Vision of the Black Robes

Night came with a silence deeper than any Jerico had known. He remembered exploring caves in the Black Hills where some said Crazy Horse was secretly buried. He remembered a silence that was not the same as the absence of sound. This was that silence magnified. It was the silence of a full moon, a silence of light, the living forest or a still wind. It was a silence that heightened his awareness and announced the arrival of his vision.

He looked to the east at the caw of a crow, his friend and spirit guide the crow, who had long guided his path but had not appeared at his fire until now. He looked beyond the nearby mountains, beyond the desert and the open plains, beyond the great river and the forest to the endless sea, until he found his friend the crow. He appeared as a fly on a kitchen wall, a speck of black in a sea of blue, and as he watched he saw that the crow was moving toward him, growing larger with each flap of his wings; and as he watched he saw that the crow was no longer a crow. He was a man wearing a long, flowing black robe, his arms outstretched to resemble wings, his eyes beneath his pointed hood invisible to the light.

As the black robe set foot on the land that the white man christened America, two more black dots appeared in the sea of blue, and behind them four more, and behind them eight, and behind them sixteen and so on until it seemed an endless wheel, and there would be more black robes than any land could bear.

Jerico saw that the land was pure, the forest untouched, the hunting grounds rich, the air and water clean. It was the beginning time before the wasichu, before the machines, when the two legs bowed to the earth, the stars and the moon. It was a time when no man challenged the sacred majesty of mother earth.

The black robe came and laid waste to the land. With fire and pestilence he cut a trail of destruction through the endless forest so that the black robes behind could see and follow. Two more trails appeared, then four, then eight, like an army of ants devouring a carcass, destroying all until the forest that was, was no more, until only a skeleton remained.

The people of the earth knelt before the black robes and offered their hands in friendship but when the black robes took their hands or crossed their foreheads with holy water, the people fell like lambs at a slaughterhouse and the black robes whispered in their dying ears:

Do you take Jesus as your lord and savior?

The black robes gathered at the great river, turning back to see what they had wrought. Smokestacks sprang from the earth at the wave of their hands and white crosses marked the land. Another wave and armies came forth with guns, cannons and weapons of vast destruction. Wars were fought and the land that was once a forest was made fertile again with the blood of the fallen.

The black robes were pleased but they were not satisfied. They turned to the west and looked out upon the open land, the vast deserts and mountains rich in gold, silver, copper and iron. They looked out upon the Great Plains, the endless waves of grain, herds of buffalo, and the untouched peoples who still worshiped the mother and honored animal spirits as if they were brothers and sisters.

So the black robes continued their march westward and as they crossed the plains, the buffalo fell as stones dropped from the sky. White men followed, stripping them of their skins, leaving their bodies for vultures, coyotes and worms. Soon there were only bones and the black robe followers gathered their skulls and stacked them high as the tallest mountains.

The black robes said to the people: Behold the power and the glory! Bow down before our holy father or join your buffalo brothers!

The people were frightened for they had seen the railroads, the long guns, the cannons and the guns that shoot many bullets and they knew the heart of the wasichu held no mercy. Many bowed down to the black robes and received their blessings. Others shuffled their feet and looked to their brothers for guidance.

One man never wavered. A pale faced Lakota warrior and spirit guide, the people looked to him with respect. They saw in his eyes that he would never bow to the black robes or to their wasichu God. The people saw this and gathered around him, whispering his name: Crazy Horse. He spoke for all who refused to bow.

"You have killed many buffalo," he said, "but you have not killed all. They have gone to a place where you cannot follow. When you are banished from our land, they will return. As it is with the buffalo, so it is with the Lakota."

He climbed on his white Appaloosa and rode into the Black Hills, his people behind him. The black robes fell silent and made no move to follow. They were afraid of this man for he alone knew their secret: a people cannot be conquered without their submission.

The vision faded and Jerico returned to his fire, where he was greeted by the crow. He sat quietly as the crow became the raven and the raven became a man shrouded in black robes with hidden, invisible eyes. He lowered his hood, revealing the face the white man knows as Jesus, the perfect white Jesus with blue eyes, the likeness that hangs on the walls of the black robe places of worship.

For he so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son.

The black robe warmed his hands by Jerico’s fire and his face began changing, transforming from one to another in rapid succession. Jerico recognized Washington the Indian fighter, Jefferson the slave owner, Jackson the betrayer, Roosevelt the buffalo hunter, Johnson the Vietnamese killer, Hitler, Stalin, Goering, Nixon and Kissinger. He understood that this was the killing spirit of the wasichu.

The black robe returned to the face of Jesus and smile beneficently. "What you call the killing spirit is not the great evil you imagine it to be," he said. "I prefer the name of progress for it carries the weight of inevitability. You cannot fight manifest destiny any more than you can push back the tides."

Jerico listened as he would to an elder for there was much to be learned.

"What if the wasichu had been kind and gentle?" the black robe asked. "Would that have stopped them from spreading over the land, killing your people with kindness and disease? The white man has built a great nation, the greatest power on earth. They welcome you to their family, to share the wealth, to live in comfort and peace. They give you medicine and technology. They promise you freedom. They only ask that you live as they do, that you give up the old ways, that you lay down your arms and give up your hatred. They ask only that you take their faith, their God, their holy father, the blood and the body of Christ into your hearts. Is that really too much to ask?"

"You have taken our land," replied Jerico. "You have raped our mother. You have killed the buffalo. You have fed your poisons to our father. In exchange, you have given us sheds to live in, alcohol and gambling. We give, we surrender, but it is never enough. The killing spirit always wants more. After you have taken our hearts, what then? Would you ask for our souls?"

"Your people," said the black robe, "will follow you. If you refuse to bow down, they will suffer. If you agree, if you give yourself over to the power of Christ, they will prosper. This is the choice you face."

Jerico looked to the sky where the hawk circled four times and flew to the west. In the distant clouds, he saw the white buffalo.

As it is with the buffalo, so it is with the Lakota.

"You are not the one called Jesus," he said, but as he turned, he saw that the wasichu killing spirit was gone. He had already received the answer of Jerico Whitehorse. He would not bow down. He had chosen the red road, way of the Lakota.

JACK RANDOM IS THE AUTHOR OF GHOST DANCE INSURRECTION (DRY BONES PRESS) AND THE JAZZMAN CHRONICLES (CROW DOG PRESS). SEE WWW.JACKRANDOM.COM.