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MIRABAL MUSIC and MYTH
Santa Fe Opera location for the PBS nation wide filming of MIRABAL MUSIC AND MYTH. August 30 and 31st http://www.santafeopera.org/tickets/reserve.aspx?performanceNumber=6043
I actually wish I could take a break with this week's blog, things are FULL for sure, but here's an update:
1. I finally finished the tour with ETHEL. It's been an amazing past couple of months - mostly with the insanity of the east coast weather. I love the music and the people - it's the traveling that they pay me for.
2. Plowing, planting, dirt - all this goes without saying I need to do this. I have focused on more legumes this year than I did last year, there's always corn, however, this year there are more flowers and various lettuce crops.
3. Keeping the shop in the village open. And... the village is still pushing me to create in the studio. I hired a couple of my Kiva brothers to help me make flutes and we started last week. I will post about them soon, but get in line for your flutes.I'm getting a bit behind on moccasin orders and to my fans and friends who have ordered - thanks for your patience.
4. The PBS special is gonna be insane. Ralph Farris is the musical director for the show and is also the viola player for ETHEL.) I have finally solidified the musical set list. And I recently gave up my choregraphy position and now my choregrapher is the beautful Rulan Tangen who I have worked with since we were both knee high.
5. My everyday concerns and love for my girls - It has been intense having them in Peru and they won't be back in the States until July.
6. Staying in shape: running, hiking, horses, this alone could easily be a full time job.
MOMENT "53"...San Antonio chilling poolside...
Enough said, my friends, sometimes you have to just take a little break.
The scrawny eagles and the not so secretive swallows prowl around the ever present thermal drifts of monument valley.
Only they know the mysterious sand stone canyons secret flashes.
Pecking at the ship of stones, a hard dry open nest, a single mouth full of mud canyon nests underneath arid walls.
Fresh sand and dust swell into the air like lost eagle plumes.
Once this extreme dry land was a humid place full of overlapping beaches, a kiss from the evolution of time.
The kiss of life filling the earth's earthen vessel.
Valley of Dreams was a collaboration with John Tesh on his album - One World. People love to rake John Tesh over the coals for many different reasons - his status as an L.A. host on various television talk shows and his commentary. Some say he has an overly sentimental approach to instrumental music. What many people don't know, however, is this: he can play the #$%! out of a piano and millions love his music.
His dreamy, friendly soundscapes with new age tinged production... I mean honestly, before my collaboration with him, I really felt the same ho-hum.
I met him through his manager at the time who loved Taos and the Southwest. His manager had heard my music and tried hard for a couple of years to create a connection with John and I.
Not much had solidified until the Album Project One World - also a PBS nationwide pledge special - it was a huge financial global work with an
international crop of musicians on original compositions that reflected on
various ethnic traditions. Spanish, Irish, Italian and, of course, contemporary native styles among others. It was, "a celebration of music and dance from around the world"
The common theme was spirituality and a one world type concept. You get the picture - if you don't like his work One World won't change your mind.
The Album
I got a call in the summer of 1998 while I was "on the road" (as usual) to fly to L.A. to record the two day session that was my participation in the PBS special. I had also just finished SPIRIT with Peter Buffet - they both were released in the spring of 1999.
It was an interesting competition. When I traveled with Peter he would ask about John and when I was with John he'd ask about Peter. It was interesting... haha.
After recording we were to do a video of the song and here's where it gets interesting.
The dancers and I were flown to the Page/ Lake Powell airport in a hell ride (Insert Guitar theme from La Bamba before the airplane crashed). It was one of the most swallow-that-stuff-back-down plane flights I've ever been on. I mean I almost used the "BAG."
Originally it was supposed to have been filmed on a mesa at Lake Powell overlooking the lake. Get the drift? However, due to weather conditions and fog in the a.m. we ended up three hours away in monument valley. This was supposed to be a 3 day event - fly in, film, fly back.
On the third day the production team was still looking for locations. We barely got rooms as there were only four hotels in that area and it was packed for the homecoming of the Kayenta football team - the best homecoming parade I've ever seen. GO MUSTANGS!
Finally, after some negotiation, the production was a go and we finally got the green light for the mesa. I thought it was gonna be a simple mesa top shoot.
But... the storm had followed us and we were there for another day and night.
You can see in the footage all the crazy clouds. It's danger that makes good footage.
The two helicopters had to come from Lake Powell - I think almost 200 miles away and they don't fly in jacked up weather - don't ask me why?
Finally in the early morning we were up in the air, fully loaded with gear, and landed on to the GIGANTIC MESA that nobody had ever set foot on for millions of years. All the required equipment was lifted up: musicians, the grand piano, instruments, catering, tribal drums and even a Port-O-Pot. We had to stay up there all day because the helicopters had to go back to Page to fuel up for the afternoon run.
(From minute 1:07 to 1:13 and at minute 2:58 on the video you can see the helicopters on the edge.)
The first thing I saw as we're being loaded up is this green box dropping down the canyon.
Guess what it was?
Yep, the flying PORT-O-POT. Hallelujah. The props on the helicopters made so much wind it pushed it up and over the edge of the canyon. Good thing nobody was in there.. hahaha
Baby Grand on the Mesa top
Finally, after two days of shooting, we came up with enough footage to create what you guys have seen all over Youtube.
Every time I see the canyon where we made this music in movies I remember waiting in the sunset for the helicopters and I actually see the PORT-O-POT fly in my memory.
In Motion
From the edge of the painted desert I see your soul.
From the edge of a 25,000,000 year old sand stone castle I reach for your love.
Where humming birds dare to tread is where my love resides.
I shout and sing your praise and I also fear.
Will I stumble in my faith?
There is no looking back unless I want to walk the edge.
This post is going to be unusual... I took too much time creating a video during the planting season. Ugh....
The Odd Album
So here I go:
When I wrote the album INDIANS INDIANS it was a weird time. Many people - management, the label, the band, - said it wasn't a good move at that time to release such an odd album after the huge success of Music from a Painted-Cave. And... I guess, to a certain extent, they - whoever they may be - were right. We needed an album that was more friendly to radio and to the masses.
The music format was odd. The photo shoot was odd. The recording was odd. Most of it was recorded on the road, in and around the States, during a three month long tour.
Now that I look back with hindsight I wish I would have taken a different approach to the production. I have no regrets and no distaste, but I realize I just wasn't ready for another album and I forced the process. With any form of art, especially music, you can't do that.
I wrote a song with Robin Abeles which I still enjoy doing when we get the chance. Shine.
I also had an amazing writing connection and musical relationship with Laura Satterfield (Rita Coolidge's niece and colleague with WALELA.) We wrote music together when we could connect during the times when we would see each other. In the album we wrote: Dream of You and Ruler of my Heart.
Laura Satterfield
However, this album became an underground burner, especially in the Northwest coast. It was funny when we got up there and people would ask for the song, yelling, "Morrison!"
The album won a Native American Music Award for Artist of the year 2003.
That particular song was inspired by a photo that I had gotten from a friend of mine who used to photograph the Doors when they played in California. I'm not even sure if he is still alive... much respect to him. The album was totally inspired by some of the residuals from Music from a Painted Cave. It seems that some things stay the same and others just fade away...
Sometimes a visual thought is just as long as a written one.
Music is a healer.
Music is a change.
Music is imagination.
Music is love.
Music is a conduit.
Music is power.
Music is knowledge.
Music is imagination...
Road weary and still pounding the pavement.
When defined by so many hearts, voices and souls, it's sometimes hard to make the right choice.
As I look at my artistic past, as well as my personal past, there are some things I would have like to have done differently. However, everything has its own strength and admirable qualities. And when we're at any crossroads we are not necessarily in charge. We are defined by what is already predestined by our foundations - from stars to heavens to the unknown.
"The tired sunsets and the tired people - It takes a life time to die and no time at all..." - Charles Buckowski
When I started making flutes I was just 18 years old. There was nobody making them, just a few old timers dabbling with pocket knives and chisels. There were no power tools and no measurements whatsoever. It was a dying art and that's the truth. In the mid 80's people had barely ever heard the sound of the Indian flute. There were no cassettes, eight-tracks, or CDs yet, just albums of random artist that kind of made a living playing the flute.
Dan Red Buffalo (Lakota), Richard Foolbull (Lakota), Comanche painter “Doc” Tate Nevaquaya, Abel Big Bow (Kiowa), and Woodrow Haney (Seminole) - whom I met when I lived in Tahlequah, Oklahoma -
George Watchetaker,
(Comanche) Belo Cozad - a Kiowa flute player who made historic recordings for the U. S. Library of Congress in 1941. The latter two I had heard of through my Grandpa who spent time in Kansas, Oklahoma and west Texas picking broom cane, racking salt in a salt processing plant and hanging out with Cheyenne "Peyote boys."
I guess there were probably many others, however, this was in the days before GOOGLE and flute playing was pretty closed off from the main stream.
I acquired my first flute from an old timer from the village named Adam Trujillo who was my Grandpa Juan's buddy.
The man in the middle with Bonnet was Adam with his sons.
As the years went by many things changed and many of the good ol' boys passed away.
Flute makers who were originally furniture makers or engineers sprang
up to feed the interest of players and makers and their knowledge of power tools and machines caused the steady resurgence of interest and workshops which provided basic education and a forum for music making and the history of flutes. The flute players and performers started incorporating their musical ensembles with a flute song or two.
As the world wide web snuck up on us it provided more and more information for the flute buyers and connoisseurs. The internet also provided venues for people to exchange information, recordings and, more recently, live "open mic" web sessions.
I performed in many weddings and informal gatherings and people felt the need for the instrument to be labeled as an instrument of love to be played from the heart.
Individuals who had no prior knowledge of the
history and culture surrounding the Native flute were drawn to
the instrument simply because of the haunting sound and how recognizable it was to the listener.
The renaissance of the Native flute was upon us and with it came all kinds of players and flute makers because it truly is an instrument that stirs up imagination and curiosity.
However, everything in life has a dark and light side to it. I've seen it all - from crazy, drunk flute players to crazy, radical traditionalists to the simple man hiding behind a tree in the forest. It has affected everyone since the time of my carving with a pocket knife at 18 years old.
A renaissance helps the individual become the master of his craft. Each player's musicality and self expression is an invitation to the higher presence of artistic, scientific expression.
It's also an
invitation to explore and see the cultures and traditions surrounding
the Native Flute.
Brent Haines has been my friend for maybe close to 10 years. I met him on the Pacific Northwest coast on The Quinalt Indian nation.
Playing the BROWNY E
The story goes like this... (some things might be changed to protect the guilty... Haha)
A few of my band mates and dancers were partying at the casino night club. In those days there was always some guy saying that he plays flute, however, this guy had his collection with him. (here we go)
He pulls one of them out and we're not impressed, however, as the evening progressed the guy pulled out a c sharp flute with an amazing sound quality. (it was a beautiful flute.)
His girlfriend, who had already had way too many shots, was a scene to behold and to make the long story short it was my introduction to Brent Haines's flutes and that was the most important part. I don't remember too much more except him getting in my face and talking way too much and playing way too loud in the bar. And, of course, with a few more shots of Patron his girlfriend did a few more crazy antics. (good thing it was a noisy bar...)
Christmas album with Csharp
Anyway, the next day I wandered down to the booths and found Brent's Woodsounds stand. There was a big ol' football player looking guy bragging about his bear flute.
I told Brent who I was and that was the start of our friendship. At that time I was constantly on the road beating up my flutes, repairing them, and needing the time to create more. With Woodsounds flutes I couldn't have recorded some of my best flute compositions, mainly the Johnny Whitehorse series.
A couple months later we were collaborating on some amazing flutes and designs. And just recently I spent some time with him and he is a great man, a great father and a great partner.
I REALLY feel that my flute playing skills would not have been as prolific as they were without Brent giving me the opportunity to endorse my work.
Old style with masa totem
I love him dearly and I truly feel he is hands-down the best flute maker around these days.
We are working now on several designs for the PBS special based on the agri-cultural inspiration.
From the time that I started whittling down cedar with a pocket knife to make a flute to now, I believe that the path I was led down wouldn't have been the same without the aid, love and beautiful honoring of so many friends and acquaintances. I love you all and cheers.
All my love and honor to the men and women of the native flute.
Tell a wise person, or else keep silent, because the mass man will mock it right away. I praise what is truly alive, what longs to be burned to death.
In the calm water of the love-nights, where you were begotten, where you have begotten, a strange feeling comes over you, when you see the silent candle burning.
Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness, and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.
Distance does not make you falter. Now, arriving in magic, flying, and finally, insane for the light, you are the butterfly and you are gone. And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow, you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth.
~ Goethe
The original shot
Music from a Painted Cave was on tour for about a year before it ever got to PBS. We had just finished an album called Taos Tales and I wanted to create a show based around some of the music titles: Painted Cave, Skinwalkers Moon, Courtship Song and, of course, some of the old standbys: Medicine Man, The Dance, Hope.
I had been on tour with Peter Buffet's Show: Spirit and, at the same time, was road weary from the other show I did with John Tesh. At one time I was running with three shows which was a crazy, insane time, however. it was before 9/11. That was radically fun time for me, but... when has it not been crazy for me? Huh?
"I praise what is truly alive, what longs to be burned to death." ~ Goethe
I'm preparing for the next PBS extravaganza - Mirabal Music and Myth - which is scheduled for filming on August 30th and 31st at the Santa Fe Opera. It's a show inspired by the Agri-Cultural communities of the Southwest.
But, I digress, this blog is about the creation of the show Music From a Painted Cave. At the time of its release there were very few artists out there promoting contemporary native music on the level that I wanted to see. I felt that since my life was deeply rooted in that culture I could dabble with exploring other avenues of expression. It was a home bred company and the majority of my crew was from the Southwest. There was the making of crazy costumes, rehearsing, eating and finding new ways to move and dance.
The photo on the front cover was taken in Florida while I was working with the Spirit Show. I remember being in the studio wondering what shot would really solidify the show's name. PBS had seen me do two other spotlight shows and they asked my agent Art Fegan if we could do something that was uniquely mine. Producers, directors and the like came out to see a couple of shows in Taos. At that time we had a two and half hour show, but we were famous for doing three hour shows easily. We were young and gung-ho about our art.
In the calm water of the love-nights, where you were begotten, where you have begotten, a strange feeling comes over you when you see the silent candle burning.
The show was filmed in the Fox Theater in Connecticut at the Foxwood's Casino. We all got on a plane - The Rare Tribal Mob (an anagram for Robert Mirabal, in case you didn't know) - to meet up with the other awesome performers - essentially the who's who of the pow-wow dance world: Michael and Rebecca Roberts, Shannon Ahhaitty; Donetta Squiemphen, Terrance Littletent, Jason Daniels, Waya Dimalanta, and the beautiful Rulan Tangen who choreographed the Courtship Song with me. The majority of the them were hand picked by Boye Ladd, a well known performer and choreographer.
My crew was Fabian Fontenelle, Ryan Suazo, Dawn Mirabal, Michele Lee, April Winters, Sean Trujillo, little Aspen Dawn Mirabal, Eugene Holgate, producer and director Dennis Glore, and Joann Young. They had their hands full with a wild bunch of beautiful performers.
RARE TRIBAL MOB
My former producer Michael Wanchic was the Musical Director and he pulled his whip out immediately, along with audio Producer Mark Hood of Echo Park. The ensemble of musicians went as follows:
Reynaldo Lujan - tribal drums, percussions and vocals.
Estavan Castillo - guitar and vocals.
Michael Kott - cellos and vocals.
Robin Abeles Pfeffer - bass guitar and vocals.
Patrick Shendo Mirabal - flute, vocals, stilt walker.
Kenny Arnoff - guest drums.
Star Nayea - guest vocalist.
Kenny Arnoff, Me and Estavan Costillo rehersal
Now you are no longer caught in the obsession with darkness, and a desire for higher love-making sweeps you upward.
At the time of the show there wasn't that many people who knew about me and we were creating a new style of presenting. I had some years of theatrical background performing all over the world, however, this show had to have a certain edge of culture as well as an edgier form of Goth - a futuristic, vampirish, matrix attitude.
The drums, the customs, the musical form had to have an edge of desire for the preservation of art, as well as individual expression. I was out to take some heads and create something that had never been seen before to inspire audiences and performers and the rest is history.
In the spring PBS pledge drive of 2001 the film was released and the momentum was powerful all across the country - from New York to California. I went on a 30 city tour, touring PBS studios and raising money for them.
Skinwalkers moon
Stiltwalker Pat, me and baby Aspen
Painted cave intro
Giants dance, along with the women gifters
Distance does not make you falter, now, arriving in magic, flying, and, finally, insane for the light, you are the butterfly and you are gone.
This post is a bit odd, but it's also a pare of who I am and what I have become as an artist. I wanted people who aren't familiar with my past work to get an idea of my past.
We were on the second year of the tour when 9/11 hit. We were filling 1,500 seat theaters and we hit #6 on the Billboard World Music charts. Offers were coming in from many different organizations. We were an amazing company of young, crazy native performers doing a show that had never been seen beefore.
I had become a wild man of the road. A rock star. Losing faith in everything but the stage and the road. I would wake up and go down to the bar and someone from the company would still be awake working on some crazy antic. I once woke up on the 7th floor hallway of the hotel not knowing where my room was (it was on the 10th floor.)
I would lose direction in the middle of the night not knowing where the front door was, because I spent so much time in so many different hotel rooms. I didn't know what was happening at home or in the world. The only thing that made sense was the road and the backstage dressing rooms.
100, 1000, 10,000 people. "I'm tired," I said. So I went home and found the old shovel. I'm still recovering and often I have said, "It's a wonder I'm feeling as good as I am..."
I love you all!
There is no place like the ceremony of the stage and I'm proud to have been there with you!
And so long as you haven’t experienced this: to die and so to grow, you are only a troubled guest on the dark earth. -Goethe
I found dry flowers while cleaning Kona's room - something she collected and thought of long enough to save.
I drug my fingers across the pencil marks of Aspen's wall and I remembered her when she was a tiny little one - herself scraping at walls and eating crayons.
I found a leather purse full of stones and found objects stashed inside a book shelf in Masa's room.
I walk around this big house as the sun sets into the evening and I wonder what they are doing, what they see, what they eat.
I have a thousand questions:
Are they safe?
Are they warm at night?
Are they happy?
Are they smiling?
Are they lonely and wondering about me?
My wearied heart seems to ask way too many questions when the sun begins its journey away from me. Every day it bids me farewell and leaves me in this house as it heads in to the sea. Or so it seems.
I feel my fingers and remember when their whole hand fit my one finger, holding tightly as we crossed bridges and walked into the old Pueblo.
How do I worship memories wrapped in more memories? Can I be the dream sequence that finds the answer in a holy city so far away? I ask where contentment lies and can I join the lonely, barren forever-train boxcar that carries the uncertain fathers of old?
In the holy city of the house of sun and fire stone, fortune in the mountains in where you hide. I search for signs, struggling in the humidity - the cold, wet, misty rain and fog. I am lost. I cry to you. I hear your laughter losing its strength in the hollows of ancient walls and mortar.
My daughters, my daughters of love, where can you be? My angel wings have fallen on the wasting, fading floor of broken promises. I pick up my feathers and wonder, day in and day out, if I, like curious Icarus, can make it to the sun or will I unravel in the blind spots of the glaring sun?
I am humbled by the devilish time lapse and misconstrued distances.
Finally falling asleep with the last thoughts of your wandering tiny hands grasping at the unknown air; tiny fingers reaching up and up through the foggy hands of the Gods above the Andes.
Cocoa leaf dreams and the Goddess of the mountains and savage land said, "The only reflection of your Indian heart is your daughters, wherever you wake, she wakes with you, whatever you think you are, she lives inside you, she must be your religion, interpreted by love and not ignorance, never shrouded with clouds of poison impurities..."
I fall asleep knowing that they are safe and I always remember that they are for the world and not just for me.
Not just for me.
I give into the pain of separation, loss and doubt.
My heart trots toward blind faith and knowledge as I whisper their true names - my Masa, my Aspen, my Kona; my daughters of purity, love and beauty.
Finally they stood over me like angels in sunrise, these daughters of dignity and honor.
I knelt down before them, cried, and I thanked them for the wisdom, the fortune they've bestowed onto me. Only the pain of the lost, lonely jungle wrath can make you realize that to honor this separation of the miles is to feel the pain.
True fortune is to know the wisdom of letting go and acknowledging the painful heartaches and lost breath. True fortune comes from within.
So close I could feel their breath and see what they saw with every setting sun. A tear drop shattered on the dry ground and they slowly faded away.
Fading into the holiness of all the holy, becoming everything and sharing their inner beauty with everything that breathes and weeps and turns to stone, the becoming of the old and new all over again. They were me, they were you and they lived forever.
The daughters of forever sharing themselves:
Mirabal Sister's dancing the feather dance Masa 6, Aspen 16, Kona 11
I found dry flowers while cleaning Kona's room - something she collected and thought of long enough to save.
I drug my fingers across the pencil marks of Aspen's wall and I remembered her when she was a tiny little one - herself scraping at walls and eating crayons.
I found a leather purse full of stones and found objects stashed inside a book shelf in Masa's room.
I walk around this big house as the sun sets into the evening. Wondering, wondering, wondering...
I miss you but I'm strong, my loves. Whisper my true name.
"Bad seed is robbery of the worst kind; for your pocketbook not only suffers by it, but your preparations are lost and a season passes away unimproved." ~ George Washington
If our founding so-called father spoke of seed this way what the hell are we doing?
In doing this PBS special I've thought about the people I could include to be financial backers or supporters. One of them was a seed company out of the midwest (I won't say who, however, I've worked with his brother.) I had considered creating a relationship with him on the level of collaboration between indigenous tribes who have interest in agriculture and the development of seed banks that can help societies move into a fearless, sustainable farming practice.
But... I found out that he's been in bed with Monsanto - they supplied seed to some African farmers and some Indonesian tribal people in the spirit of: "We are the most strongest nation in the world let's help others less fortunate..." Needless to say, I didn't get in bed with them.
I'm gonna say it again Monsanto is killing our culture!
How?
In laymen's terms:
It gives and sells seeds that have a one season life span and so when you buy from them you're basically wasting your time because it doesn't help you. It's a genetically modified seed that can only grow once and the pollen that it exudes can go into other plants and basically kill them and now you're the owner of a seed that destroys other seeds.
Then, of course, you're forced to buy every year and what it pollinates it supposedly owns... I say, "WTF!" How? Somewhere, somehow they're mandating that, "anything that their seed gets into bed with, it owns."
B.S. I wasn't at that meeting! I didn't get the memo and I didn't agree to that. None of us did. How the hell can they do that? They have even sued farmers for cross pollinating with the strain. Welcome to Nazism. Welcome to the rise of the 4th Reich. Hail Monsanto? Is that harsh to say? You decide.
Welcome to the infested small pox blanket give away.
It's a seed with a vasectomy. A seed with a disease that says, " I will kill you and take you and all your family with you. You will beg for my seed."
Now do you remember what O-blah-blah-mah promised back in 2007 as a presidential candidate? He declared that
foods that include ingredients from genetically modified crops should be
labeled.
He promised as President, he vowed actually, that he would strive to:
"Let folks know
when their food is genetically modified, because Americans have a right
to know what they're buying."
I wonder what he is eating tonight?(Not his words.)
Obama-care? No, he doesn't care?
For those of you putting in gardens and farming plots for the family and friends this planting season, please look at labels.
Where does the seed come from?
Do you know the company?
Most big box store seeds are GMO and Monsanto driven.
Find local sources of seeds such as heirloom seeds that can be, and have been, passed down from one family to the next. Find resources online that can offer seed products that are GMO free.
You must think from the perspective of the 7th generation. What are you leaving behind for your children's, children's, children?
CALL ME! I'll get you some seeds - at least the traditional flour and legume seed that has been around for thousands of years. I'm not BRAGGING, but Pueblo people STILL have the supper seed!
And... so do many others like my amazing friend Ms. Susan Alina at:
Had a dream about the Devil sowing seeds and this is what he said: "Serve up fat portions of fear, guilt, and blame to render a tough man sad, weak and lame."
Satan sowing seeds
Sounds like our government, eh?
Don't fear the big company, the Big Man, the Eye in the sky...
The patterns of their behaviors show their methods and their weakness.
Our government is the slickest disguise of the most awesome living on earth devil you will ever find. It is founded on manipulation.
What looks and sounds clean is not necessarily clean.
The soldier has been lied to.
So has the farmer.
The Lovers.
The Patriot.
The slave.
The tribesman.
The mark of the beast is upon you.
If we give up now then we lose for our children and the reason I'm here along with my Pueblo brethren is because the big man didn't kill our forefathers and only the strongest and the smartest survived. I come from some bad ass stock - one of 2,000 and I will not let them take my seeds or control my future.
Keep your eyes open. The devil and legions are right behind you where the God of the United States has put them.
The best thing for us this spring is to plant and farm the seed that has survived all the insanity of our existence. In the end it will be the seed that will rule the people.
Masa says, "Just do it!"
COME ON PEOPLE!! Grow something, even if its hanging around your living room in a pot, it will set you free!
I love you all. Don't give up. Find the resources.
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