Joseff GreenFeather died of emphysema after smoking cigarettes. Did the cigarettes kill him? Sunbear died after eating cheeseburgers. Did the cheeseburgers kill him? Who can say?

The following story tells how a circle of smokers reacted when a sick man asked for a cigarette. In an artistically perfect world they would have thrown all the cigarettes they had in the campfire and said “Sorry brother, we can't help you, none of us smoke,” then made it true. Because if Joseff was killing himself by smoking, then so was everyone around the fire, they just had not yet made as much progress as Joseff.

But reality is never as perfect as it could be; here is what really happened. -- WebMaster

Last summer in Arizona I came to the Ovens on an evening when the kitchen was alive with the Family's love. People were laughing and hugging, eating and singing . Joseph Greenfeather sat in his wheelchair below the tarps, positioned toward the front like the guest of honor at an awards dinner. His eyes searched the dimly lit crowd and as folks came up to greet him they said the kind of things that people say to those who are very ill. “Hey, I hope your behaving now! You've got to take good care of yourself, we need you around! Love You, Bro' .”

I took a seat off to his side and as I enjoyed the company of my brothers and sisters I took a pack of cigarettes out of my backpack and shared them with those near me. Joseph saw this and getting my attention asked me if I could spare one for him. There was a tense moment of silence. I froze, the pack of non-filtered cigarettes still in my outstretched hand. “That brand was my favorite, can you spare one”, he repeated.

Before I could turn towards him the outcry began. “No, Brother! Don't give it to him! Joseph, you know you can't do that. No! I'm doing this because I love you. Don't give it to him!” Joseph's chest heaved. He reached for the wheels of his chair to pull himself away but the locks were on. He shook as he tore the oxygen tube from his nose. “Goddamn it! You..you can't tell me what I can't do! It's MY life!”, he now began to shake even harder and some brothers tried to calm him and place the oxygen back on his head. One brother wasn't going to hear it, “No, your sick because of those things and if you think I'm going to let you smoke just because you pull your tubes out, your wrong. I love you, Bro'.” “Friend,” he moved closer to me, “please put that pack away, he can't have any.” I was relieved to be off the hook and placed the Luckies in my coat pocket.

After a few minutes of fidgeting and being whispered to firmly, Joseph was still short of breath, but he seemed to be gaining more control again. Two guitars were playing a song about the road as Joseph looked at the faces of the people sitting behind the ovens, lit by the warming glow of the fires, their voices muffled in the distance. “I wasn't going to smoke it,” Joseph said slowly, deliberately. “I just wanted one.” A moment passed in which he seemed to be staring at a space about three feet in front and just below his eye level. Everyone acted as though he hadn't been heard.

Then he lifted his gaze and turning, caught my eyes straight on. “Brother, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me one of those non-filters.” I stood, walked over to him, took the pack out and shook one loose for him. He put it in his jacket.

Joseph didn't want that cigarette. That's not what he was asking from me.

Every action we do, no matter how trivial or ordinary, has a real consequence. For some people their actions add up to something which causes them to suffer. We like to think that there is a right and a wrong to everything, and that doing the 'right' thing is the good way.

Now, when I think about that night, I hear Joseph asking me for a hug and for my respect and friendship. And I see myself reaching within and giving him my love.

In the world there is an ocean of compassion and our lives are the drops that fill that sea.

R.Vazquez