FOREWORD BY MARTÍN PRECHTEL

Excerpt

One of the beauties of Butterfly Against the Wind is how the camera that is usually used to capture and freeze into icons, images of the people of indigenous America or the pen of the uninvited conqueror who would surreptitiously sign away indigenous America and rewrite the facts to t the deed, are here in the hands of Jadina Lilien and Tiokasin Ghosthorse to the contrary letting everyone remember that the true indigenous soul of a people’s land cannot be captured nor held captive, and while you can force people out of the land and lifestyle they love, nothing can take away the love that the Land has for the people who truly belong to it. 

I grew up with Pueblo Indian people on a New Mexico Reservation. For them the Past was never in the past! Their Past was never gone or invisible. 

For them the “bad things” that happened in the past had nothing to do with the Past that was never gone. 

For them the Past is a thing of right now; it is the firm, healthy bone of life upon which the moving muscle of the visible present moment attaches and molds itself, continuously in motion toward another unique moment that will someday itself be the kind of spiritual past that holds up the eternal present. 

WORDS BY TIOKASIN GHOSTHORSE

EXCERPT

Gift of the Stars

There are 100 trillion cells that make up the body, and each cell has 100 trillion atoms, and each cell comes from distant stars of different galaxies from the unknown universe.

Therefore there is no word for 'human being' in the Lakota language and we have always called ourselves Wicasa. Wica is star and Sa is like a gift.

We are gifts of the Star Nations and in our creation story have always known ourselves as Star Beings.

The Land Remembers

Up until now, the history of the Original Nations of this land called America were hidden, veiled from the consciousness of the people who lived there.

Though, when you walk among the grasses along the coulee, and wade through the cattails listening to the thrushes, you often hear memories which are not so much of the past but of the future. The lands, Turtle Island, keep these memories and if you listen without imposing through, you can hear them.

When I was five years old...