Joy Harjo

Don't feed the monsters...Some are sent to you deliberately. They come from arrows of gossip, jealousy, and envy- and inadvertently from thoughtlessness. They feed on your attention, and feast on your fear.

Because who would believe
the fantastic and terrible story of all of our survival
those who were never meant
to survive?

I have forgotten the reason, forgive me. I have forgotten my name in the language I was born to, forgive me.

I
study and read poems and try to put
myself in them.

What a wild dilemma,
how to make it to the stars on a highway slick with fear

All acts of kindness are lights in the war for justice.

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you
And know there is more
That you can't see, can't hear
Can't know except in moments
Steadly growing, and in languages
That aren't always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.

I wanted to see everything. It was around the time I acquired language, or even before that time, when something happened that changed my relationship to the spin of the world. My concept of language, of what was possible with music was changed by this revelatory moment. It changed even the way I look at the sun.

Someone accompanies every soul from the other side when it enters this place. Usually it is an ancestor with whom that child shares traits and gifts.

You have paid the cover charge thousands of times over
with your lives
and now you are afraid

you can never get out.

My father was more of a mystery. He lived most of the time in a farther-away realm more than he lived within the domestic universe of our home. When he was home from work, he moved through the house as if he were walking through water.

I adored my father and I feared him. When he'd lift me up to the sky with a laugh, I yearned to fly. I'd try, but I always disappointed him by crying out with fear of falling. He'd put me down and walk away. Later he'd pull me to his knee and circle me close to his heart. Despite the hurt that made him tight, I knew he loved me. And in the end, I was the one to help lead him through the door of earthly life to the other side.

You are a story fed by generations
You carry songs of grief, triumph
Loss and joy
Feel their power as they ascend
Within you
As you walk, run swiftly, even fly Into infinite possibilities

Let go that which burdens you
Let go any acts of unkindness or brutality
From or against you
Let go that which has burdened your family
Your community, your nation Or disturbed your soul
Let go one breath into another

Pray thankfulness for this Earth we are
For this becoming we are
For this sunlight touching skin we are
For the cooling of the dark we are

Listen now as Earth sheds her skin
Listen as generations move
One against the other to make power
We are bringing in a new story

We will be accompanied by ancient songs
And will celebrate together

Breathe this new dawn
Assist it as it opens its mouth
To sing.

I know I walk in and out of several worlds every day.

It was impossible to make it through the tragedy
Without poetry. What are we without winds becoming words?

Some of us did not make it. We carried their bodies far away From the cities and set their spirits free. This moment is for them — gives them nourishment Of our love to keep moving toward home.