The language is in the story. The story is in the language.

I replay the words in my mind. The ones I have. The few. I make up an introduction. A greeting. I repeat. Repeat. Repeat. It echoes down. Hollow empty into some far away cavern.

I can feel the barriers in my mind. The chains of assimilation weaved with such intricacy, billions and beyond of cables and wires and nerve endings twisted and connected and firing one into another.

I had a dream in the language. It was as simple as breathing. The work of manifesting dream into reality is somewhere between learning to swim and learning to breath underwater.

The Ease of English. The numbing narcotic ease of the english world. The blaring, demanding white bleating bleach. The tsunami of language and culture that is swallowing up the whole world.

Go with the wave. Go with the flow. Go with the wave. Go with the flow.
Go with the wave. Until we are all washed away.

I've come to understand the complexity within the few words that I have. A mastery of Tansi would be an accomplishment. It is "Hello" and it is "How are you?" It is inflection and connection.

I smoked fish this week. I am idle no more and continue to seek out and practice our oldways wherever possible.

I was repeating my words and I paused on Fish. My mother had told me in a story and as the story unfolded the word Kinehsayou came quickly. Embedded in the story.

The language is in the story. The story is in the language.