Glenne Among the native tribes of the American southwest, there is a legend passed down from generation to generation from the times of old to now. A legend that foretold the coming. There lived a man named Kannawapi.
Kannawapi was a young brave known both as a warrior and a poet. He and his tribe lived in what is now Northern California. His people were a merry people, fond of music and dancing, known for their celebration of all things in the circle of life from birth to the joy of the hunt to the honor of dying a life well lived. Kannawapi was born under the moon of the dancing prima in the midst of the years of decadence. For as long as anyone could remember, the rains and the hunts gad been plentiful. The gods had been generous and the winters had been short (with lots of powder and sick, fat cornices to jump off of).
Then in Kannawapi’s 10th year, under the moon of the foaming vessel, the rain stopped and did not come back for years. The land began to die and with it so did the animals and the people.
In the first few years more than half of the people in Kannawapi’s tribe died of starvation or dehydration, including his own parents.
Once in a while people would come from far away tribes seeking relief from drought and famine, which had decimated their people as well. Seeing the plight of Kannawapi’s people made them believe there was nowhere to go for escape. Everyone settled in to wait the terribleness -------the end -------or to wait for death to come. And, so it was – for quite awhile, until one day a new hope was born. On the eve of his 16th birthday, Kannawapi had a vision. He dreamt that far off in the desert he could see a small mountain rising up like a hump. He was drawn to it. He was starving, dying of thirst, but still he pressed on. Until, in the shadow of the mountain he could see a small lake. As he approached the lake, he noticed many people were following – the young and old alike. The rain fell behind him – people that followed danced and feasted like Kannawapi remembered them doing when he was a boy. When he awoke, his heart clenched with purpose, like a fist raised in defiance to the cruelty of the gods. He went straight to the elders of his tribe and told them of his vision and the quest he must embark upon. So, they bade him go.
“Kannawapi, if there is any luck – any chance – you can bring an end to all this, may the force be with you.”
In this way, Kannawapi’s journey began. He took with him one water ski and a satchel of turkey jerky. He walked for days – walked until he had no water – walked, hoping to find something to drink – found nothing and still, he walked. Until he had no turkey jerky left – And still, he walked. Starvation and dehydration intensified – he walked for weeks and months – on roads and unmarked paths. He followed his destiny to a sure and final end. After six months, Kannawapi was delirious – half insane – but he did not die. How long had he survived on the dirt off the soles of his feet? He did not know. But the gods kept him alive. One day, Kannawapi found himself on the edge of a vast desert. His eyes did not deceive him; he saw a small hump of a mountain in the distance.
On the last leg of his quest, he heard a voice. He looked beside him and saw a small boy. “Where are you going?” asked the boy. “To that mountain – across the desert.” Said Kannawapi.
“I don’t see a mountain.” “It is there, believe me.” “Why do you go?”“I go to bring the rain.”“Then I will join you.” Together they walked in silence, until; eventually the boy could see the mountain far off in the distance. Kannawapi could see the first faint glimmering of a small lake. As they approached, the sky began to fill with clouds. They walked until they stood on the very shore of the lake with the thunder echoing in the sky above. He stepped into the lake’s water and a light rain began to fall. With every step into the lake, the rain fell harder. When he was up to his neck, the boy called out: “Come back, you will drown!”
“I cannot, I must go on.” “But, fear not, I will return.” “When?” Cried the boy.
“One day when the earth has been a long time dry and rock’n’roll can save the world. You or yours will see me again.” And, into the depths, he dove. While, on the earth above, rain fell as it never had before. In 1974, in the moon of the burning, wooden tiger, in Phoenix, AZ, in the shadow of the Camelback Mountain, Glenn Stewart was born.