The beautiful creatures...
all the beautiful creatures...
swimming, twisting, turning, hiding, playing...
there in the dark waters of this South Pacific lagoon.
I felt scared.
Large shadows loomed in the distant darkness.
My flashlight cast only the thinnest of light beams on the great
space.
The worms dancing in the water gave me the heebee-jeebees.
I knew some of the fishes were poisonous,
such as the little red one doing the undulating dance with all
its spines.
I tried to touch nothing,
Yet with my eyes, I sought to take everything in.
Then I heard the voices calling...
Angelic children's voices, calling...
Calling from above..
above that shimmering mercurial ceiling...
It was the children on the dock.
They asked me, in French, what I was doing.
I answered that I was looking at life
And, a little cold after two hours in the water,
I came ashore and met the people of the Pihaena lagoon.
I saw their signs,
I learned their legends and their lifestyle,
I have eaten their food,
received gratefully their medicine and care,
and likewise shared mine with them,
I have lived with them in their camp and in their homes.
They live with big hearts.
They told me how, long ago, others came to their land
and asked
"Who owns this land?"
and then "Where is your deed?"
And soon deeds were written by these others,
and the people found that they had title to only a small portion
of what had been theirs.
This is a story often repeated around the globe.
Now, again, it is happening. Again.
This lagoon has been lived in and loved for generations past.
This people now find that these others,
with their mountains of paper and their written deeds,
have once again taken away their simple, sacred and paperless
ownership.
All this with the assistance of a government sworn to protect the interests of all the people...Ha!
Let this poem be their deed.
A rough draft that says:
"Here is our heart. Do not tread here."
Charles Olson
March 2000