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Wounded Knee, culmination of centuries of death and sorrow, may I come to you? Sleeping in the heart of Unci Maka, the Ancestors stir, singing the old songs of the Oyate - a song of remembering. I see them dancing - the power of the Sacred overwhelming. Dreaming of you, oh Wounded Knee, I see the Baoruco Mountains, Sand Creek, Mystic, Bear Butte, the Black Hills and Big Mountain. I see the Buffalo and the deer dancing the dance of remembering. I hear the Eagles cry... You are remembered by the children, oh Wounded Knee - the mainstream blinded by complicit deceit, but there is power in the truth. Do I mourn? Do I grieve? Perhaps a little of both. But in my remembering, I rejoice for the strength of The People - through the ages; tormented and ignored; sought out for the slaughter. We will NOT die. We shall live, and see the Sun rising in the East - new beginings when the greedy have gone to their ideas of "heaven" or "hell". We remember the forgotten, for the forgotten live on in the heart of forever... 2011 by David Little Eagle
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