Dreams of Crazy Horse

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Tasunka Witko by Tasunka Witko.

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By David Glenn Cox
http://theservantsofpilate.com

All that was left was ashes in a bowl; the embers had died, the heat
was gone, and the buzz had faded away. The New York Post’s cartoon of a
dead chimp is a subliminal warning. This is their mindset; this is
their sense of humor, a shark fin in the water or a bloody victim on
the sidewalk. They have been debased and exposed to the world as
charlatans and snake oil salesman. So what issues are left for them
now? Taxes, the freemarket? Globalism? Flag amendments or gay marriage?

They
have become the defracted, fractured, marginalized, marbleized fascist
party of four. They are like a cornered animal, unappreciated John
Wilkes Booths, one and all. Dreamers dreaming of worlds past and worlds
future and dreaming of who they need to remove to put that world into
place. Lenin is dead, so they smile and shake hands with one and all
while they finger the gun in their pocket with their other hand.

It
was Crazy Horse who said, “The world that men live in was only a shadow
of the real world. To get into the real world, he had to dream and when
he was in the real world everything seemed to float or dance. He had
learned that if he dreamed himself into the real world before a fight,
he could endure anything.” Much like Plato’s simile of the cave, except
that Crazy Horse did not recoil from the light; he embraced it. He
could dance between the worlds and glean knowledge from both.

But
for most of us, we watch the shadows of the flames dancing on the wall
and accept it as true enough. We look across the oceans without seeing
the world beneath. It was all Madoff and Stanford, but suddenly the
talk turns to drunken foreign ministers from a country on the other
side of the earth and that becomes news. Laugh, Pagliaccio, dance,
sleep. The world is melting down so stay where it is safe and warm, for
I’ll not tell you that Nedda loves you no more.

Before the sun
sets tonight 6,500 American families will have their homes foreclosed
on, and tomorrow it will be 6,500 more. The stock market has lost 500
points in four days of trading and Americans are driving less than at
any time since 1942. In 1942 they didn’t have gas or tires because of
the war effort. In 2009, however, they don’t have money for the gas;
and even worse they’ve nowhere to go. The President proposes to save
America’s struggling mortgagers by letting guilt or innocence be
determined by the executioner on the gallows.

He offers not a
rescue but a mitigation. It's a Sigfried and Roy act, playing with
their kitties while unaware that the kitties have been dreaming of a
different world. Obama thinks these cats can be trained, with logic and
reason, to lay down with the lambs because it is just good policy. But
these cats dream, and they dream only of good eats. So it is a policy
of trying to train cannibals to become vegetarians by showing up alone
at dinner time with a salad and a bottle of steak sauce.

We
voted for change, and where we needed revolutionary change, all we got
was change in font or type size. As an enabler for the Wall Street
bankers on a lost-decade binge, he seeks to mend their ways with psalms
and salve while 6,500 American families are foreclosed on each day. We
needed Franklin Roosevelt and we got Neville Chamberlain.

The
reactionary forces will not cede power willingly; they can’t be
glad-handed or cajoled into doing what needs to be done. That infant
which should have been smothered in Reagan’s crib long ago now has
achieved maturity, and even as it looks back at the destruction in its
wake, it will never willingly give in. The conservative movement must
be slain; if not the Gorgon will return, angry for more blood.

We
must dream ourselves into the real world and realize that those in
control of this world blame us for its failings. They see us as the
source of its problems and value us only as a source of its sustenance.
We are just grist for the mill, breeders of its soldiers, and consumers
for its Wal-Marts. Mere eyes and ears to do as you’re told and believe
in only what they tell you to see.

We must claim our right as
heirs to a sound economic policy and a sane international policy. Not
change by compass points but change by direction. We need to save the
people and to hell with the banks. If you save the people the banks
will recover. We need a moratorium on foreclosures. It’s not just the
mortgage loans anymore, it’s the unemployed. What good are billions to
GM if no one can afford to buy a car? What good is giving Citigroup
billions if the credit card holders and mortgagees can’t make the next
month's payment?

Like the adversaries of Crazy Horse, our
enemies do not care to see us, or respect our wishes. They will take
from you what is yours as theirs without a second thought or pang of
guilt. They will take your homes and your jobs and even the food from
your children’s mouths. Even now they refer to it as some sort of
manifest destiny, of things that must be done to protect their own
livelihood and restore the economy. “Why, if we just do nothing,” they
say, “well then, in a year or two, or maybe three, the problem will fix
itself.”

Of all the men and women who have ever lived, fewer
than one percent have ever been to the shores of change. Change is
remote and abstract, but change is ours by divine right, and when the
sun shone on the fields of Runnymede what must it have felt like to
hold the sword to the throat of the king. To make the world bend to the
will of the people, to dream it into being. Few are granted the
privilege and fewer still are granted admission.

“There will be many stories of our times written, many forgotten, but they are none the less courageous for it.”

“A
very great vision is needed and the man who has it must follow it as
the eagle seeks the deepest blue of the sky.” - Tashunka Witko 'Crazy
horse'