Oma
Oma died in early 1960, a few months after my birth. She was my paternal great grandmother. Half Cherokee and half Irish. Oma was beautiful and she was extremely intelligent. She hunted better than men and she was capable of moving through the woods without being heard.
Her father was a white doctor, of Irish descent and her mother, pure Cherokee. Due to reasons which I can only surmise, Oma was thrown to the wolves young. She married a Chickasaw man. A lazy, arrogant man. Her lot in life was far below her intelligence and her life was hard. She often had to physically fight her husband, until alas, he came to see that he could not win.
Oma was a warrior. Her husband, in his ignorance, never acknowledged that, except to cease hitting her. And that he'd done to save his own life.
Oma had made her last trip to see me as a baby, not long after I was born. She held me all day long and spoke to me. That was my first hoisting on high. I was 50 when she hoisted me on high again. Never in my life had I encountered such a bizarre situation. Had someone told me beforehand that the following would occur, I would have suggested that they seek psychiatric help. You see, I do not believe in UFO's and ghosts. I don't believe in what I have not seen and touched. Heard and smelled. Tasted.
In early November, not long after I'd turned 50, I felt the need to go back to McClain county and touch the land on which I had spent my new life. It held good memories for me from my youth, but not as an adult. All I recalled as an adult was constant humiliation and scorn. Hatred.
But return I did and I watched the red sun sink behind the knotted landscape. As the massive red globe began to disappear, I turned from where I stood, between the house and the cabin. When I did, Oma stood before me. I let out a sigh of desperation and she said, "Don't be afraid". She held out her arms and hugged me.
Oma smelled like she was of my blood kin. I knew she was of me.
"Who are you?" I demanded when she released me.
"I am Oma." She said with a wonderful smile.
As tears welled from my eyes and fell down my cheeks, I listened to her as she advised me of the reason for my birth. Finally, it had been revealed to me. I can only describe it as akin to standing on a great cliff and understanding the line between earth and the heavenlies. The line between sane and insane. The line between darkness and light.
My body became more muscular and I immediately was attuned for war, when Oma brought to me a great paint horse, a golden bow and a silver sword. My steps seemed heavier, lighter, more assured.
"Within the hour, the heavenlies will open and you will ride up to do great battle" Oma advised me as she painted my face black and red.
I was speaking with Oma as I sat upon the great paint horse, when I felt the stirring of the wind and jerked my head to the east to see the sky opening up. Without directive or advice, I yelled out praise to the Great Spirit, and reined my unsaddled horse toward the clouds which were quickly coming close to the ground of Oma's land.
As I rode up higher and higher into the heavenlies, I saw bagpipe players to my right and I heard their music and a great love overcame me and I left my physical body in a way which I cannot understand or relate. But I was still riding the horse. To my left I saw Cherokee warriors dancing.
When I arrived at the place of war, I knew no fear, and smelling my enemy, I withdrew the silver sword. There was a great silence, for what seemed about 15 minutes and then I saw them coming. Hundreds of them.
I pulled the silver sword from its sheath and raised it high. My horse began to prance and jump.
"Kill the curse upon you and yours" A great voice boomed.
I kicked the great paint horse and rode faster and faster toward my enemies. They looked familiar to me, but not like humans.
I killed them. Everyone of them. I fought faster and harder than any of them. I grieved for having killed and cried out to the Great Spirit. After doing so, I turned to ride back to earth, when he appeared.
He. The bastard behind it all. Some have called him the Wizard. I call him the Bastard. It was at this time that I understood what the golden bow was for.
He stood upon a great pillar and he said to me, "Kneel down before me and I'll make it all yours".
As he spoke, I strategized his death and carefully, slowly, removed the golden bow from the rope around my horse's neck. I watched him and I was sickened. He, the little bastard who'd stolen so much from me and mine.
The white pine arrow which I shot pierced his chest and he fell from the pillar in shrieks and great angst.
I turned my horse and rode back to earth and as my horse touched the natural ground I heard a joyful music from earth.
My life has not been the same since, for I am, The Warrior.