I am shaman. I am Iowa.
I endure in the midst of death.
I whore myself to false leaders.
I live in squalor on the outside.
I ignore the wickedness of people.
The Gagon came and slaughtered my people,
While I watched and did nothing.
The white man came and slaughtered them,
While I watched and did nothing.
More white men came and slaughtered them,
While I watched and did nothing.
I did nothing so I could listen to the land.
I did nothing so I could listen to the stones.
I did nothing so I could listen to the plants.
I did nothing so I could listen to the wind.
I did nothing so that I could survive to treat vain and wicked people of their self-inflicted illnesses.
But I will endure one more day.
For perhaps tomorrow I will find one person, just one person,
That I can redeem.
Because only then will my mission in this life be complete.
Until then,
I am weary.
I am sad.
I am miserable.
I am pathetic.
I am shaman.
And I doubt if such a person actually exists.
And that is my true nightmare.
