An Indian Odd Fellow In My Living Room

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I am an Odd Fellow in The Tribe of Individualism and America is my Great Spirit.

Most Americans and probably most people in the Western world, have no real concept of how secret societies have truly underwritten the architecture of modern day civilization for good and or for evil. Which is not what I’m really here to fulfill as an understanding today. Nope, that’s next week! This writing is but a mere peek into a facet of one branch and my own reflection within the workings of that group.

In my own humble opinion, The Odd Fellows, were one of the more charitable in the history of such societies, and were part of what could be likened to an offshoot program of Masonic traditions but were “friendlied” up to make them more appealing to a nation full of working class people. The Odd Fellows became part of what were called The Friendly Societies and they, along with others like The Elks, Knights of Pythias, Order of Rebecca, Order of The Eastern Star, Alee Temple and dozens, became charitable arms of the nation embracing many causes. They assisted in the building of orphanages, asylums, hospitals, schools, and so many wonderful things that in my opinion, were at the height of advancement until Robber Barons captured the American dollar and in so many ways, gave control of welfare over to the government. I will also write about this in coming days to highlight how this radical and yet, subtle changing of the guard was an abysmal failure and today we have the crime, the ghettos along with the hate movements of the “have nots” to prove it.

By 1910, The Odd Fellows were the largest of fraternal orders in America, with 5 million members and raising 100 million annually in charitable revenues. The Odd Fellows were comprised of workers, actors, comedians and quite the “odd mix,” hence their name and are credited with being America’s first insurance salesman and notably, were the first whites to institutionally harbor slaves and teach them to read and write. In fact, there were black Odd Fellows who were still slaves and all of that collaboration was dangerous to say the least but shows the heart of such organizations. Furthermore, we typically hear the conventional narrative of Harriet Tubman and The Underground Railroad, but what is strangely lacking is how the The Odd Fellows were greatly instrumental to the movement and helped organize the “tracks” for which slaves could travel. In such reading? The “safe houses” that are often discussed and the symbols built into chimneys that designated them as havens for hiding were homes of Odd Fellow members. Quakers too, but lots of Odd Fellows. In fact, some of the marks on the houses were the symbols of The Odd Fellows. Every now and again, you’ll go through a Southern town and can still find those symbols in the brick design of chimneys and exterior woodwork.

Respective of myself as a storyteller in cemeteries, one aspect that is of great interest to me is that The Odd Fellows were a part and parcel to new thinking about cemetery layout in The Victorian Era, working hand in hand with city fathers as far as where they would make sense to create and how they should function in times of pandemics and the processing of the dead. Many “Stranger Sections” were courtesy of The Odd Fellows for burying indigents and “persons unknown.” It was not uncommon to find an Odd Fellows Lodge in very close proximity to a Victorian cemetery in the period. And for those who are in the know about such things, a good many of the symbols found on Victorian headstones, stem from The Odd Fellows’ canon. Their motto was, “Visit The Sick & Dying. Educate The Orphan: Bury The Stranger.” My kind of people you could say.

In part what moved me to write a few things about them today was that I unboxed my 19th century “Red Race” ritual costume and hung it up on my living room wall. Complete with quiver and arrows, a traveling bag, medicine pouch with flint rock and starter stick and then a rather creepy mesh mask that is smiling adorned with real hair, probably horse. I’ve had it for couple of years and decided while house cleaning it was time to show it off.

Seeing this costume also recalled that in a time when people didn’t have much education, a part of the role of lodges, was to give their members an opportunity to role play in order to better understand other cultures, and to learn something of the history of the world, and how certain pivotal human events became part of America. And as The Odd Fellows were certainly very Christian in their operations, and probably more diversely than the actual churches near them, role playing was also a way of teaching scriptures and their deeper hidden meanings not revealed to them in churches. By putting members in the roles of Biblical figures and letting them embody a sense of what those people did as individualists, along with some of their ritualism, they could feel more participants in the mystical world than just “average Joe” as they were outside of the lodges. Most key is that The Odd Fellows believed in teaching respect for other races and cultures, or at least in the parts of them, like any, that were worthy of respect.

All of these reflections today spurred me to write this blog because whether or not most people see it, we are living in a time where very skilled politicians and dubious social engineers who with their millions and billions, are intent on hurting relations between people and using “racism” and “bigotry” as their buzz words to divide The Tribe of America. And yes, we see the spirit of that hatred taking root in so called “educated” people who for some insane reason, probably self-hatred, are happy to brandish those concepts of ill will as their own monikers and run out to do the dirty work of such nefarious souls seeking such ends.

I don’t expect everyone to totally process everything I’m saying here. These are complicated subjects and I won’t claim to be their greatest author either! I just know that part of the goal of America, by its own history of say, The Odd Fellows, has been about We The People as a “tribe,” working together to solve our society problems. And without a largely infringing government and us running to them for the answer to every little willy nilly or major difference we have had with others. Constantly pandering to them and their media really, is to empower them with guns and force. This will only be to the destruction of us all and all “human” customs. Its actually our differences that makes us so unique in America but we have to make ourselves more self governing in our lives and deal with our brother’s like fellow members of the tribe. My message really here is that The People must be their own government more than ever if we are to really survive as a nation, and quite possibly a planet. In many ways, we must disenfranchise the government by being greater people.

So yes, I’m an odd fellow in my views, even if I believe I’m just being traditional. It is my love and understanding of history that makes me think I’m onto something not so odd here and is definitively American. Funny what unboxing a collectible evokes in one’s self. Putting it up on a wall to admire for a bit. But this is why I collect such things. They are like my flint and striking stick in the battle to survive and keep alive what is so integral in the war now and the battles to come. Especially in a time when most arguments lack historical perspectives and facts which is why everything is so lopsided between people. Many days it feels the rifts are less than a “The Haves vs The Have Nots” and is really more of a war between The Educated vs The Uneducated. I am also wise to know that we have been dumbed down to be this way by these leaders and their shadow government movements. They only want highly emotional people embattling so they can push, prod and enslave. All while claiming to be doing the collective good of course. For those reasons, this Indian costume is woeful in some ways but it also strengthens my spirit. Because of it, I cannot forget that people before me suffered much and fought hard battles for freedom so that I might inherit their spirit and live and understand them and pass it all along to others. Or as Oglethorpe duly printed on The Seal of Georgia, “Non Sibi Sed Allis” He too was fascinated by the Indians but that is another story for another writing…

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The Warmest Cold

By Shannon Scott (C) 2015

I still covet this work as one of the best I’ve ever done. Long ago I met a person on my road to a higher self and learned much about visiting a world where I did not belong but fell for their Siren call. She was all 3 of them in one body. 

Click To Hear Shannon Recite This Poem

 

She was the ice queen.
A boreal beauty.
Bearing love formed by tiny crystals,
shimmering silver, red and gold.
Fracturing light into rays spectacular.
Storing the warmth of the sun in all her parts.

But only to a specific degree.
For ice is ice.
And some goddesses are frosty indeed.

Her ardent smile could freeze you solid,
but left your blood running lukewarm.
Her febrile words were a fireside invitation,
but to the inside of a frigid room.
Her burning eyes could melt you to a puddle,
but found you bathed by gelid water.
Her pyretic touch invigorated cold skin,
but leaves your love frostbitten.

Yes, the ice queen can only be warmly admired and never handled.
Her wintery land does see the sun pass and set, but there?
Spring and Summer are but seconds and not seasons.
Only what is born there can inhabit her artic domain.
Her kingdom is enchanting, but for warmer creatures life there only promises pain.

Travelers like thee will always be her curious.
Opposites attract as opposites will be.
Momentary fools maybe, but in the end, her destiny divides.
For she must find someone as cold as she.

For ice is ice.
And some goddesses are frosty indeed.

IceQueen

Heartlight by Shannon Scott

Click To Hear Shannon Read This Poem


Beating below the twilight,
not far from my nitelight…
– is the heartlight
I carry for you.
“It shines in the guise
of Egyptian sparkling
eyes”
Its glow, waking me for the
day.
Its beam my esteem’s
gleam.
Its cast, carrying me
through the dim.
Its ember my kiss before I sleep.
The sun inside of my dreams.
The moon inside of my night.
This is the song of my heartlight.

Imaginary Sleeping With You (by Gandre’)

Click To Hear Shannon Play With Words

This wasn’t written by me but a poet named Gandre from Germany. She used to have me narrate all of her poems as she said I sounded like Klaus Kinski. She was a strange bird but a mind blowing writer and poet. Scientific even. She always apologized for her English but had a command of it that few English could even match. Partly she wanted to know how her words were supposed to really sound together and so yes, she was using me. Sigh, my fate. We used to talk on the phone and she had an angelic voice and was just beautiful. But she rather liked having benefactors over boyfriends. Either the angels stole her back, a sugar daddy or the misty ether. All I have left is this funnily read poem by yours truly. I had fun adding sounds to the words and part so she could feel them in action.

A Love Note

Sometimes the universe will let me divine a little something on the human condition and I’m compelled to share it. Hope it touches someone out there…

A lesson on love. Even as soft as the human heart is, it has bones to protect it, yet even so, it remains vulnerable and exposed. Proof of your own love’s strength is knowing that even as much as we love someone, you cannot sacrifice yourself upon their ramparts. Which does not mean you do not love honestly, intensely, openly or whole. It just means you do not love tragically. This is the rub of life. We love so much at times we want to burn for someone, but to do so means the end of you. There is no honor in that. Only self sacrifice and no one is worth that, even if we love them beyond words. Love does not want pain in the end. It wants peace and joy and not eternal suffering and death. This is the real test of a strong person and where real honor lies. Those that love foolishly are really only that in the end, fools. So don’t be one. Grow and go live instead. ‪#‎CSLewis‬ ‪#‎TheFourLoves‬

 

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My Favorite You

by Shannon Scott (C) 2015
Click To Hear Shannon Recite This Poem

So many you to choose
So many you to know
So many you to admire
So many you to grow
The you that rises so early,
to make herself all pearly
The you that breezes the city
and makes hard work look so easy
The you that decorates, stays tidy
and keeps things so straight.
The you that wears things sassy
but keeps it all so classy.
The you that creates words of feeling,
and pushes poetry’s ceiling.
The you that brushes canvas,
and gives your soul’s color new compass.
The you that senses, sees, shoots,
and gives film unimagined roots.
The you that records ever word of every song ever heard.
The you that is there, gives much care.
while others just stare.
The you that plays, nurtures & defends,
one of man’s best friends.
The you that rolls and jams,
showing of one of the world’s toughest lambs.
There are more yous in you than there are minutes in a day.
There are more yous in you than this poem can’t help to convery.
With you, one is never bored with things to say.
You make art of yourself in every possible way.
My favorite you?
How can I pick?
Me choosing a favorite is almost sick.
Maybe the best is yet to be done.
But if I must, there is just this one.
Its my pet favorite and my secret crush.
The one I caught glimpses of and made my love blush.
Now and then I could conjure it with a joke.
Or if I said something wry.
When this you came it was so revealing and unshy.
All that was kempt, came unkempt,
and it would let fly.
High walls tumbled, muscles unrumpled,
and blood filled up.
From deep inside you this beautiful sound,
began to go eruptible.
Joyous noise completion and vibration uncorruptible.
Jarring was its witness.
But seductive none the subtle
Head rearing back, eyes gleaming lightning beams.
Tears welling up
Champagne bottles shooting streams.
Cheeks filling peak for the coming shrieks.
Lips slivering long, delivery ready,
for your heart’s song.
When it sprung on the air, it surrounded me,
and spun me like a top.
But so delicious to hear I never wanted it to stop.
When I felt of its causation?
I never felt such glad sensation!
I’d done something well in your heart’s nation.
Your body in perfection.
Your soul’s music a vexation.
Your spirit in its truest,
and suddenly on vacation.
Your laugh…
You. Laughing.
This is my favorite you.

Wellsprung Waxation

By Shannon Scott (C) 2015
Click To Listen To Shannon Read This Poetical Work

Ah, the delightful slope of heartwrench and accomplishments.

In which while sliding your feet reach the muck before the stable ground before your mind does.

Thus is life. Have minds like ours come to concur?

The fact that you’re just here is promising.

The prizefighter mentality has not seen too relinquish far enough to let that dark shadowy mixture that’s swishing in the back of your mind to claim grounds to your brain matter.

This is good.

Those abstractionary realists who tiptoe around society that suspects them to be stepped in cynicism?

Could in fact be holding the golden ticket to deeper levels of rest amongst outside clatter.

Perhaps rest came to you when you needed it…

My point is — that healing feels no rush for closure.

And while you’re being bumped or bruised as you continue sliding down or up said slopes of self acknowledgment and disparaging.

You’re not alone.

Consider yourself an experiment.

Reweave yourself with confidence that mistakes are a part of the purifying process.

Memory Maker

Copyright Shannon Scott (C) 2015
(Listen To Shannon Recite This Poem)

Oh Memory Maker…
Won’t you come take her?
Far, far from the memories we’ve made?
For then I might forget her
And we’d be all the better.
Once more resting in the shade.

For a half finished city was built towards a life of fun.
We stood together and named it “LUMUKU”* and life there had begun.
Scholars, artists and scribes ready to make art of it in the sun.

Then one day it all went away.
I woke up and found the city had been closed.
For repair or a lifetime of delay?
I do not know Memory Maker
For the sign she made did not say.
It just read, “Go Away Go Away!”
Leaving me wondering was it for real or had it all been a play?
I do not know Memory Maker for she has yet to say.

So I sit here idle, outside this shut down town of two hearts.
Oh worry not — Love is here with me, our old friend in these arts.
No truer two had been nor since found
Now awaiting the return of she their three.

Love spies me mumbling,
“We can all live together Memory Maker..”
“We were such good company..”
“You’ll see.. you’ll see.”

(Funny, all I wanted was to lay down beside her like some lazy spider and laugh for a lifetime flicking rubberbands at the trees.)
*LUMUKU = Love U Miss U Kiss U
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Love By The Numbers

By Shannon Scott (C) 2015

(Listen To Shannon Recite This Poem)

One lover is but one.
Two in a room, opens the womb.
3 perfects the “you and me.”
For love is the 3rd person.
Few are willing to see.
Love with only two, cannot be harmony.
Only egos, competing endlessly.
The 3rd must be observed, before the two can truly be true.
Number 3 must be honored, before there will be a “me & you.”
Two easily visible, but with persona in stirs,
3 goes neglected, true love suffers to be observed.
Ones are each vital, but three is the guide & will not be denied.
One and two, must turn to 3 to be free.
Bowing, smiling, asking for true epiphany.
Only then, can one and two be friends.
Love, the 3rd person, unites all ends.
Love is a triangle, with 3 sides to complete.
Love is the point, one & two must reach to meet.
Friendship foundation, arms joined high for trusting walls.
But without love as the crown, all 3 will fall.

LoverPyramid

The Media of Two

By Shannon Scott (C) 2015
(Listen To Shannon Recite This Poem)

The world waits on edge for vapid news shows and magazines.
Such fervor over the who’s who of being seen.
But my headlines are your texts on my cell phone screen.
Or your pretty voice on my answering machine.
In my world, this is the news that matters.
Not all of the ink paper and cyber chatter.
You’re my morning show, News@5 and Weather Report.
Broadcasting sexy information of every sort.
A face I can trust with words that are more than play.
My world gets swayed by your opinion and say.
Adding new insights into my world and day.
Who needs the boob tube when I’ve got you Jude?
Let the world stay lost with the web and newspaper clippings.
Exhausting fingers on keys and all of that channel flipping.
While they do that we’ll go margarita sipping!
For the news of us is much more all the fuss!
As the world makes wars, we’ll live like lovers!
Surely news of it will make all of the covers.
2IsAPair