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Happy "Thanksgiving," a day to celebrate the native peoples who continue to live on the dark side of the white man's world. (They cook! They clean! They don't leave musty odors!)

A day when, despite the football and the mountains of food, Americans are forced to remember that the brown "Indians" fed the hungry, lost, and sunburned Pilgrims. Not the other way around.

2004 has been the worst of times. It has been the best of times. I am waking from a long slumber.

In 1964, a few descendants of the murdered tribes in what is known as Northern America occupied Alcatraz island in San Francisco bay for one day. In 1969, they returned in larger numbers and occupied the island until 1971. Following the occupation, a celebration is held each Thanksgiving day to welcome the sunrise.

Today is the 31st anniversary of the Unthanksgiving ceremony at Alcatraz. Today is my first pilgrimage to it.

As I waited in line for the ferry, a couple behind me mentioned their friends who had arrived at the island at 4:30 in the morning, which was about the time my cat Molly demanded that I get out of bed. I turned and asked, "What do they do there so early?" The woman replied bluntly, "Pray." There was a long silence after which she said, "get ready for the ceremony."

She asked me if I was from this area, and I replied ,"Yes, but I am really from the center of California. The place where the food is grown and cheap houses are being built to cover the land. When there's no more food, perhaps they'll knock down the houses. But everyone will be dead by then."

The woman replied, "Oh no, some of us will be left."

Yes, there will be survivors after our dominant society, with its emphasis on science, money, technological warfare, and consumption, is long gone. Those who are strong enough to bear the cold and live outside with the plants and trees and animals. And then what, I wonder. Wait for another Columbus to arrive?

A ferry carried us visitors from San Francisco to Alcatraz. It was fitting that we left the white, commercialized world, for a cold, practically dark island where prisoners once lived. I felt as if I was leaving myself behind at the dock. Good-bye car, cell phone, DSL.

When we arrived, we shuffled up another metaphor, a few hundred feet above the docks to the ceremony grounds. To another plane of being and thought. I was then treated to the image of an Aztec warrior with full headdress, kneeling to care for his child in a stroller. As natural as any father would. A real person, full of pride and ease. Nearly naked bearing a brown warmth in the cold morning. This is evidence, I thought to myself, that they belong here.

There were tangible events that took place on the island this morning. Roughly 4,000 pilgrims greeted the sunrise on Alcatraz. Many were turned away (note to self: buy extra tickets ahead of time and sell them at cost just to make a few people happy) because the small island can only hold so many. I also think "the man" fears a riot. After all, we're all very dangerous people with our blankets and peace-sign pins.

About 90 Aztec dancers performed in full costume. Drums and hand-made wood instruments led their way.

After the dance, an African American man called for Revolution and some in the crowd replied "Revolution!" I'm not sure what Revolution means. But I do know that I have revolved within myself, and I am now facing the exit from the world that I find distasteful. Whether the President is Hillary Clinton or Condoleeza Rice, I will never be surprised by the barbarity carried out in our name. I will resist.

Only you can free your mind. With a clear head, you can thrive, even in a prison.

One of the speakers told of the days before the occupation when their older family members sat at home, perhaps in front of the white television, asking each other, "why are we treated like this?" And so, the occupation of Alcatraz, the defiant statement that "We are here and we deserve to be here," means a great deal to many of these elders, some of who have joined the spirits who welcome us.

Roughly about this time, my emotions overtook me. Tears streamed down my face, like a Baptism, for a few minutes as I imagined myself taking off my Darth Vader helmet and my Borg body armor, exposing the raw Terris to the outside world. I imagined a group of friends who were willing to greet me, accept me, and invite me into their lives and to their table, no questions asked.

Upon departure, I missed the first ferry leaving the island. This turned out to be a blessing because a US Park Ranger entertained the crowd until the next boat arrived. The ranger, in his youth, participated in the student occupation of Kent State. He shared information regarding the past political and religious prisoners held on the island, including 19 Hopi men who were imprisoned for refusing to renunciate their beliefs. "You've got to work for somebody," he said, "and here I can educate people."

On my way out of San Francisco, the Asian parking gargage attendant said "Happy Thanksgiving" and let me exit without paying. Somehow, it made sense: a wink and a nod. We shall overcome.

As I write this, I have since donned my mask and body armor. When will I decide to free myself for good? When will I finally decide that I'm more important than the Dark Side? When will I learn to survive by my own wits instead of relying upon friends and software for a paycheck and an unsatisfying life?

The story of the occupation of Alcatraz is not like a Brady Bunch episode. It's not like a Bob Marley song. The occupiers, cut off from trade and resources, weren't able to live in peace and security the entire duration. But there were certainly days when the occupiers rose to their aspirations. Action is far more satisfying and lasting than complaining during television commercials. One day of freedom is worth a lifetime of the corporate oppression we non-billionaires face every day. There is hope. There is something to be grateful for.

The struggle continues.

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