When I was a child my father sang me endless songs about a People who walked vast distances, struggled against high odds, succeeded, failed, but above all else, continued.

I learned these songs from him. And then one day he asked me what I knew. “Why,” I said, “I know the vast history of a whole People who continued and continued over thousands of years.”

“Do you?” he asked, “And how do you know such things?”

We discussed this for a long time, deep in conversation, deep in thought. Each time I told my father I knew such things had happened he reminded me of what “know” means, until at last I said,

“I know my father lifted his head and sang. I know I heard him.. I know these are his songs. I conclude they contain much accuracy because I feel the reality behind the words and because my father seems to me the kind of person to take no such task lightly and because it seems to me his father would have been such a one also.

“Perhaps during my life, I, too, will go and look and see for myself the accuracy of these words. But until then, I accept my father’s task as he accepted the task from his father. I shall perpetuate these words. I will take upon myself the further task of forming them in English, accurate always, beautiful if possible.

“But beyond this I will make no further claim:

“My father lifted his head and sang.”

“I heard him.”

- Paula Underwood

On a “Sacred Journey” to the Yucatan in December of 1996, Paula performed a ceremony of gratitude at sea. It was meant to honor the Sun People and their oral history. This flower ceremony commemorated their landing off the island of Cozumel. It was a story that had been carefully and respectfully kept all these years within the telling of The Walking People.