if . . .

 Last night the kitchen breathed He stood there silver hair spilling light a beard of ash eyes mirrors turned inward burning through me. His mouth moved, words curling out like a snake, as if speaking to shadows, as if speaking to me. For a moment a flicker —  am I looking at myself?  — An echo from a future I can't hold. He reminded me of Stanislavski, how I remember his pictures, yet searching those images he was neither him nor me. He was something other, carved thinner older than time, newer than now. I wanted to stay or have him stay but was pulled away, unspooled from sleep. Still, if I hadn't woken, would he have ever been? Dreams need breaking to be remembered a word waiting on the tongue, a word held too long never finds its sound. ::Note:: ... taken from here 

...  retention of ceremony, language, teachings, and knowledge systems, that occurred before I was around ... face the really oppressive tactics to try to take those things away ... use strategies to protect those things, including hiding some of them, which is the most desperate things when you take things underground to say, we're just not going to let the sunlight see it because if we do, it might get taken away ...   ... regain knowledges ...restore knowledge systems ... restore understandings ... restore networks of relations  to re-foster all of the energy of our stories which didn't die ... tell the story  to counter the story that is being told ...  have the voice to speak ... actually, start positioning other ways of thinking and of being ... :: Note :: ... it is always time ... thanking Jesse Wente (on podcast  Commotion Boycotting American and the meaning of cultural...