At an afternoon tea party I met uncle heart today. He smells of moth balls, tobacco and bourbon and he drew me in with a warm and manly hug around my shoulder. He has the memory of an elephant, uncle heart. He is a tree, a pillar, his roots sink deep into the great mother of us all. He is difficult to fool. He loves to gossip, to take you in and whisper, "now this is strickly between your and I, ". If I need to know something or if I am unsure about someone - anyone from a politician to a shaman to a stranger, myself - he encourages me to come on over and ask. Uncle heart knows and he loves to share his confidences.He pointed significantly at sadness, "even she is smiling this afternoon," he said. When some of the other uncles showed up, he introduced them as all part of the family and made them a lot less frightful, brains blown out, lost in violence, insanity and sin. He made it seem perfectly normal that they would sit and sip tea and speak of their bloody horrors only a few feet away from sister peace. Uncle Heart caught me after my brief discourse with the warrior and with his warm arm around my shoulder turning me confidentially aside, said, "never let the warrior make the decisions," and then with a quick wink to the warrior he added, "unless absolutely necessary".