.
I tested it with another female. We coasted and flew
and I sent out a signal to that one to come and see us back
safely. There was no response at all.
I regret to say that my response wasn’t satisfactory.

I wilted briefly into the feel-sorry stance, then when we
returned from our adventure I found the spirit and challenged
him for his failure to come to us. Maybe I was asking in the
wrong direction, or from the wrong mind. The one who is to
direct will be there, or will watch from a distance
to see how you respond on your own, to see if you are worthy
of what they have to teach you. Each day brings opportunities
to test yourself against yourself.

This morning I uncurl from knowing in a dark, cool room
in my cousin’s duplex in West Hollywood. I can’t even see whether
it’s light or dark out. It’s just me and my spirit
and the shaking of the world as it starts into the weekday mind.

I am fresh from being out in the stars, flying as I used to
so consciously as a child, until I was thought to think too much,
and put away my dreams. That was one of the earliest betrayals.
“It’s just your imagination”, was my mother’s refrain
to my traveling stories. I know and knew different, even knew
better than to ask her but I wanted a companion
made by the sharing of a story.

Sometimes you have to be alone and protection won’t come
when you ask for it. Then how will you act?
Will you act with dignity? Or slam things around? Or curse?
Or turn on the television, have another beer or piece of bread?
And what does this have to do with your music or your poetry?
Everything.

You follow your spirit into the poem or music.
There’s an inner space there, much as dream space,
and while you are there you are exchanging gifts of knowing,
of being, as your human spirit assists in birthing
another small world into existence.


Joy Harjo.......from her Blogsite January 2005