The story fire was lit, and it soon began to hold the darkness at bay. The face of the wise elder soon came into view against the backdrop of the cold but crisp and clear night sky. Everywhere the tall trees stood watch over the last of the tribe, like sentinels sent down from Heaven with orders from the Great Father to stand watch over them. It had been three years since a Cherokee had dared shoulder weapons in defiance of the white government. These five were the last of their tribe who had not agreed to be penned up in a reservation and live the white man’s way, although they knew it not.
A father and his three sons cast a forlorn gaze to the eldest and wisest of their remnant. For years they had lived a hand to mouth existence, for everywhere they went they were not wanted. White men were fearful and suspicious of them, as if at any moment they would burst into wildness and start slaughtering their children and taking scalps. Red men were too frightened of drawing a watchful white gaze to have anything to do with them. They were tired, they were hungry, they were lonely, and they could never hope to pass on their way of life. Once they finally collapsed, their particular species would be extinct forevermore.
In his wisdom, the elder knew what his tribe needed to bear up under the heavy burden. It was a story, for the story makes real the longings of the soul. The story brings to light that which dwells in the darker realms of one’s being. It is that which leads one to look within and find the light of the Great Father to illuminate the way through the wilderness. The tribe came to their elder with questions.
“Father, why does the white man hate us so? Why does he fight with us until we cannot go on and must lie down before him? Why is it so important to keep the Cherokee ways from passing on into the spirit realm? Has their time not passed? Why is it that you say this is worth paying any price, even if it is our own lives?”
The elder drew in a deep breath. His son had asked a valid question that he, as the tribe’s guardian of wisdom, was obligated to answer, even if it was beyond his ability to do so. He looked up to the Heavens, towards He who created wisdom, and then he looked back down to his family that he might share his prayer with them.
“My son, the white man is not so different from you and me. They, too, come before their Father with questions and seek that which is right and good. However, while we seek only what is right for the Cherokee, they seek to impose their right upon the whole of the world. We, the Cherokee, live surrounded by life and we learn from Creation. We know that just as the way of the bird is not good for the badger, neither is the way of the white man good for the Cherokee. They, however, have built a dead world that has blinded them to the ways of life. So, they have taken up the ways of death.
“The white man has a saying, ‘The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.’ The best and truest friend I have ever known was a white man. He was a great seer of visions. He spoke with the Great Father and returned from Heaven with stories of such wisdom that he inspired an army of followers of many colors and stations in life to shoulder heavy and terrible burdens and follow him. He, too, followed the path of the story fire, but in the end, he lost his way...”