It’s a speech delivered by Chief Sealth, or Seattle, to his native Duwamish indian tribal assembly in 1854 in the Pacific Northwest.

…

The Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land.

The Great Chief also sends us words of friendship and good will. This is kind of him, since we know he has little need of our friendship in return.

But we will consider your offer. For we know that if we do not sell, the white man may come with guns and take our land.

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? This idea is strange to us.

If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing, and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the read man.

The white man’s dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us.

The perfumed flowers
are our sisters;
the deer, the horse, the great eagle,
these are out brothers.
The rocky crests,
the juices of the meadows,
the body heat of the pony, the man -
all belong to the same family.

So, when the Great Chief in Washington sends word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us.

The Great Chief sends word he will reserve us a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us.

The shining water that moves in the streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you our land, you must remember that is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water’s murmur is the voice of my father’s father.

The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers are our brothers - and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

The red man has always retreated before the advancing white man, as the mist of the mountains runs before the morning sun. But the ashes of our fathers are sacred. Their graves are holy ground, and so these hills, these trees, this portion of the earth is consecrated to us. We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his fathers’ graves behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, he does not care. His fathers’ graves and his children’s birthright are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother, the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

I do not know. Our ways are different from your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes of the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand.

There is no quiet place in the white man’s cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves in the spring or the rustle of the insect’s wings. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems to insult the ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whipporwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand. The Indian prefers the soft sound or the wind darting over the face of a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleansed by a midday rain or scented with pinon pine.

The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, that the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And the wind must also give our children the spirit of life And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where even the white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow’s flowers.

So we will consider your offer to buy the land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition: The white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.

I am a savage and I do not understand any other way. I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and I do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive.

What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, men would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts soon happens to the man. All things are connected.

You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of our grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

This we know. The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected.

Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man does not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.

But we will consider your offer to go to the reservation you have for my people. We will live apart, and in peace. It matters little where we spend the rest of our days. Our children have seen their fathers humbled in defeat. Our warriors have felt shame, and after defeat they turn their days in idleness and contaminate their bodies with sweet foods and strong drink. It matters little where we spend the rest of our days. They are not many. A few more hours, a few more winters, and none of the children of the great tribes that once lived on this earth or that roam now in small bands in the woods will be left to mourn the graves of a people once as powerful and as hopeful as yours. But why should I mourn the passing of my people? Tribes are made of men, nothing more. Men come and go, like the waves of the sea.

Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all; we shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover - our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land, but you cannot. He is the God of man and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. This earth is precious to Him and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. The whites too shall pass - perhaps sooner than other tribes.

But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man. That destiny is a mystery for us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.

Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say goodbye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we agree it will be to secure the reservation you have promised. There, perhaps, we may live out our brief days as we wish. When the last red man has vanished from this earth, and his memory is only the shadow of a cloud moving across the prairie, those shores and forests will still hold the spirits of my people. For they love this earth as the new-born love its mothers’ heartbeat. So if we sell you our land, love it as we’ve loved it. Care for it as we’ve cared for it. Hold in your mind the memory of the land as it is when you take it. And with all your strength, with all your mind, with all your heart, preserve it for your children and love it … as God loves us all.

One thing we know. Our God is the same God. This earth is precious to Him. Even the white man cannot be exempt from common destiny. We may be brothers after all. We shall see.

[I'm typing this straight out from the book "Thinking Like A Mountain - Towards a Council of All Beings" by John Seed, Joanna Macy, Pat Flemming and Arne Naess. I figured this should be ok since the speech is made more than 150 years ago. The overwhelming reason to do this, is that I felt that Chief Seattle's message is, more than ever, relevant today - after one and a half centuries, his wisdom shines through and leaves me with a deep sense of regret and at the same time, an impetus to do something about it .]

What I’m doing with Tiny House of the Heart (Thoth), the ‘bookstore’, is potentially a new-new thing.

I like to read, just as you might like to cross-stitch, take pictures with a DSLR camera, or build water pumps to water the hydroponics vegetables. It the ’something’ that we are passionate about.

After a while of doing, you begin to yearn for company. So you start telling your friends about your pieces, and even go so far as to recommend them to sink $1,200 so as to go take pictures with you on Friday afternoons.

In my case, with books, I started looking at how people buy books and discovered that major retailers missed out one big thing - recommendation. When you go to Borders or Kinokuniya, you get tens of thousands of titles grouped into broad categories and people who can help you find the book, as if you ‘already know’ what is it that you want.

Every one of us knows exactly what we’re thinking about, what is it that we’re on to. What we do not know is that there is a book about that thing out there already. I believe this to be the main reason why many don’t read.

There is a huge niche and potential here, I thought. There are many people who want to cook, as many would want to understand their children, and just as many would be contemplating about life.

The twist is that you cannot stretch and cover all of these niches, because you basically become another major retailer.

The trick is to be small, even tiny.

Thoth is a tiny bookstore for people who want to find out who they are, their spirits and passions, their hearts and soul, their creative potentials, and their search for meaning.

In time, my living-room-of-a-bookstore will be an address that strangers would walk in and spend a day reading a good book. And since we all have the same vibrations, a group will take form, then a community. I think that will a good thing.

And in the meantime, I will make a little profit from the books sales to pay off the rent and replenish the coffee counter

After all, what I really want is to meet and talk to more people, not the astronomical (relatively) profits of a big book retailer.

This took till 6am on Wednesday. The problem is with Ikea. They have like 10 ranges of shelves, ok, my budget only allows the 3 lowest priced ones. It’s the layout - how can I balance 3D-whitespace with enough storage for a sizable little store? Anyway, that’s what kept me up all night.

Here are some of my personal favorites of the now-finalized floor plan:

1. Private reading armchairs at the end of each aisle.
2. Two reading spots by the main window
3. Counter-top with bar stools for, ahem, smokers (there’s a roller blind that you’ll need to lower so it doesn’t bother the rest)

Right now, I’m only expecting friends to visit the joint so there’s absolutely no worries about the place being too jammed. It was good to start doing this without thinking about money. And as far as Thoth’s operations goes, the bulk of whatever I can scrimp and save goes to buying new titles!

When your eyes are tired
the world is tired also.

When your vision has gone
no part of the world can find you.

Time to go into the dark
where the night has eyes
to recognize its own.

There you can be sure
you are not beyond love.

The dark will be your womb
tonight.

The night will give you a horizon
further than you can see.

You must learn one thing:
the world was made to be free in.

Give up all the other worlds
except the one to which you belong.

Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet
confinement of your aloneness
to learn

anything or anyone
that does not bring you alive

is too small for you.

David Whyte
House of Belonging

I didn’t like the noise in the city, preferring the crickets’ emsemble sprinkled with the distant dog’s barks of approval. I simply cannot stand the artificial pounding and driving anymore, not even the Doppler’s swish of cars. I know I have to get out of the ‘city’. But, alas, I live in a country that is also a city. However, I’ve got my supporters - guardian angels who love me and are going to LOVE what I’m going to do next. So, they brought 113 Jalan Hitam Manis to me.

Jalan Hitam Manis - literally will be my ’sweet dark street’. It’s where I will continue the quest to find my soul - a quest Thomas Moore says will take me into the dark nights. It’s a trip that one makes on their own. Well, you’re not really alone because your guides will show up. Jalan Hitam Manis, the street where the nights will be sweet.

There will be 3 rooms on the upper floor. Two will adjoin a quaint balcony. I’ll settle in one. My own room. And in the other, the guest room, which I’ll use for the hypnotherapy sessions. In the third room, facing back, I’d move Spiragram there if the landlord approves my Home Office scheme application. There is one bathroom on the mezzanine level. No more lower body privacy for me then, but I guess I can live with that, just need to get a big comfortable bath robe to spare the rest.

On the ground level, there’s a fairly big living room where the conversations will take place. I’ll have to come up with a layout plan that ferments them. A place where a stranger walks in and immediately feels at home. A Singaporean stranger, but not your typical HDB layout of course. There are things that transcends cultural and ethnic barriers that oozes ‘home’. I have to nail that down. And it’s not that hard, I tell you. If I were to use my head to think and plan this, it will be impossible. But now, I’ve learn to use the faculties of my Heart - the better brain - to achieve this. There’s this quiet confidence in me that tells me I can do this by walking around, visiting 2nd hand shops.

The kitchen is bare, and white, featuring a nice-size store room. I think I’ll set it up professionally, with 2nd hand equipment of course. But it’ll be my kitchen and I’ll bake, cook and brew sweet java with it.

Ah, the gardens are next. That’s what made me sign up for the place. The previous tenants did a good job with them and I intend to keep all of it. It’s a good thing the timing of the viewing was before they level them to make way for cement. I want to add a couple of fruit tress in the back. How good if there’s a breed of apple trees that can grow in our climate. If not, mango trees will be it. And from there, mango crumble! No one has done it that way before and it’ll be great. I’m also thinking of carpet grass. I love carpet grass, they feel so much cleaner to lie on to enjoy the sun and read. Rusty will like it too.

Rusty, my yet-to-be adopted Labrador Retriever. I’m calling it Rusty for now. No good reason, just that I figured that’s what its coat color will turn out to be. And ‘Rusty’ sounds amiable, calm and friendly. I hope to meet Rusty as soon as the time is right. And yes, Rusty gets his own privacy in his own doghouse, which I’ll built. Speaking of which, I got to remember to look this up online.

I don’t know about you. But if I know someone who has a place like this, opens it for people to visit, plays classic jazz and serves donate-only beverages and pies, I’d definitely hang there. It’ll hold only 4-5 groups of 2-3 friends. But Singapore is a small and pragmatic country, I think this should be enough.

When I was tinkering with “Tiny House Of The Heart”, I was a little concerned with how ‘cute’ it sounded. I am not cute (at first glance). But the reasons to call my new bookstore “Tiny House Of The Heart” are so much more than important than this.

In the past couple of years, I had the good luck of chancing on a number of books that really touched my heart. I was exploring a new kind of lifestyle and along the way, I had to cross the ‘aloneness’ bridge. With so much time on my hands, I started reading profusely. Out of possibly more than 100 titles, I discovered this collection that is simply magical. I call them the Soul Books.

Books for the soul calm you down. They take you away from the material concerns of the world - your no-longer-fulfilling job, your strenuous relationships, your dwindling bank account and perhaps even your waning sense of security. Soul titles take you to another world, not here, yet uncannily familiar, like it’s a long lost past from a fragment of your fondest memories. They make you realize, that after all, you are so much more than your job, title, social role and wealth. That you are not a number.

As I read these books, I found myself more open to matters of the heart. My colleagues tell me I changed. Friends tell me I’m less dominating. And I begin to smile more. All this not because I’ve moved up the next social level. And I’ll explain to anybody who’d ask that it is all due to the fact that I am more grounded.

This reading blitz also coincided with a soul searching and spiritual development phase. I still wonder if the reading caused it. But that’s not important. The important thing is that as I turned inward to know my self better, so as to answer, for myself, perennial questions like “who am I” and “what am I doing here”. You see, once you start asking these questions, the answers will started showing themselves in dreams, synchronicities and teachings.

In short, I know that I have to start this bookstore. And obviously, I am calling it where I have found it - in a small corner, a tiny space of my heart.

Cheers!
Shooperman

Thoth's garden

After a couple of weeks of looking around (thanks, Claire), I’ve finally found the place that Thoth has to be. There were options but I’m sold on the garden the previous tenant left behind.

Two puffs in and I noticed a group of three trees right in front of me. As my mind quiets down and filters out the din from the vicinity, I gradually start to feel the trees’ presence. Apparently, they were having a nice evening chat.

I asked them what they were talking about - I’ve always want to learn more about trees, not from the books, but from them, directly.

“We’re discussing about treeness,” one of them replied.

“Ah, but what is treeness?” I asked, I vaguely know it’s about the being of a tree, but I needed specifics.

“Treeness just is. It’s what we are. Our being. And, my dear friend, there’s a lot to talk about treeness when one is a tree.” answered the older, wiser one amongst the three.

As I was pondering his response, he added “We have noticed this about man. There is not much discussion about human-ness. We’ve been trying to understand you better, but it’s all chatter about things outside a human-ness. Why is that?”

“That’s a keen observation,” I replied, “I have found that out about our people too. I have wondered about that sometimes.”

By then, I puffed my last and decided to rejoin my friends. I thanked the trees for their friendship and wisdom. Tonight, on the last day of 2008, they’ve given me something to think about.

To be human
   is to become visible
while carrying what is hidden
   as a gift to others.

David Whyte

The dream for this post is one about a room infested with translucent yellowish eggs that hatched into aliens. Dreamer was confident I cannot decipher this.

So here goes.

First, the color. Since it’s translucent yellow, I mapped it to aura color meanings and it just so happens that I found this on the first google result of “yellow aura color”:

Pale or Light Yellow: Emerging psychic and spiritual awareness; optimism and hopefulness; positive excitement about new ideas.

Next, the aliens hatching. And I’m just going to say this: I believe we’re not the only living intelligent lifeform in the universe, simply because it will be such an awful waste of space.

So, dear Andromedans, Pleiadians and others, I’m going to bet on dreamer’s intuition and add your titles to Thoth.

Happy 2009!
Shooperman