By Michael Plante

I

Conviction is a gift that rises each morning.
For those of us that wake within the darkness
we stand in the pre-dawn to witness the eternal battle
between the light and the dark.
The Creator shows us
our coming plight.
To make ourselves ready to join the eternal battle
or fall to the wayside consumed by the darkness.

As the evening sky arrives
darkness consumes the blood of the battle.
Twilight asks of us to believe
that dreams of peace are possible.
And as the darkness crosses the land
each of us are required
to tender our fears for hope
as the horse of transition charges the celestial sky.

II

In the wake of adversity my people stand;
the churning dust blinds us;
distorting our eyes so they cannot not adjust
to the chaos that ensues.
We choked on the rising dust;
our lungs burn with a new fuel
called rage and despair.
With the stench of hatred in our nostrils
fury awakes
our spirits become alive
and we became as one.

This new world of chaos and anarchy
absent of peace and silence
pushes our limits beyond reason.
It asks us to lay down upon the ground
so it can rape our body and steal the land.

Compliance is not of our nature
our conscious cannot be traded.
Virtue is the blood that flows through our body
we are made from the hands of the Creator
forever married to the land we stand upon.

The new world lashes at our skin
demoralization and ridicule are traits of the weak.
They dance upon our bones believing they are Gods, 
if that is the best they can do
then we shall spit the seed of pity into the soil
and watch as disappointment grows.

III

Winter has arrived
A cold chill seeps deep into my body.
The children of the village surround me
patiently waiting for my words.
“Old Silver” they call me, a term of endurance I suppose.
Their fingers trace the scars on my skin,
which are a lifetime of trophies I’ve collected.

The youngest child points to a scar
silently requesting the story of its’ creation.
My warm smile silently conveys my appreciation
and into the story I go.

There was once a society of people
who had everything, yet they did not know it.
No one knows how they became so blind,
but I believe they held a hunger that could not be fulfilled.
Instead of looking inwards, they looked outwards for solutions
and it is for that reason
they left the home the Creator made for them.

For many years they roamed, searching for something,
looking everywhere, not finding what they wanted.
Living a life of disappointment
chasing the sunset but never looking at it.

Then one day they arrived upon a new world
the richness of the land drew them inward.
They had an insatiable appetite that can never be filled.
The more they saw, the more they wanted.

Never thinking that it was the stewards that made the land so rich
they killed them in masses.
They removed the hides and left the carcasses to rot in the sun.
The great buffalo, the heartbeat of our land,
was no more.

The spirit left our land
for without a heartbeat there can be no spirit.
Many of us tried to reason with them,
but they did not listen.
These people once astounded us
now we’re just disappointed.
Our skin is a reminder to them
of what they did to the spirit of this land.
So they tried to hide us away
pretend it didn’t happen.

When that didn’t work, they tried starvation.
yet we kept on living.
So they tried to take our children away
tried to make them white
but that didn’t work.
So they tried to seal our spirit.
They hung us from trees
strangled our women
beat and defiled them.
Nothing they did worked.
Nobody can erase what they’ve done
we are living proof of that.

So now you know what happened.
Now you know where we stand.
The Creator gives us what we need to survive
he also gives us what we need to fight back!
In a battle a warrior is without compromise
and that is how I was born.
Into the white man’s society I went
as a reminder of what was done.

First, they pointed at me
blaming me for their troubles.
I was the reason they were poor.
I was the reason they faltered.
Made them angry it did.
They held me down and bloodied my nose
so I got up and wiped it.
When I wouldn’t go away, they stabbed my back
put a deep wound into me.
But I am Cree, not so easy to kill.
So they try again.
Made them more angry when I wouldn’t go away.
They keep trying, I keep getting back up.
So they try something new, they pretend I’m not there.
Become blind they did.
Pretend everything is okay when it isn’t.
They try to make the night as light as day
So now they can’t see the stars that show them how to dream.

One night a vision came to me.
I see myself far away
On land so flat and so wide it takes my breath.
I see a buffalo spirit coming from the edge
So big I think it could eat the whole land with one gulp.
And from far way I see a line coming towards me.
Growing bigger.
I see dust rising into the air.
Growing bigger.
I see the new buffalo arriving back on the land.
I see the stewards come back home.
I see the spirit of the land reclaim what is rightfully theirs.
That is when I knew it was time to come home.

IV

As life is a gift to the Creator’s children
death is a gift to the warrior.
As the horse of transition arrives
I stand proud of the life I’ve lived.
Those that battle upon the field of adversity
forge themselves in the eternal battle
forever crossing the sky
bleeding their soul’s blood across the twilight
inspiring new dreams
and continued hope.

V 

I remember my prior life.
Old Silver they called me.
But here in the spirit world I am young again.
I stand as a Brave of Fortitude.
My long black hair flows like the cold north wind on a winter’s night
I feel exhilarated, renewed, refreshed!
I stand facing a twilight of the past.
As the horse of transition descends from the sky.

“Are you worthy,” a voice asks.
“I am,” I replied.

A silhouette of light from beyond resonates
a star from the night sky falls
dust from the ground swirls
as the horse of transition stands before me.
Totems from the houses of ancestors erect skyward.
They appear like black spears in the spirit world.
The spirit animals are alive
singing a ritual song to the Manitou.

“Your diligence is rewarded,” a voice says.
“You will live beyond the Happy Hunting Grounds.
Into the night sky you shall travel
as a spirit horse.
The people will see you as a symbol
and you will guide them as they dream
for hope spurs endurance
and that is what you are”

The swirling mass of dust and dirt
encompasses my spirit.
Voices scream like a howling wind.
All the children of the Creator
all that fought and died
become one.
My spirit transforms from man to horse.
My strength is my people.
My eyes cut the darkness, deep into the spirit world I see.
There is a thunder that echoes across the land.
It calls me forward towards a coming storm.
Turbulent skies of tomorrow will unleash a new pain
and I shall be there to confront the mass
left in the wake of adversity.

VI

Long time ago we had a foe.
Came across the big water.
Tried to kill us, tried to kill the land.
As much as we tried to reason with them
It was no use.
Can’t reason with something that has no spirit.
And something that has no spirit
cannot reason with something that does.
We tell our tales.
We whisper to ourselves the names of the spirit horses that cross the evening sky.
With our songs we remember.
With our dance we celebrate.
With our endurance we won.

END

It is estimated that 56 million Indigenous People died over a period of 100 years directly, or indirectly by the hands of European settlers in South, Central, and North America.
We honor those that have died by our stories, our songs and our dance.

Thank you for reading The Horse of Endurance.
Michael Plante