In this spoken‑word video, the creator performs a large four‑direction ceremony in Los Angeles, visiting sites that correspond to the cardinal points and offering praise and gratitude. The ceremony is framed as an effort to cultivate a deeper sense of place in a city shaped by colonial history, acknowledging that descendants of colonizers cannot become fully indigenous but can still forge a more intimate relationship with the land. While sharing footage of the pilgrimage, the presenter reads an original poem titled “A Fear of Snakes.” The poem weaves together Hopi snake symbolism, kundalini energy, mythic figures (Apollo, Adam, Eve, Jesus), and contemporary critiques of suburban complacency, spiritual tourism, and superficial appropriation of Indigenous practices. It calls listeners to become “wild,” to listen deeply to nature, to abandon screens and artificial aids, and to rediscover inner “Garden of Eden” through embodied, place‑based ceremony. The overall message is a poetic, urgent invitation to move beyond colonial‑born disconnection toward authentic, wild, and reverent engagement with the earth and self.
Chapters
In this video, I perform a very large 4-direction ceremony in Los Angeles. Visiting a site that resonates with each of the 4 directions and working with praise and gratitude. My intention was to begin to cultivate a deeper sense of place in my home city, to find and commune with nature here. We descendants of colonialism may never become fully indigenous, but we can certainly connect more deeply with our homeland. As I share some footage of my LA pilgrimage through the 4 directions, I would like to read you a poem that came to me one morning. I'm calling it A Fear of Snakes. Sometimes it seems like we're in this mess because of a fear of snakes, that ancient Hopi messenger of the earth spirit, friend of the earth and dark places, made of rats and asteroid dust, coiled kundalini Express train to the self. Ancient python, child of Gaia, killed by Apollo out of jealousy and confusion and a lack of imagination. Eve knew the deal, but she was stuck with Adam. Adam, who just wanted a nice suburban house and Saturday night poker and apple pie and missionary style on the 7th day. Adam the neat freak. Adam the imperialist eating his own tail. What is he looking for in those great subterranean tunnels where he smashes his marbles looking for answers in the entrails of Adams? Adam, are you okay? Do you remember how to breathe? Have you forgotten how to dream? Can I read you a poem about Jesus the snake charmer? It can be disorienting to meet your mother for the first time. Would you like to meet her? She loves you. She forgives you. You've been gone for so long. Your body has grown hot and gray. It is trying to communicate. You are a tourist in your own land, a spiritual refugee. Come sit. Let us listen. Let us listen to our bodies. Let me teach you how to sit. Let me teach you the art of letting go. Let me teach you how to be wild. We can become indigenous to the whole earth by becoming wild. Not in the quaint way of visiting Navajo National Monument, snapping photos. But by finding our own wildness, forging our own way, stomping out our own rhythms. Not drinking cacao and microdosing ancient traditions, but going deep into ourselves and listening, listening to nature, praising nature, participating anew through immersion, not through tiny windows of the scrolling mind. But entering deep time, learning how to be with ourselves in global ceremony, without screens, without magic potions. Nothing artificial can save us. So let us praise nature, the nature that is happening through us, not to us. Let us learn how to listen, to hear the stars again, and the babbling brook, And the scurrying ants and the snakes in the grass. Let us learn how to be sheep in the midst of wolves, to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. We are the elders we have been looking for. Let the hot winds burn our fears away so that we may find the Garden of Eden in our hearts. Way. Way.