Kokopelli travels about on foot with a large sack of gifts for Indians slung over a shoulder and on his back. This spirit is to be depicted with a hump on his back which symbolizes his bag. Almost all which is in his bag are seeds for growing vegetables, fruits and field crops like wheat and corn.
Something else must be depicted as well, Kokopelli enjoys a huge penis and matching size pair of testicles. Without his hump sack and gigantic dick, depictions are not true to spirit. Wrongful depictions dishonor Kokopelli.
This fertility spirit plays his flute while approaching a tribal encampment to announce his arrival so braves will know who is coming and not kill him. His flute is critical to understanding Kokopelli and what he does.
Lore is breath of Kokopelli is the four points of the wind, west, north, east and south. He plays lovely music, magical music which mesmerizes and seduces wind spirits to bring cloud and rain spirits to water tribal crops. His flute playing is irresistibly seductive.
During nighttime campfire tribal ceremony, Kokopelli plays his flute and sings with a songbird beautiful voice to bring many spirits to see his tribal peoples celebrating our spiritual world and our many spirits. We honor those spirits. His soft slow melodic flute playing is so seductive Indian girls and boys become aroused and take to fornicating right then and there. Girls without boys are treated well, Kokopelli plays his flute while providing sex to those girls and providing seeds of babies from his other sack of seeds. Those girls immediately and joyfully become pregnant. Kokopelli fathers thousands of children over his years. Kokopelli is a fertility spirit both food and child.
A few decades back aging flower girls and long hair hippies popularize dream catchers, everyone must have a dream catcher, "Look, we have a dream catcher, we are Indians!" Mule manure, they are just growing old and trying to recapture their rock ‘n' roll glory days of the sixties. There is humor for us Indians, those millions of dream catchers those old hippies buy do not work, no bad dreams are kept away from babies. Commercial dream catchers are not made correctly, there is no spiritual weaving and those stale potheads certainly do not know of this ceremony needed to bring spiritual life to a dream catcher. All they are doing is hanging up wall decorations, "Way cool!"
Today the ultra-chic have Kokopelli wildly popular. Those standard issue white folks do not have the slightest clue about Kokopelli. But, hey, he is really hip. Kokopelli is all over the Southwest. Stand-in-line nightclubs, business names, beer brewers, stores, farms, clothing, bicycles, baby strollers, bird feeders, real estate agencies, guitars, backpacks even government offices, there is Kokopelli playing his seductive flute
Most wildly popular is clothing with a Kokopelli logo. Moccasins, tennis shoes, running shorts, baby outfits, shirts, sweats and even formal gowns and tuxedos, look there, Kokopelli playing his lustful flute. Kokopelli is everywhere!
This stealing of our Indian spiritual symbols is "cultural appropriation" which is a subtle type of racism. White man is stealing from our spiritual beliefs to make money.
I have a challenging mental exercise for you, the reader. This is a test to discover if you are paying attention. I am betting you are not paying attention, not like we Indians do; we do not miss much of anything.
Go back and look at my two graphics of commercial applications of Kokopelli, those business logos and such. What you see is unimportant. What you do not see is very important. What is missing from those Kokopelli depictions?
Common to all white man depictions of Kokopelli is his King Kong dong and beach balls are missing. Christianity slices off his penis and testicles. Rather brutal, I think. This is inane and hypocritical Christian moral values rendering Kokopelli impotent.
Those business venture logos are not Kokopelli. Like dream catchers, Kokopelli is nothing more than decoration. His entire spiritual purpose is gone: fertility. This religious mutilation of Kokopelli is deeply offensive to us traditional Indians. This is another type of subtle racism: disrespect for our spiritual beliefs.
Three of us, our girl, her daddy and me, are down in the Southwest for an extended stay to visit our Indian friends, to enjoy admiring Indian artwork and mostly goof-off. We visit some Indian stores and are taken by beautiful Hopi "Mudhead" Kachina dolls.
We know he is Hopi, he is an Indian. Store owner knows we are Choctaw and Indian. This knowledge dramatically changes how we socialize. No white folks in the store, we do not have to worry about making them mad. We relax and talk like Indians.
We talk, he teaches us a lot about Mudhead spirit and Kachina spirit. The boy really knows his Hopi lore, he is a true Indian.
Our girl asks about Kokopelli. Our friend smiles, finger pokes our daughter in a shoulder, "Would you like me to tell you a funny story about Kokopelli?" She is elated, dances on her feet, claps her hands, "Yes! Yes, please!"
He knows our girl is puberty crazy and hormone insane. He reads faces and body language like us, like all traditional Indians. This store owner displays the deepest respect for our daughter. He also knows she is on the cusp of becoming a full grown woman through her rite of passage to womanhood. She is a woman, not a girl. He tells her a story in an adult way, a story which has us enjoy laughter tears first minute or so.
Our girl is shrieking, laughing, dancing, grinning and clasping her hands under chin. She is mesmerized by flute playing of Kokopelli. Her world becomes only his story.
"....walking across a hot desert down there in Mexico, his huge dick is dragging on blistering sand and hurts. Kokopelli stops and thinks and decides to carry his dick. A few miles his right hand tires out. He carries himself with his left hand a couple miles and but his dick is so heavy his hand tires out", all of us are grinning and laughing, our girl is enthralled, "Kokopelli stops and thinks again, ‘I'll put my dick inside a moccasin.' He walks around and finds a little shade under scrub brush. He sits and takes off a moccasin. About this time there is a terrible pain down there between his legs. He looks and there is a hundred fire ants stinging his balls. Kokopelli sits down on a fire ant nest and those ants are angry!"
My daughter shrieks, "No! No!" We all enjoy a good laugh about her reaction.
Store owner goes on while looking straight into her eyes to have her feel important, "Kokopelli jumps up and runs. He whacks at his balls to kill those fire ants and each time he does this hurts so bad he falls to his knees! Kokopelli looks over a shoulder and here comes a thousand fire ants in a single file line planning to sting his balls and kill him!" Our girl lets loose an audible gasp, "What happens, what did he do?"
Store owner pauses for a few moments like Indian story tellers do to heighten anticipation, our peoples are world class story tellers.
"He grabs up handfuls of sand and rubs his balls to get those fire ants off, then jumps up and runs. Kokopelli runs and runs for miles. Finally he stops, turns around and looks, scouts the desert, those fire ants are gone, ‘I can tie a moccasin on my dick now.' He finds some shade and sits down. Suddenly a hundred knives are stabbing his butt. He quickly gets up and looks, he sits down on a cluster of cranky horned toads!"
Three of us are just about doubled over from laughing so much! Such a hilarious story told with such talent and animation. Our girl is leaning over counter grinning and laughing up close to this story teller's face; she doesn't want to miss a single word.
Kokopelli suffers ongoing comical mishaps, one after another. Our store keeper friend signals near end of story by slowing down and using a softer voice, "Kokopelli finally arrives at our village. Our peoples look, they see a strange man coming. He is left hand using a flute for a walking stick, left foot limping, wearing a moccasin on his dick and holding his balls with his right hand. Hopi don't like what they see so our men grab sticks and tomahawks and go out there then chase this stranger off out into the desert!"
I think our girl laughs so hard she piddles her jeans. I know I did.
Our cowboy's daughter walks over and without asking, reaches right into his left front jeans pocket and pulls out a wad of folding money. She peels off a c-note, stuffs rest of his money back in pocket then returns to counter.
She is excited, "I want to buy Grandfather Spirit!" Store owner smiles, "He is a favorite of mine." Price tag is sixty bucks. She lays her hundred on counter. Her new friend tells her, "I'll get your change." Our girl gently tugs on his arm, "No," she is careful with her wording, "You earned this with your story telling." He is Indian, she is Indian, they are of one mind. He understands, simply nods and leaves the c-note laying on counter. He motions for her to come around back of counter. They go over and stand in front of Grandfather Spirit and talk for a good half hour. He teaches her about this spirit, tells a short story then instructs what to do, "Buy a glass dome dust cover. You can Windex the cover and never have to clean Grandfather Spirit."
We watch, can't hear much. I slip an arm around her daddy and squeeze. We are quiet, our cowboy sighs, "She is not a little girl anymore, she is a woman. I'm going to miss our girl." I laugh a bit, "Don't you fret, she will be twice as ornery as when she was a little girl."
Some liner notes. Store keeper leaves the hundred dollar bill laying on counter so not to offend our girl. We Indians think this rude for a merchant to grab up and pocket money right off, this sends a message, "I don't trust you."
Our girl carefully chooses a word "earned" to not offend her store keeper friend. We Indians do not like pity, sympathy nor charity. Tradition is when an Indian gives you something, in time you must return something of equal value to keep things even. He tells us a delightful story, he earns a generous tip for this. He will use this extra money to feed his family.
Our store merchant does not mince his words nor candy coat this story. This is a display of respect for our daughter; he honors her. His telling of this story is how all of us traditional Indians tell stories even to our children. For more than ten-thousand years our tribes never develop this notion of obscenity. This simply does not exist for us, we do not see nor hear obscenity. We absolutely never censor anything.
Within our Western World, Christianity is directly responsible for insulting censorship. Those Kokopelli symbols cannot display his penis and testicles because this would offend Christians, arrogant Christians who believe themselves morally superior to all others. All must be censored according to church dogma because God says so, the phoney Christian god this is.
We Indians do not have a god nor gods. We enjoy spirits who guide us but never rule us. Our spirits are fallible, often laughable. Indian spirits make dumb mistakes just like us humans. We poke fun at our spirits, this is traditional. I think important is we have no fear of our spirits. Those spirits are just like us except they have some extra powers.
Overall emphasis of my topic is comparing our common sense Indian moral values to nether orifice retentive moral values of Christians. This is mainstream religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islamism which confine and cage love along with forbidding any displays of sexually. If a single point to make this is our American system of governance remains quintessential theocratic tyranny.