free leonard peltier

Leonard Peltier at Leavenworth. 6/92 ©Jeffry Scott


sight of your cities

pains the eyes of the red man.

But perhaps it is because the red man is

a savage and does not understand. There is no quiet

place in the white man’s cities, no place to hear the leaves

of spring or the rustle of insects’ wings. Perhaps it is

because I am a savage and do not understand,

but the clatter only seems

to insult the




Indian prefers the

soft sound of the wind darting

over the face of the pond, the smell of

the wind itself cleansed by a midday rain,

or scented with pinon pine. The air is precious

to the red man, for all things share the same

breath — the animals, the trees, the man.

Like a man who has been dying for

many days, a man in your

city is numb to the



Chief Seattle



obama, free the body

and beautiful soul

of leonard



note to self & others

hookipa maui brian browne walker


is an absolute necessity

for anybody today. You must have a room,

or a certain hour or so a day, where you don’t know

what was in the newspapers that morning, you don’t know

who your friends are, you don’t know what you owe anybody,

you don’t know what anybody owes to you. This is a place where

you can simply experience and bring forth what you are and

what you might be. This is the place of creative incubation.

At first you may find that nothing happens there.

But if you have a sacred place and use it,

something eventually will



Joseph Campbell





The road seen, then not seen, the hillside

hiding then revealing the way you should take,

the road dropping away from you as if leaving you

to walk on thin air, then catching you, holding you up,

when you thought you would fall,

and the way forward always in the end

the way that you followed, the way that carried you

into your future, that brought you to this place,

no matter that it sometimes took your promise from you,

no matter that it had to break your heart along the way:

the sense of having walked from far inside yourself

out into the revelation, to have risked yourself

for something that seemed to stand both inside you

and far beyond you, that called you back

to the only road in the end you could follow, walking

as you did, in your rags of love and speaking in the voice

that by night became a prayer for safe arrival,

so that one day you realized that what you wanted

had already happened long ago and in the dwelling place

you had lived in before you began,

and that every step along the way, you had carried

the heart and the mind and the promise

that first set you off and drew you on and that you were

more marvelous in your simple wish to find a way

than the gilded roofs of any destination you could reach:

as if, all along, you had thought the end point might be a city

with golden towers, and cheering crowds,

and turning the corner at what you thought was the end

of the road, you found just a simple reflection,

and a clear revelation beneath the face looking back

and beneath it another invitation, all in one glimpse:

like a person and a place you had sought forever,

like a broad field of freedom that beckoned you beyond;

like another life, and the road still stretching on.


David Whyte