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Joseph Johnson

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"nv-wa-do-hi-ya-da ga e-lo-hi-no (peace on earth)"

Norwich, NY, USA
male, age 38
single, 1 child
Speaks: Cherokee, English
Joined Mar 27, 2006

more about Joseph Johnson »

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"Try to put aside what you may have read about 'savage' Red Indians and any impressions you may have formed from old Hollywood movies about barbaric natives who worshipped the Sun and communicated with evil spirits. Contrary to such misrepresentations, there is ample evidence that American Indians were, in general, a loving and gentle people of great character and strength of purpose, possessors of considerable courage and endurance for life in all it's forms. Though there were hundreds of tribes, many languages, and different levels of development, they shared a common sense of honour and morality and a close affinity with nature and the environment. They had a common attitude to life that was essentially both spiritual and practical. " Kenneth Meadows

"American Indians are the most heroic, the most physically perfect and the most spiritual civilisation the world has ever known!"Ernest Thompson Seton

Prayer Song

Sequoya I hear your cries
and though I did not know you
in the flesh-I know your spirit well
we share the same desires
to forever unite our people
Oh Sequoya though I did not know you(in the flesh)
I still love you so
my blood is the same as yours
tsalagi is who we are
this they cannot take away
but I fear the loss of our own people
as i watch them give up who we are
they have lost the way:cannot see the path
we need your spirit to bring them back
Sequoya,please come in spirit
as your body is now found
fulfill your prophecy-gather your children round
take us to the white path
lead us along the way
help us find our heritage
help us to stay that way.
Joseph Morgan

The Earth does not belong to us; We belong to the Earth! To Her we all return!

A persons value is not measured by how much money or material wealth they have obtained; nor is it measured by how much love he/she has from other people;It is measured by how much love we give out.

"Whole Indian nations have melted away like snowballs in the sun before the white man's advance. They leave scarcely a name of our people except those wrongly recorded by their destroyers. Where are the Delawares? They have been reduced to a mere shadow of their former greatness. We had hoped that the white men would not be willing to travel beyond the mountains. Now that hope is gone. They have passed the mountains, and have settled upon Cherokee land. They wish to have that action sanctioned by treaty. When that is gained, the same encroaching spirit will lead them upon other land of the Cherokees. New cessions will be asked. Finally the whole country, which the Cherokees and their fathers have so long occupied, will be demanded, and the remnant of Ani-Yunwiya, THE REAL PEOPLE, once so great and formidable, will be compelled to seek refuge in some distant wilderness. There they will be permitted to stay only a short while, until they again behold the advancing banners of the same greedy host. Not being able to point out any further retreat for the miserable Cherokees, the extinction of the whole race will be proclaimed. Should we not therefore run all risks, and incur all consequences, rather than submit to further loss of our country? Such treaties may be alright for men who are too old to hunt or fight. As for me, I have my young warriors about me. We will have our lands. A-WANINSKI, I have spoken."-Dragging Canoe-Greatest of the Cherokee War Chiefs.

I dare everyone who reads my page to take up this challenge; Do one totally unselfish act of helping another and insist the only repayment of this favor is that they Pass it On....

I am not brave, I simply react. I act correctly for whatever must be done in what ever situation I am needed in. If I must stand and fight for a child I am not acting out of bravery, I am reacting out of need - A child's need.

Two Wolves

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about
a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son,
the battle is between 2 "wolves" inside us all.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, jealousy, sorrow,
regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment,
inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope,
serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy,
generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and
then asked his grandfather:
"Which wolf wins?"
The old Cherokee simply replied,
"The one you feed."
Author Unknown

When I Look Into Your Eyes:

When I look into your eyes, what do I see?
I see a little girl longing to be free
I see pain, fear and sadness too
and I see guilt that dont belong to you.
I see the loneliness that you keep,
and I see tears of sadness running deep.
No it's not my refection that I see,
this poem is about you, not me.
Looking deeper into your eyes
I see a woman not trying to hide.
She is beautiful, fair, sweet and kind
and she has a fantastic mind.
She is a wild spirit
when her wings are'nt clipped
yet tame enough to be
awesome on any kind of trip.
She is romantic, passionate, gentle
and strong enough to make it through
all that's held to her like glue.
I see you on a cliff, your standing there
your eyes not covered by hat nor hair
Your pleading eyes are full of tears
and your screams have reached my ears.
Your mouth moves begging for escape
I'm here to walk you through the gate.
You cannot jump-not today
I grab you up into my arms,
and I whisk you away
from all his evil charms.
No longer in need,
I toss your shell into the sea,
because now you've truly been set free.
In my arms I hold you tight,
your finally released from your fight.

Do I see through to the real you?
Oh yes, and that's why I love you.
Joseph Johnson

She Walks In His Soul:

She is always in his thoughts,
though he knows not why.
His thoughts are of her
while he sleeps and when
he first wakes.
He watches her closely
and does little things to catch her eye
still not knowing why.
His urges are to hold her,
to kiss her lips,
to feel her heartbeat with his.
She walks in his soul.
The sky is clear and full of stars
on a cold wintery night
but the lovers are warmed by the
heat of their passion.
Late into the night
he sees one star burning brighter
than all the others.
Now he understands why:
That star is theirs....
She walks in his soul.
Joseph Johnson

Waiting For Two:

33 years going by good enough
having the time of my life
it took just one look
for me to want to be there
about little else did I care
I just wanted to know all that,
knowing what would come
in the end if there were to be one
though I have doubted all that
would ever stay my hand
looks like I was right
after all the stagnant times
little games played so sweetly
take me back to when this all began
racing there just to be the one
I'd be first at being ready
for the moments I have lived for
after 8 hours of building appetite
join the two and put up the fight
2 moons later still the same
let go but wanted most ever
never forgotten cant be forsaken
never was it mine for the taking
but offered so sweetly in little brown eyes
resistance was futile I went with it
lucky me but I tried to choke it
it was stronger perhaps stronger than I
in the end it won and so did I
so did you we formed a new tribe.
Joseph Johnson

Free

Shallow mindedness
perpetual sadness
extracted all the happiness
borderline madness
it's what they seem to want from me
narrow minded
weak and dumb
do what I'm told and like it
part of their automated system

Chorus:
Oh but not me
I'm living to be free
when they come for me
that's when I take them down

Stolen romances
torture of the soul
passing to insanity
fight this, fight this
steal back my crown
it fights me long
it fights me hard
but with a flick of the wrist
they all go down
not your average pawn

Chorus

Standing tall standing firm
you want me your way
but this life is mine
I dont run I refuse to hide
wont steal away in the night
I'm facing you in this fight
to take back my life

Chorus

To Be Let Go:

To be let go
I fell in love with you
it did'nt mean a damn thing
I opened up to you
just to be let go
You said your in love with me
you'll never let me go
You said that our love means everything to you
but it rarely ever shows
you said our friendship is strong
we'll have to keep it going
You said I'll always be special
let's keep our love alive
You said in your heart it will never be over
then you let me go

Chorus:
I did'nt want to hurt you
why did you squeeze it
I did'nt mean to hurt you
you did'nt have to squeeze it
I really want to love you
why did you let me go....

All this shit, it makes sense to me
I'm a part of the sickness
your tearing at the very core of me
too weak to resist this
bloods rushing to my head
you got me that angry
breaking me apart at the seams
your trying to destroy me
I'm not a part of what they did to you
so why did you crush me
my heart was in your hands
you did'nt have to squeeze it

Chorus

I trusted you
for it to die like a rose
that's it, take a
few more of those
it'll help to kill my mind
all good things die in time
who hurt me more than I hurt you
impossible it seems, but I speak the truth

Chorus

Will you be my friend

Will you be my friend?
Will you be here when I'm sad
and comfort me when I cry?
When I'm lonely and really
need a friend to talk to,
will you be that person?
Will you laugh with me
or meet me in the valley
to watch the sun rise up
over the mountain top?
Will you be there to fix
me when I'm broken?
Will you be my toughest
critic when I need that most,
or put me gently in my place
when I'm out of line? Will your
compliments be real and not
a fabricated fantasy made
to falsely please me? Will you
also let me be there for you when
you have these needs of me?
Will it be a committed friendship
or one where we dont speak?
I've met alot of people,
I've seen alot of souls. I have
searched both far and wide,
but never met someone like you.
To live life now without you
seems like a hollow emptiness,
so I'm asking you in a most heartfelt way
will you be my best friend every day?
Joseph Johnson

A Kiss That Last's A Lifetime

You stood there in my home
with your back against the wall
watching me do this and that,
nervously waiting for the
next anticipated moments,
both excitedly nervous for what
is about to happen,
wanting it, craving every
moment of it, longing it always,
thinking so much about it
Then you asked me,
"are you gonna come over here
and kiss me or what?"
"Yes" I say as I turn to you,
and walk the short space between us.
Taking each other in our arms
we start with a tightly drawn embrace.
I look deep in your eyes,
your looking back just as deep.
Slowly our faces come together
our lips pressed to one another's.
Wave after wave of emotion
pours through our lips.
All the feelings we have both
held in for so long can
no longer be kept there locked
away in the rooms reserved,
they come bursting through
the walls we thought secure.
A passion we never gave before
we give to each other,
we take from each other.
As our tounge's touch together another
rush of excitement coming through.
There is nothing now,
no walls between us anymore,
as we stand embracing, kissing,
giving everything we have
in a kiss that will last a lifetime.
Joseph Johnson

Andrew Jackson is the Hitler of my people. What makes him doubly hated by the Cherokee is that our people helped him win the battle against the Creeks that raised him to national prominence. He was quick to forget us; for our pains, he rewarded us with the Trail of Tears.

As long as I can fill these lungs with air, Big Brother shall NEVER forget what was done to my people! Joseph Morgan-Ani Yunwiya

Samuel Cloud turned 9 years old on the Trail of Tears. Samuel's Memory is told by his great-great grandson, Michael Rutledge, in his paper Forgiveness in the Age of Forgetfulness. Michael, a citizen of the Cherokee Nation of Oklahoma, is a law student at Arizona State University.
It is Spring. The leaves are on the trees. I am playing with my friends when white men in uniforms ride up to our home. My mother calls me. I can tell by her voice that something is wrong. Some of the men ride off. My mother tells me to gather my things, but the men don't allow us time to get anything. They enter our home and begin knocking over pottery and looking into everything. My mother and I are taken by several men to where their horses are and are held there at gun point. The men who rode off return with my father, Elijah. They have taken his rifle and he is walking toward us.I can feel his anger and frustration. There is nothing he can do. From my mother I feel fear. I am filled with fear, too. What is going on? I was just playing, but now my family and my friends' families are gathered together and told to walk at the point of a bayonet.We walk a long ways. My mother does not let me get far from her. My father is walking by the other men, talking in low, angry tones. The soldiers look weary, as though they'd rather be anywhere else but here.They lead us to a stockade. They herd us into this pen like we are cattle. No one was given time to gather any possessions. The nights are still cold in the mountains and we do not have enough blankets to go around. My mother holds me at night to keep me warm. That is the only time I feel safe. I feel her pull me to her tightly. I feel her warm breath in my hair. I feel her softness as I fall asleep at night.As the days pass, more and more of our people are herded into the stockade. I see other members of my clan. We children try to play, but the elders around us are anxious and we do not know what to think. I often sit and watch the others around me. I observe the guards. I try not to think about my hunger. I am cold.Several months have passed and still we are in the stockades. My father looks tired. He talks with the other men, but no one seems to know what to do or what is going to happen. We hear that white men have moved into our homes and are farming our fields. What will happen to us? We are to march west to join the Western Cherokees. I don't want to leave these mountains.My mother, my aunts and uncles take me aside one day. "Your father died last night," they tell me. My mother and my father's clan members are crying, but I do not understand what this means. I saw him yesterday. He was sick, but still alive. It doesn't seem real. Nothing seems real. I don't know what any of this means. It seems like yesterday, I was playing with my friends.It is now Fall. It seems like forever since I was clean. The stockade is nothing but mud. In the morning it is stiff with frost. By mid-afternoon, it is soft and we are all covered in it. The soldiers suddenly tell us we are to follow them. We are led out of the stockade. The guards all have guns and are watching us closely. We walk. My mother keeps me close to her. I am allowed to walk with my uncle or an aunt, occasionally.We walk across the frozen earth. Nothing seems right anymore. The cold seeps through my clothes. I wish I had my blanket. I remember last winter I had a blanket, when I was warm. I don't feel like I'll ever be warm again. I remember my father's smile. It seems like so long ago.We walked for many days. I don't know how long it has been since we left our home, but the mountains are behind us. Each day, we start walking a little later. They bury the dead in shallow graves, because the ground is frozen. As we walk past white towns, the whites come out to watch us pass. No words are spoken to them. No words are said to us. Still, I wish they would stop staring. I wish it were them walking in this misery and I were watching them. It is because of them that we are walking. I don't understand why, but I know that much. They made us leave our homes. They made us walk to this new place we are heading in the middle of winter. I do not like these people. Still, they stare at me as I walk past.We come to a big river, bigger than I have ever seen before. It is flowing with ice. The soldiers are not happy. We set up camp and wait. We are all cold and the snow and ice seem to hound us, claiming our people one by one. North is the color of blue, defeat and trouble. From there a chill wind blows for us as we wait by a frozen river. We wait to die.My mother is coughing now. She looks worn. Her hands and face are burning hot. My aunts and uncles try to take care of me, so she can get better. I don't want to leave her alone. I just want to sit with her. I want her to stroke my hair, like she used to do. My aunts try to get me to sleep by them, but at night, I creep to her side. She coughs and it wracks her whole body. When she feels me by her side, she opens her blanket and lets me in. I nestle against her feverish body. I can make it another day, I know, because she is here. When I went to sleep last night, my mother was hot and coughing worse than usual. When I woke up, she was cold. I tried to wake her up, but she lay there. The soft warmth she once was, she is no more. I kept touching her, as hot tears stream down my face. She couldn't leave me. She wouldn't leave me.
I hear myself call her name, softly, then louder. She does not answer. My aunt and uncle come over to me to see what is wrong. My aunt looks at my mother. My uncle pulls me from her. My aunt begins to wail. I will never forget that wail. I did not understand when my father died. My mother's death I do not understand, but I suddenly know that I am alone. My clan will take care of me, but I will be forever denied her warmth, the soft fingers in my hair, her gentle breath as we slept. I am alone. I want to cry. I want to scream in rage. I can do nothing. We bury her in a shallow grave by the road. I will never forget that lonesome hill of stone that is her final bed, as it fades from my sight. I tread softly by my uncle, my hand in his. I walk with my head turned, watching that small hill as it fades from my sight. The soldiers make us continue walking. My uncle talks to me, trying to comfort me. I walk in loneliness. I know what it is to hate. I hate those white soldiers who took us from our home. I hate the soldiers who make us keep walking through the snow and ice toward this new home that none of us ever wanted. I hate the people who killed my father and mother. I hate the white people who lined the roads in their woolen clothes that kept them warm, watching us pass. None of those white people are here to say they are sorry that I am alone. None of them care about me or my people. All they ever saw was the color of our skin. All I see is the color of theirs and I hate them.

This next story is from a man who was friends with the Ani yunwiya, and was also a soldier during the forced death march.

John Burnett's Story of the Trail of Tears
Birthday Story of Private John G. Burnett, Captain Abraham McClellan’s Company, 2nd Regiment, 2nd Brigade, Mounted Infantry, Cherokee Indian Removal, 1838-39.
Children:
This is my birthday, December 11, 1890, I am eighty years old today. I was born at Kings Iron Works in Sulllivan County, Tennessee, December the 11th, 1810. I grew into manhood fishing in Beaver Creek and roaming through the forest hunting the deer and the wild boar and the timber wolf. Often spending weeks at a time in the solitary wilderness with no companions but my rifle, hunting knife, and a small hatchet that I carried in my belt in all of my wilderness wanderings. On these long hunting trips I met and became acquainted with many of the Cherokee Indians, hunting with them by day and sleeping around their camp fires by night. I learned to speak their language, and they taught me the arts of trailing and building traps and snares. On one of my long hunts in the fall of 1829, I found a young Cherokee who had been shot by a roving band of hunters and who had eluded his pursuers and concealed himself under a shelving rock. Weak from loss of blood, the poor creature was unable to walk and almost famished for water. I carried him to a spring, bathed and bandaged the bullet wound, and built a shelter out of bark peeled from a dead chestnut tree. I nursed and protected him feeding him on chestnuts and toasted deer meat. When he was able to travel I accompanied him to the home of his people and remained so long that I was given up for lost. By this time I had become an expert rifleman and fairly good archer and a good trapper and spent most of my time in the forest in quest of game. The removal of Cherokee Indians from their life long homes in the year of 1838 found me a young man in the prime of life and a Private soldier in the American Army. Being acquainted with many of the Indians and able to fluently speak their language, I was sent as interpreter into the Smoky Mountain Country in May, 1838, and witnessed the execution of the most brutal order in the History of American Warfare. I saw the helpless Cherokees arrested and dragged from their homes, and driven at the bayonet point into the stockades. And in the chill of a drizzling rain on an October morning I saw them loaded like cattle or sheep into six hundred and forty-five wagons and started toward the west. One can never forget the sadness and solemnity of that morning. Chief John Ross led in prayer and when the bugle sounded and the wagons started rolling many of the children rose to their feet and waved their little hands good-by to their mountain homes, knowing they were leaving them forever. Many of these helpless people did not have blankets and many of them had been driven from home barefooted. On the morning of November the 17th we encountered a terrific sleet and snow storm with freezing temperatures and from that day until we reached the end of the fateful journey on March the 26th, 1839, the sufferings of the Cherokees were awful. The trail of the exiles was a trail of death. They had to sleep in the wagons and on the ground without fire. And I have known as many as twenty-two of them to die in one night of pneumonia due to ill treatment, cold, and exposure. Among this number was the beautiful Christian wife of Chief John Ross. This noble hearted woman died a martyr to childhood, giving her only blanket for the protection of a sick child. She rode thinly clad through a blinding sleet and snow storm, developed pneumonia and died in the still hours of a bleak winter night, with her head resting on Lieutenant Greggs saddle blanket. I made the long journey to the west with the Cherokees and did all that a Private soldier could do to alleviate their sufferings. When on guard duty at night I have many times walked my beat in my blouse in order that some sick child might have the warmth of my overcoat. I was on guard duty the night Mrs. Ross died. When relieved at midnight I did not retire, but remained around the wagon out of sympathy for Chief Ross, and at daylight was detailed by Captain McClellan to assist in the burial like the other unfortunates who died on the way. Her unconfined body was buried in a shallow grave by the roadside far from her native home, and the sorrowing Cavalcade moved on. Being a young man, I mingled freely with the young women and girls. I have spent many pleasant hours with them when I was supposed to be under my blanket, and they have many times sung their mountain songs for me, this being all that they could do to repay my kindness. And with all my association with Indian girls from October 1829 to March 26th 1839, I did not meet one who was a moral prostitute. They are kind and tender hearted and many of them are beautiful. The only trouble that I had with anybody on the entire journey to the west was a brutal teamster by the name of Ben McDonal, who was using his whip on an old feeble Cherokee to hasten him into the wagon. The sight of that old and nearly blind creature quivering under the lashes of a bull whip was too much for me. I attempted to stop McDonal and it ended in a personal encounter. He lashed me across the face, the wire tip on his whip cutting a bad gash in my cheek. The little hatchet that I had carried in my hunting days was in my belt and McDonal was carried unconscious from the scene. I was placed under guard but Ensign Henry Bullock and Private Elkanah Millard had both witnessed the encounter. They gave Captain McClellan the facts and I was never brought to trial. Years later I met 2nd Lieutenant Riley and Ensign Bullock at Bristol at John Roberson’s show, and Bullock jokingly reminded me that there was a case still pending against me before a court martial and wanted to know how much longer I was going to have the trial put off? McDonal finally recovered, and in the year 1851, was running a boat out of Memphis, Tennessee. The long painful journey to the west ended March 26th, 1839, with four-thousand silent graves reaching from the foothills of the Smoky Mountains to what is known as Indian territory in the West. And covetousness on the part of the white race was the cause of all that the Cherokees had to suffer. Ever since Ferdinand DeSoto made his journey through the Indian country in the year 1540, there had been a tradition of a rich gold mine somewhere in the Smoky Mountain Country, and I think the tradition was true. At a festival at Echota on Christmas night 1829, I danced and played with Indian girls who were wearing ornaments around their neck that looked like gold. In the year 1828, a little Indian boy living on Ward creek had sold a gold nugget to a white trader, and that nugget sealed the doom of the Cherokees. In a short time the country was overrun with armed brigands claiming to be government agents, who paid no attention to the rights of the Indians who were the legal possessors of the country. Crimes were committed that were a disgrace to civilization. Men were shot in cold blood, lands were confiscated. Homes were burned and the inhabitants driven out by the gold-hungry brigands. Chief Junaluska was personally acquainted with President Andrew Jackson. Junaluska had taken 500 of the flower of his Cherokee scouts and helped Jackson to win the battle of the Horse Shoe, leaving 33 of them dead on the field. And in that battle Junaluska had drove his tomahawk through the skull of a Creek warrior, when the Creek had Jackson at his mercy. Chief John Ross sent Junaluska as an envoy to plead with President Jackson for protection for his people, but Jackson’s manner was cold and indifferent toward the rugged son of the forest who had saved his life. He met Junaluska, heard his plea but curtly said, "Sir, your audience is ended. There is nothing I can do for you." The doom of the Cherokee was sealed. Washington, D.C., had decreed that they must be driven West and their lands given to the white man, and in May 1838, an army of 4000 regulars, and 3000 volunteer soldiers under command of General Winfield Scott, marched into the Indian country and wrote the blackest chapter on the pages of American history. Men working in the fields were arrested and driven to the stockades. Women were dragged from their homes by soldiers whose language they could not understand. Children were often separated from their parents and driven into the stockades with the sky for a blanket and the earth for a pillow. And often the old and infirm were prodded with bayonets to hasten them to the stockades. In one home death had come during the night. A little sad-faced child had died and was lying on a bear skin couch and some women were preparing the little body for burial. All were arrested and driven out leaving the child in the cabin. I don’t know who buried the body. In another home was a frail mother, apparently a widow and three small children, one just a baby. When told that she must go, the mother gathered the children at her feet, prayed a humble prayer in her native tongue, patted the old family dog on the head, told the faithful creature good-by, with a baby strapped on her back and leading a child with each hand started on her exile. But the task was too great for that frail mother. A stroke of heart failure relieved her sufferings. She sunk and died with her baby on her back, and her other two children clinging to her hands. Chief Junaluska who had saved President Jackson’s life at the battle of Horse Shoe witnessed this scene, the tears gushing down his cheeks and lifting his cap he turned his face toward the heavens and said, "Oh my God, if I had known at the battle of the Horse Shoe what I know now, American history would have been differently written." At this time, 1890, we are too near the removal of the Cherokees for our young people to fully understand the enormity of the crime that was committed against a helpless race. Truth is, the facts are being concealed from the young people of today. School children of today do not know that we are living on lands that were taken from a helpless race at the bayonet point to satisfy the white man’s greed.
Future generations will read and condemn the act and I do hope posterity will remember that private soldiers like myself, and like the four Cherokees who were forced by General Scott to shoot an Indian Chief and his children, had to execute the orders of our superiors. We had no choice in the matter. Twenty-five years after the removal it was my privilege to meet a large company of the Cherokees in uniform of the Confederate Army under command of Colonel Thomas. They were encamped at Zollicoffer and I went to see them. Most of them were just boys at the time of the removal but they instantly recognized me as "the soldier that was good to us". Being able to talk to them in their native language I had an enjoyable day with them. From them I learned that Chief John Ross was still ruler in the nation in 1863. And I wonder if he is still living? He was a noble-hearted fellow and suffered a lot for his race. At one time, he was arrested and thrown into a dirty jail in an effort to break his spirit, but he remained true to his people and led them in prayer when they started on their exile. And his Christian wife sacrificed her life for a little girl who had pneumonia. The Anglo-Saxon race would build a towering monument to perpetuate her noble act in giving her only blanket for comfort of a sick child. Incidentally the child recovered, but Mrs. Ross is sleeping in a unmarked grave far from her native Smoky Mountain home. When Scott invaded the Indian country some of the Cherokees fled to caves and dens in the mountains and were never captured and they are there today. I have long intended going there and trying to find them but I have put off going from year to year and now I am too feeble to ride that far. The fleeing years have come and gone and old age has overtaken me. I can truthfully say that neither my rifle nor my knife were stained with Cherokee blood.
I can truthfully say that I did my best for them when they certainly did need a friend. Twenty-five years after the removal I still lived in their memory as "the soldier that was good to us". However, murder is murder whether committed by the villain skulking in the dark or by uniformed men stepping to the strains of martial music.
Murder is murder, and somebody must answer. Somebody must explain the streams of blood that flowed in the Indian country in the summer of 1838. Somebody must explain the 4000 silent graves that mark the trail of the Cherokees to their exile. I wish I could forget it all, but the picture of 645 wagons lumbering over the frozen ground with their cargo of suffering humanity still lingers in my memory. Let the historian of a future day tell the sad story with its sighs, its tears and dying groans. Let the great Judge of all the earth weigh our actions and reward us according to our work.
Children - Thus ends my promised birthday story. This December the 11th 1890.

Broken Promises:

They made us many promises,
too many to remember,
but they kept but one:
They promised to take our land,
and they did.
(Chief RedCloud)

July 4th
Idependence day?
For who is it Independence day? For the Creek? For the Apache?, How about the Seminole, the Sioux, or Cherokee, or Chippewa, Mohawk, Crow, Cree, Dakota, Cayuga, Onadaga, Onieda? Where is our Independence? Where is our freedom to live as we once did? When Is Our Independence Day?
Joseph Morgan

Why must we the Cherokee, see Jackson's face on hand bills, as if we have not enough reminder of how evil the US GOVERNMENT is, you put the face of your evil right into ours when you put it on the twenty dollar bill and made us use them. His face on the twenty dollar bill is a symbol of STOLEN LIFE from my people. Big Brother, never forget ge-tsi-ka-hv-da-a-ne-gv-i (The Trail Where They Cried), because we NEVER will!

Why is it that in America people glorify the rich? Why do do people look up to the rich as if they are important people? They are'nt important if they sit on their money. The Donald Trumps, Vince McMahons and Rockefellars as well as all the other filthy rich people sit on their money and never share it with those in need. They are greedy scum of the earth. They could do so much to end world hunger, put clothing on bare bodies, house the homeless, yet they sit on their money like they can take it when they leave this life. You rich people who have literally billions of dollars in your bank accounts are the bigger part of the ugliness in this world. I hope every rich person who fails to care for his/her fellow man find yourselves broke. I'd like to see the day when money loses ALL value and your forced into poverty like so many others. You would kill yourselves for the escape. Cowards! Mind you, I know there are some rich people who actually help others, unlike the richer ones who donate a small fraction just for appearences and to get a bigger tax break. You people are'nt trying to help, your trying to save face! You should be ashamed! You are the enemy!

My original join date was Feb 25, 2000. My #1 interest is the preservation of all life.

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Hometown	Cortland, NY
Homepage
Birthday	July 04, 1971
Languages	Cherokee, English
About Me	I really hate this part. Cant ya'all just ask me whatever you want to and ya'all can figure whatever from there?
	Introduce yourself to Joseph
Lifestyle
Pets	rabbit, fish
Activist Aspirations	Rabid
Political Leaning
Religions	Spiritualist
Eating Habits	No Red Meat
Wild Fact About Me	I'm a great kisser...I have ALOT of passion.
My Philosophy	What comes around goes around
What Gives Me Hope	Children. Beginning of all things.
If I were Mayor, I'd make the world a better place by	Teach everyone the Cherokee way. End all pollution from America. Put laws into effect that protect children better than current laws.
What/who changed my life and why	Losing my innocence.
What Bugs Me	Plastic people, big brother, people who don't "listen", people who rape, indifferance, George Bush, cruelty, Drunk Drivers, abusive people, any one that would hurt a woman, Any one that would hurt a child
Passions	Energy Healing And Love, children, environment, my family, reading, writing, trees, spirituality, Scent of a Woman, photography, nature, life, love, MY CHILDREN!!!, broadening my horizons
Inspirations	life itself, peacemakers, to fulfill my purpose on earth, understanding, rain, The Great Spirit, the sun coming up, healers, happiness, good people, Birds chirping, peace, children, courage, a gentle breeze
What Scares Me	Never hearing from her again., Losing the ones I love
Favorites
Role Models	The Wolf
Quotation	The Earth does not belong to us;We belong to the Earth! It was'nt me :)
Interests	I would be here all day and night if I w
Books	Ann Rice, self help books, The Lord of The Rings, Dean Koontz
Music	Anything that jams
Movies	Braveheart, Gladiator, PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN, Lord of the Rings, comedy
TV Shows	haunting shows, Hauntings, Animal Planet, That 70's show, National Geographic, animal planet, discovery shows, animal medic, dogwhisper, any animal show really. I love the histo
Favorite Foods	Blackberries on pancakes
Favorite Places	The woods!!!
Can't Live Without	My one special connection, My daughter, love, peace, peace, peace
	Introduce yourself to Joseph

Friends of Joseph

Kathryn C.

PipperLea N.

Heather P.

J. R.

Patrizia G.

View all: 25 friends

Joseph's Sharebook

	Good sites to look at for Cherokee or anyone wanting to learn of our people. (Jun 13) www.cherokeenationmexico.comhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elias_Boudinot_(Cheroke e)http://www.danielnpaul.com/CherokeeNation-TheTrailOfT... more »
	Take Notice- Someone NEEDS OUR HELP (Mar 22) Please join us in trying to save Delara's life!Click on the link below :)http://www.care2.com/c2c/... more »
	This one is for everyone (Dec 29) Native American Herbal Remedies AsthmaSkunk Cabbage. Used by the Winnebago and Dakota tribes to stimulate the removal of phlegm i... more »
More shares »

Joseph's Photos

46 photos, 2 albums »

My Butterfly Rewards

I’ve earned 1,679 Butterfly Credits

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Kudos

	7 New Green Stars, 827 Total	Send green star »

Sandy M. (620)

Testimonial on Jan 9, 2007
Beautiful page, Joseph. God Bless! Sandy

Write Testimonial | View all 10 »

Comment Board

Viewing 20 of 122: view all | add a comment »

Nov 14, 2009 11:00 PM
Dandelion G. (124)
Nov 10, 2009 4:18 AM
Dalia H. (574)	My Beloved Joseph Have a Peaceful Evening/Night full of GOD Blessings and Sweet Dreams Much Love and Big Hugs for You and your Precious Girl, Black Dalia
Nov 10, 2009 1:39 AM
Dandelion G. (124)
Nov 7, 2009 7:31 AM
Dalia H. (574)	My Beloved Joseph Time for Dancing and Playing guitar, Yayyyyy! Have a Fantastic Weekend full of GOD Blessings, Joy, Music, and Dragons like this One Much Love as Always, Black Dalia
Nov 5, 2009 4:30 AM
PipperLea N. (272)	Thinking of you Joseph, hope all is well.. Right now having fun renovating my bathroom Love and hugs PipperLeaxx
Nov 4, 2009 10:45 PM
Dalia H. (574)	My Beloved Joseph Have a very Wonderful and very Blessed day for You and Yours GOD Bless You Always Much Love, Black Dalia
Oct 31, 2009 6:11 PM
Pamylle G. (245)
Oct 30, 2009 1:03 AM
Dalia H. (574)	Dearest Joseph Wishing you a Fantastic and a very Spooky Halloween Much Love and Much BOO Black Dalia
Oct 24, 2009 10:37 PM
Dalia H. (574)	Heh Heh Heh... Listen to what the Doggie is saying Dearest Joseph Have a Spooky Weekend Much Boo, Black Dalia
Oct 12, 2009 5:53 PM
Pamylle G. (245)
Oct 11, 2009 3:22 PM
Dandelion G. (124)
Sep 1, 2009 9:52 PM
Kathryn C. (449)	have a great week. love kat
Sep 1, 2009 5:44 PM
Dandelion G. (124)
Aug 23, 2009 8:32 PM
Heather P. (41)	MySpace Comments
Aug 20, 2009 8:33 PM
Barbara L. (875)	welcome to my circle of friends
Aug 13, 2009 2:57 AM
Joy No Messages B. (373)	Thank you for the green star Hugs Songbird
Aug 12, 2009 3:25 AM
Dalia H. (574)	Hello Dearest Joseph Thanks so much for being my Precious friend I like all your pictures, especially that one that reminds me about my relative James Hetfield Have a wonderful night and week Much Love and Big Hugs as always, Black Dalia
Aug 5, 2009 5:55 AM
Kathryn C. (449)	such a beautiful soul - and a beautiful person .... have a blessed week, love kat
Jul 21, 2009 5:46 AM
Kathryn C. (449)
Jul 14, 2009 12:20 PM
Dandelion G. (124)	PLEASE WATCH UKULELE'S FOR PEACE

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