Who is Man Wolf?

C. J. Strayhorn      

     I should probably let people know who I am.  I was born to a sixteen year old mother in October of 1942, a particularly turbulent time in world history.  My Father was overseas in combat, and my mother did the best she knew how as a teenager during that terrible time.

      When my father came home, it seems the only thing they could agree on was that neither of them could “take care” of me.  So my parents were divorced, and it was decided that I would be raised by my Grand Parents.  I was raised by them in Hunt County Texas, in the farming community of South Sulphur.

      My Grand Parents were share croppers.  For those who don’t know, a share cropper uses someone else’s land.  They spend all the money for planting and harvesting the crop, do all the work, and for their efforts, receive half the total income.  In other words, they furnish all the labor and absorb all the expenses from their half of the gain.  We were poor people.  Our food came from the garden that we planted, and from small game that we hunted.  We didn’t have much, but we had enough.

      My grandfather bought an acre of land-locked soil about a half mile back in the woods on which he built a little cabin.  It had two rooms.  One room had a wood floor.  The kitchen, the other room, had a dirt floor.  There was no electricity, no indoor plumbing, and the only source of heat for warmth and cooking was wood heaters.  I remember my Grand Mother swept that kitchen floor at least three times a day.  I also remember that those were the happiest times of my life.

      My grand Father taught me the ways of living off the land and respecting the life around me.  When you live that close to being without food, you do not waste anything!  You are not separate from nature, but are a part of it.  If you kill a bird or animal, you kill it for food.  “You kill it, you eat it” my Grand Father would tell me.  When you’re a kid, and you go hunting, and come home with a crow you killed, it forever remains locked in your psyche to kill only what you eat ‘cause crow don’t taste to good, ya’ know?

      I learned that Creator feeds us quite well from the woods and fields.  I learned about wild lettuce, wild onions, (which I still have a craving for), milk weed pods, and many other plants, nuts, and fruits.  Squirrels and rabbits were plentiful in the woods around home, and I got to be good with a 22 rifle.   I could take you to the woods in the winter time, when all the leaves are gone from the trees and tell you what each tree was.  I spent most of my time in the woods as a child.  If I wasn’t working in the field, or doing chores, I was in the woods.  I was at home in the woods.  Even today I miss it.  Living in the city makes it hard to go to the woods.

      I remember, I was about sixteen years old, and my Grandfather worked a trade for a semi-automatic .22 rifle for my birthday.  It was used, but it was great!  Grand Dad and I took a walk in the woods and fields to talk, as we did occasionally.  I remember seeing a Red Tailed Hawk flying over, and before my Grand Dad could stop me, I raised the rifle and fired.  I hit the Hawk, and he fell.  We hunted for that Hawk for better than two hours.  It was still alive when we found it, but was fatally wounded.  My Grand Dad made me finish killing it.  I didn’t want to, but I did.  He told me then, “Son, they’ll forgive you for that, but you’ll be an old man.  A few years ago, I guess I was about 58 years old, I was driving through the country just outside Tyler TX when I saw a Hawk on the side of the road.  He didn’t bother to move when I drove by, and I thought he must be sick.  I turned around and drove within 25 feet of him, got out and walked around to the front of my truck.  He just looked at me and didn’t move.  The hawk gazed into my eyes, and I heard, as clearly as I could hear anyone speak, “Your debt is paid for killing the Hawk!”  A few weeks later, I was just out of Clarence Louisiana, (my name is Clarence), and I saw a huge Red Tail on the power lines to my left.  A few miles down, I saw a huge Red tail on the power lines to my right.  The message was clearly to watch the road carefully!  About five miles out of Clarence, I saw a Red tail Hawk lying exactly on the center line of the highway.  I knew what it was about.  I stopped the truck, took the dead hawk to the side of the road, and took three tail feathers.  I buried the hawk there on the side of the road, offered tobacco, and the gift of the Red Tails will always be remembered.  My Grand Fathers words came back to me.

      Little was ever said about there being Indian in the Strayhorn family.  Mostly hushed, my Grandmother would call my Grand Dad a “Damned Indian” sometimes when they got into a tiff.  I asked them about it, and they said that we were part Cherokee, but we didn’t talk about that.  That wasn’t something to be proud of.  In later years, that Cherokee blood would become a great source of pride in my life.

      I will speak more of my life later.  

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Who are the Cherokee?

C. J. Strayhorn    
     The conquistador De Soto, in 1540, encountered a people who were described as “ light skinned with light brown or blond hair equal to some of my soldiers.”  Ancient Cherokee art work is more closely related to Mayan art than any North American tribe.  In the 1700’s, there was considerable research done to either prove, or disprove the idea that the Cherokee are one of the “lost ten tribes” of Israel.

    Cherokee culture and beliefs can definitely point a researcher in the direction of ties to Israel.  The Cherokee had a set system of marriage and divorce not found among other North American Nations.  Sacred fire was burning on the alter of the temple.  An Ark was carried into battle.  The ancient Cherokee name for God is “Yo Hay Wa”, almost the same as the Hebrew “Ja Ho Va”.  They believed in “good and evil”, and a heaven and a hell.  Those that lived a good life went to “Gal un la ti” , and the others went to a dark place with pain and misery.

    The ancient Cherokee traditions say that we walked for a long time and finally came to the ocean where we built rafts.  With great hardship and perseverance, we sailed west into the setting sun and landed on the coast of South America.  After we left “Manola”, the island of our homeland,  it was destroyed by the Creator, and now lies beneath the ocean   When one realizes that the Cherokee came from islands East of the Americas, it brings up legends of a place called Atlantis.  I fully believe that the Cherokee are the direct decedents of the Atlantian people.  Levi B. Gritts the only man ever recognized by all Cherokee Nation factions to be acceptable as their Chief back in the mid 1920s, taught that the Cherokee came from an island off the coast of South America that sank after the elders misused "white fire."

“Some Cherokee holy people taught that we came from what is known today as "Atlantis," or “Manola”,  from a Medicine Clan called the Assaga (pronounced Ah-sah-gah). These people sent out colonies to preserve the Ageless Wisdom. One group of Assaga went into the Great Smokey Mountains where they later combined with other wanderers to become the Cherokees.  There is just too much historical and cultural evidence to ignore.  The Cherokee are definitely not indigenous to North America, and maybe not to the Americas at all.

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A time for Sharing

C. J. Strayhorn A time for Sharing     

At 65 years of age, Creator is encouraging me to share the things I have been taught in my life.  As one of the “Lost” Cherokee, I am most grateful for the teaching I have been given by the Cherokee People.  As a Cherokee, I have concentrated my studies on Cherokee beliefs and customs.  I know some about the Lakota ways, and the ways of other nations, but I am not Lakota.  I am Cherokee.  Understand, I am sharing what I have been taught.  Different people know different things, and if what I share is different from what you have been taught, please, share with me, and we can travel the same path for a time.     

The elders are saying the time of sharing is here.  We are coming up hard on Dec. 21 2012 and no matter what you believe about that time, a calendar more accurate than our Gregorian calendar comes abruptly to an end after over 5000 years.  Doomsday or a sudden launch into a new, golden age of man; experts differ on their beliefs (For more on these subjects, see NDN Artist website under "Native American Prophecies" in the left menu).  I will get in to what I believe on the subject as time goes by.  What ever it is, we had better be ready for it.     

I have been a Bible student for many years.  I attended Bible College for a time and learned to use the Greek and Hebrew language tools for the Bible was written, for the most part, in those two languages as well as Aramaic.  Studying the Bible in the original languages opened a lot of doors for my understanding.  Studying the Ancient Cherokee ways actually helped me with the ability to apply these teachings to my life from a spiritual point of view.  I was once cautioned that there is approximately 12 inches between Heaven and Hell – the distance from the head to the heart.  What I share with you is from the heart.  You will find some of it hard to grasp from a strict Anglo/Christian background, but I ask you to think with me on these points of contention.  You might just come to the point of understanding that the Cherokee path of wisdom and understanding is more “Biblical” than you ever thought.      

I do not look for followers or converts.  Each person must walk their own path.  Others may travel with you on that path, but no one can walk it for you.  If Creator provides a teacher for you, learn what they have to teach, but do not try to follow them for they are simply a teacher.  They do not have all the answers.  Apply what you learn to your own path and walk it diligently.  If I can help you see your path more clearly; lend strength when your path becomes weary; bring light to your dark times, then I am honored.  I humbly submit these words as encouragement and enlightenment, not as absolute truth.  I am not the final authority.  As my Grand Father used to tell me,     

“Son, you gotta learn to eat the fish without swallowin’ the bones!”      

Take these words and apply them where they fit.  Just realize that sometimes the truth is not what we want to hear.  I was a pastor in a Baptist church for several years.  One of my Deacons told me that in his 60 or so years in the church, I was the best Bible teacher he had ever meet.  Then he told me that he hated me for it.  By teaching the Bible in a way he could understand, I had destroyed many of the things he had believed all of his life.  When confronted with the truth, change is inevitable. 

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