The White Savages: Miracles of the Hawk Crosses

By Dennis A. Hooker

General George Washington directed his troops to "Break the backs of the Iroquois." The Senecas lost not one life during 6000 troops chasing 6000 Senecas. The Senecas knew a strong medicine - "aggressors cannot see clearly".

A intense yet burned-out minister conflicts, then bonds with and a brother and sister of the Seneca tribe in the woods of New York. This is a story of courage and faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dennis A. Hooker
• Release date: Jan 11, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452438054

Dennis A. Hooker

I am now an "old man". I have been writing books since I wrote a book of Science Test Questions under a NASA Science Foundation in the late 60's. I began working with youth in trouble - emotional, educational, "spiritual". I found a unique thing - "The most important subject to a person is THEMSELVES!" That began a series of self-discovery books that combined that theme with "And where do I then fit into what the world's needs and wants". This "Me and...series became state-adopted soft-cover texts and used by over a million youth from upper elementary to college. This led to the I Am Already Successful and I Can Manage Life series. Since then evolved another 15 books - including a novel (The White Savages - Miracles of the Hawk-Cross) that, to me, is the essence of my life - the "final solution" to who I am. In the meantime I was a Guidance Counselor, School and Private Psychologist, Hypno-therapist, Gestalt Therapist, Neuro-muscular Therapist (chuckle) boat and house builder (see my "Chainsaw-built Homes")a farmer, musician and a compulsive writer - now over 25 books. Among all this was a 1/3 century involvement with 12 Step programs - AlAnon and AA. My last book remains to be written - "How I Died As Gracefully As I Could - While Kicking and Screaming."

Book preview

White Savages

The Miracles Of The Hawk-Crosses

by

Dennis Arden Hooker

Copyright 2010 Dennis A. Hooker All Rights Reserved

I.S.B.N. 0-9679116-0-5

Published by Dennis A. Hooker at Smashwords

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dennis A. Hooker

Table Of Contents

Chapter 1 Leavings

Chapter 2 Encounters

Chapter 3 Awakenings

Chapter 4 Pursuits

Chapter 5 Movements

Chapter 6 Healings

Chapter 7 Confrontations

Chapter 8 Arrivals

Preface

This is the story of the personal searches and travels of two holy men whose lives are interwoven by fate. The first, Arden Lester, was a minister who left the pulpit after twenty-five years, two divorces and a past tryst with alcoholism. Flying Hawk, a Seneca shaman, had a vision that would draw him into the New York wilderness to seek the Source of the Light he had seen. Tumona, a beautiful Seneca woman, powerful yet flawed, would be the catalyst for their healings - coming full circle from doubt and despair to a sense of mutual destiny.

The last four years of the 1770’s was a time of new freedoms. It was a time of new bondages - the writing of the 1776 Declaration of Independence and the erasure of treaties and promises. It is soon clear that the savages were not the people indigenous to this land. With the ever advancing colonization of the new nation it became expedient to eradicate an entire culture.

General George Washington, following the direction of the greedy who wanted all the land west and south of the NE Territory, issued a simple and far-reaching directive - Break the backs of the Iroquois.

"The army of the powerless is weak indeed. Yes, it can overrun the world and seek an enemy. But, it can never find what is not there...thinking it caught a glimpse of the great enemy who always eludes its murderous attack by turning into something else. -The Course in Miracles

In the midst of this chaos were these three individuals who, while fighting their own personal battles, sought and found their visions of the way out of bondage - personal and as a people.

"At that point the leaders picked up stones to kill Him. But, He was hidden from them, walked past them and left . . ." John 8:59

The pursuit of 6000 troops against the Senecas for three seasons of 1778 became known as the War against the Fruits and Vegetables - that is all the troops could find of the Senecas. The Senecas became invisible" to over 6000 troops nearly three seasons in 1778

We apologize for the part we played in the cultural, ethnic, linguistic and religious imperialism that was part of the mentality with which the peoples of Europe first met the aboriginal peoples and which consistently has lurked behind the way the native peoples have been treated by civil governments and by the churches. Contemporary scholarship has established how deep, unchallenged and damaging was the native cultural, ethnic, linguistic and religious superiority complex of Christian Europe in its encounter with native peoples. Problems affecting native peoples, such as high unemployment, alcoholism, a soaring suicide rate, family breakdown, domestic violence and a general lack of self-esteem are not so much the result of personal failure as they are the result of centuries of systemic imperialism.

Canadian Conference of Catholic Bishops to the Native Peoples, 1991

Chapter One – Leavings

1779 - A Year Later

Wruff, wruff

Wruff! Wruff! wruff! wruff! went the sound with more insistence. Arden Lester sensed a dog. He felt quick, hot breaths on his face as teeth nibbled lightly on his arm.

Rrrrwruff!, again.

He opened his eyes to see a large, round set of deep brown eyes staring into his own - gentle, playful, curious eyes. The face carrying the eyes was reddish with rounded cheeks, fluffy eyebrows and full lips. The face was devoid of hair and whiskers. The teeth glistened in the subdued light. A giggly child, smiling from cheekbone to cheekbone, was leaning over his face. Again the puppy-child barked Wruff, wruff.

Wruff, wruff", emerged a sound out of the semi-conscious Reverend. The child let out a loud yelp and ran playfully out of the building as fast as the chubby little legs could go.

Arden Lester looked around. He was in a small space with hides hanging among beautifully woven blankets. Light peeked through walls of stout sticks and bark shingles. Arden Lester drew himself into a sitting position, the inside of his head whirling with nauseating consequences to his stomach. He grasped the room divider and struggled to his feet fighting the desire to lay back down. He was aware that he had been there a very long time. He was in a section of a rustic house fifty to sixty feet long. It looked and smelled like the living accommodations of many people, but he was alone. He walked and stumbled toward a low doorway covered by a thick bear hide. Shards of light flicked through the irregularly shaped opening.

The man pulled back the hide - a bright, blinding sunlight flooded his eyes. Stumbling, he grabbed for the doorpost, then felt gentle, yet firm hands on his arm. The face that went with the support had a caring and wonderful smile. The smile and eyes were set in a woman’s face - the most beautiful face Arden Lester had ever seen. Each new awareness of this handsome woman took his breath away.

The woman’s cheekbones were high, rugged and reddish. She had dark black eyes with regally-arched eyebrows. Her eyes expressed care and concern. Her lips were softly formed, with a slight pout. Long brown hair swept forward over her shoulders, past her full breasts. Arden Lester’s explosion of feelings shook his whole body. Such powerful beauty, he thought out loud.

She giggled, moved slightly away and looked at him. He could now see her doeskin coat and leggings embroidered with colorful beads and stones. Her boots were laced with leather thongs to just below her knees.

The woman was tall and straight, her laugh soft and gentle.

She beckoned him to walk with her. It was a strong command yet without force. She looked straight into his eyes to gaze without modesty and without blinking. She walked playfully, yet with the hint of a slight limp. Independent and yet cooperative, the woman led the pastor toward a log she had padded with a folded blanket. Arden Lester became conscious of the environment around this beautiful woman. It was idyllic!

A shallow, rushing stream cascaded over a series of small waterfalls ending in a pond in which five or six children floated their tiny birch bark toy canoes. Two women washed clothes by beating them on the rock. They sang and washed in time to some inner silent rhythm as they fixed their gaze with love on the man and the maiden. The children left the pond to gather in innocent wonderment around the man.

They giggled and mimicked each gesture he made. The puppy- child ran his hand over the man’s hairy arm emitting a Wooshish - the sound of how hair feels. Several women and children dropped seeds into fresh furrows. Their eyes never left the couple. The Indian woman held Arden Lester’s unsteady body by his shoulder, put her hands tenderly on his cheeks, supported his head in her palms, and leaned over to press her lips on his forehead. She then put her cheeks against his brow.

The man felt warmth spread from his forehead, down his face and to the back of his head. His neck warmed and a glow descended down his spine, flowing into both legs. His ankles and feet tingled with the juices of being fully alive.

He felt his eyes moisten. Tears trickled down his cheeks. He cried freely and openly. The maiden gently cradled his head on her breasts as she stroked the back of his head and neck. Her loving touch drew memories from his tears - joyful and happy tears - and sad and terrible tears.

A Year Earlier – The Reverend Arden Lester

An early sun filtered through the fog backlighting a beautiful stained glass window. Colored fragments of cut glass glorified the St. Peter hanging, as he died, upside-down . The oranges and reds of the fisherman’s robes cast their eerie glow on the yellowing Word of God resting on the pulpit overlooking the musty, prayer- worn sanctuary. The Book was opened to the passage, For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son ...John 3:16.

Chilled blackbirds darted from the tower chamber as the bells rang their morning call through the dismal, fog shrouded valley. On this holy day the birds flew earlier and with less chatter - as if sensing an omen.

The dark Anglican sanctuary, the design of an ambitious English builder, resonated with the sound of hymnals being thrown on the massive, oak pews. These aggressive, angry vibrations shook the music rack of the imported Canterbury pipe organ. This instrument, like everything else in this wooden cavern, appeared older than it really was.

A large, bearded man, peering over rimless half glasses into the shadowy pews shuffled down the stone isles and past the empty stalls. The minister’s top shirt smudged from the dust and sweat on the prayer books.

Reverend Arden Lester was tired. The flickering lights from the drip-stained candles reflected from the moisture oozing from the pastor’s swollen and reddened eyes.

At first glance the minister looked to be interceding for the weekly sins of his errant congregation - his sacred blessing of a pastor for the penitent.

But, this was not an ordained Son-of-God preparing himself to impress the congregation with the sanctifying duties of his ministry. The Very Reverend Arden Lester was alone. No sorrowful communicant observed this silent homage to God. His heart felt crushed, his soul was dying. No earthly person was present to be understanding and comforting. Arden Lester was a man alone with his Maker.

Arden Lester, the man and son of man, cast himself beneath the cold, damp altar, his forehead chafing the stone tiled floor, bruising his forehead, his chest heaving in uncontrolled sobbing convulsions. Embittered tears ran into his soaked and unkempt beard.

Ghost-like projections of St. Peter’s cut glass garments rippled across the undershirt of the penitent pastor. His sobs and moans reverberated from wall to wall of the cold, stone church. The Reverend’s muffled cries exposed a pained soul to a distant God - the God who was failing to hear and guide this distraught servant. A God, whose obligation it now was to provide a Savior and Salvation to His servant. A God, who, if He is truly merciful, would send the Good Shepherd to guide this lost lamb.

My God, My God. I need help! he cried.

Help me!

Journey Beginning

Four huge, well-muscled horses pulled the wide, wooden wheels of a large oak wagon through the slippery, muddy ruts of the New York road. Well-oiled harnesses strained against the load. Supplies shifted and groaned in the flat cargo bed behind the driver and his passenger.

The burly driver controlled the check straps with relaxed sureness. Heayhh-Yup, Yup, he instructed the alert team. He bounced on the springless seat in rhythm to the cross ruts carved by rivulets from recent rains. Damned gully washers. Damndest rain I’ve seen in the eighteen years of pulling supplies up and down these damned roads.

Damned, thought his silent rider. "Damned for leaving England twenty-five years ago. Damned for bringing a wife I hardly knew, and a just created blessed daughter, to a land promising ‘milk and honey’! A boy-child created on the boat, another soon after that. Blessed for having children, yet damned because their mother and I got close enough to bed, yet too distant to share life.

Damned now for leaving the pulpit and heading into this wilderness. These are the same forests that took my father’s life. He came to the natives as a Quaker. They taught reading and the love of God. They were welcomed because they chose to not change the natives to white ways. Father was a gentle, caring man - a gruff exterior, but loved and respected. I miss him, even after all these years. He was the source of much of my strength.

Arden Lester fingered the wooden cross - a hawk with wings spread ready to fly - emerging from the inside of the cross. His father carved this necklace for him before he journeyed from England for this new land. This finger-worn hawk-cross has strengthened him through his schooling, his pastorates and two marriages and comforted him when his father disappeared.

He cried softly. "Damned by the angels of God or hell to be in the ministry. Responsible for the souls of the world as my own slipped away. Absolving the sins of others as I created my own. Damn a world that promises family, happiness and contentment and delivers only illusions!

Sorry for the bumps, Reverend. Wheels ride the ruts and go where they want.

Damn the ruts. ran into the ruts years ago.

What’s that, Reverend?

Nothing. Thinking out loud. The minister reflected silently and pitifully. Making choices, decisions. I was no more making choices than these wheels choose to stay in the ruts - slide and slip. Slipping into despair and ruin.

Sorry about your wife leaving, Reverend. Never really knew her. The few that knew her talked highly of her. Kind of a quiet woman. Kept to herself. Many see that as a virtue.

Arden Lester thought with sweet-bitter memories, "Wife?

Which wife? The first one who discarded me thirty years ago, mother of our children? I was an immature, dreamy-eyed kid marrying a woman I didn’t know.. Committed to marrying her before our first meeting in the ministerial parlor. What strange dictates God reveals to those who direct the lives of theology students. How strange I was to follow their twisted teachings!"

"Of course, I would agree to marry her. Twenty years old and only with her in the school's dating parlor. I was bombarded with deep groin urges that bordered on sensual sin. God must want me to marry her. What else could those urges be? They couldn’t have been ignited by the glimpse I had of her thighs through her cotton dress the blessed moment she walked between the setting sun and my meditations.

Duane sang in a rough, pub-drinking voice, Roll me over, Roll me over in the clover and do it again.

How could I know these urges? No one was willing to tell me the inner workings of these sweet stirrings. God made the world. God made man and woman. Good or evil. Sexual passions transformed into divine callings. Oh, the wondrous passionate peaks and valleys.

Pee time, interrupted the carnal wagon driver.

The Reverend continued in thought, Stimulation in my britches on my swollen anatomy, reluctant to rise for the Dean of Women as she conducted her holy security checks of the dating parlor.

My best friend, back from summer vacation, confessed his sins to the judgmental faculty. His girl friend had nibbled on his ear. He enjoyed it and nibbled back. He later confessed to this transgression by