Some have called me a rogue priest. They would not be wrong. The confines of conventional religions have confused me. I feel churches are overrated. The human experience is a fallible one. Corruption can and does occur in any organization of influence and power. The only way to truly know for oneself is to ask. Pray and ask and you will see the illusion of the world fade away and you will know the truth to the experience you are in called “life”. I am nothing without the Creator, and it is his errand I am on despite organized religions and their conflicting ideologies and actions. I have done things that I was not taught in a book. I keep my eyes focused on the light of the Savior, for it is the brightest light in all the realms of the deities, demi-gods, and idols. That is not to say they do not exist too; they do.
I am no saint. I have messed up. Having a relationship and rapport with the Creator is the only reason I am still alive. I was helped more than I deserved. I decided to come to Haskell Indian Nations University.
I immediately felt the sadness of this land. I was told the stories of the children who still remained on this campus. One morning, I heard a child’s voice say, “He is waking up!” Needless to say, I had a pretty good idea of what was going on here. These little ones had been traumatized and they were scared. In their mortal life they were ripped from their families and forced to assimilate into a culture that saw them as less than human. They were human. Ghosts are people too. They were still here.
I can feel spirits, but I rarely see them. Luckily, I made friends with a Pueblo girl who said she could see them. Through much talk and demonstration, I believed her, after all, what I have done is impossible to believe as well. The psychic girl mediated between the child ghosts and me. I spoke to them as children should be spoken to, with love. Children are the most special people on this planet. They are innocent and shine brighter than all. There is a reason Jesus Christ loved the little children especially. I asked them if they wanted to leave. I could not guarantee they would see their parents, but I could guarantee a better and brighter place where they could play and have more fun and there would be people who would love them. The home of the Father. The psychic told me most of the little ones said yes in excitement. She also told me that some of the older ones who had watched after the young ones were skeptical of me. They did not like men. I did not blame them. They had no reason to trust me. I asked the children where they would like the ceremony to be done. They said behind Osceola-Keokuk Hall. I found that strange because it is not a very reverent place. I thought the medicine wheel or the cemetery would have been their pick, but they had chosen and children are not easily swayed. I would return at three in the morning and ask for help getting these kids where they needed to be. I asked the psychic Pueblo girl to accompany me, but she declined.
In the witching hour, I took my eagle feather, Bible, and sage to the spot previously agreed upon. I prayed. I smudged myself and the area to prepare. I sang children’s songs. I asked for angels and ancestors to come and get these lost, forgotten, scared, and scarred children. The night was silent. Peace and calm hung in the moist air.
The next day the psychic came to me in a hurry and had exclaimed that she saw significantly less children than she usually did. It was validation that it had worked. She said the older spirits had stayed, but the majority of the children had left. I asked her to ask them what they saw. She did. She told me that all the children had run up a stairway of light. Led Zeppelin was right. I felt immense joy hearing this. I asked my psychic friend to communicate with the older spirits who were hesitant to trust me if they would like me to do it again for them. They said yes.