This morning I was reading a news story about President Obama’s proclamation of Thanksgiving…here’s an excerpt:

NOW, THEREFORE, I, BARACK OBAMA, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim Thursday, November 26, 2009, as a National Day of Thanksgiving. I encourage all the people of the United States to come together, whether in our homes, places of worship, community centers, or any place where family, friends and neighbors may gather, with gratitude for all we have received in the past year; to express appreciation to those whose lives enrich our own; and to share our bounty with others.

I think that certainly sets an appropriate intention for the day, focusing on gratitude and service.  A few days back I wrote about Pilgrims and Puritans and I am mindful about the true roots of this holiday.  So today, in preparation for tomorrow’s American holiday of Thanksgiving I’ll simply offer this Sioux prayer for the harvest:

You, O God, are the Lord of the mountains and valleys. You are my mother and my father. You have given rain to make the corn grow, and sunshine to ripen it. Now in your strength the harvest begins.

I offer you the first morsels of the harvest. I know it is almost nothing compared with the abundance of the crop. But since you have provided the harvest, my gift to you is only a sign of what you have given to me.

You alone know how many suns and moons it will take to finish reaping. You alone know how heavy the crop will be. If I work too hard and too fast I forget about you, who gave me the harvest. So I will work steadily and slowly, remembering that each ear of corn is a priceless gift from you.

A national Thanksgiving Day is observed in the United States as recommended by President George Washington and approved by Congress. On November 26, 1941 U.S. President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed a bill establishing the fourth Thursday in November as Thanksgiving Day in the United States.

The image below, courtesy of Western Waters Digital Library, depicts in “sign language” (or pictographs) how Thanksgiving day is celebrated by the American Indians. Theodore Lambie, young Sioux, created this picture for the readers of “Indians at Work,” official publication of the Indian service, in 1937.

Aren’t they just exquisite? Click here for them.

North Dakota Attorney Generals Tells Indian Supporters Of Sioux Nickname To Shut Up And Be Offended.

I say again most of the natives support and consider the mascot an mark of honor but a few extremists and their white liberal supporters, who do not know what they are talking about, are trying to make something out of nothing with this abusive claim to the Universities mascot.
When will it ever end…
Go Sioux!!!

Today being #OtherEsteem Wednesday on Twitter, I wanted to take a peek at Monica’s site, The OtherEsteem Blog (named after Monica Diaz’s book, OtherEsteem).  Her delightful post, The Biggest Challenge, reminds us how our experiences may differ widely from the experiences of another with similar circumstance.  As such, we are urged to take great care so as to understand another’s point of reference if we are to encourage and edify.  Monica’s post immediately reminded me of a Sioux prayer that captures the pure essence of what it is like to value others, to hold them in high esteem:

“As quietly as little rabbit’s feet, the morning glory sun arrives to greet the Red Man as he worships in his way. For this he asks the Spirit every day: Before I judge my friend, O let me wear His moccasins for two long weeks, and share the path that he would take in wearing them. Then, I shall understand and not condemn.”

Mother Teresa, speaking of the Peace necessary for us to be One, essentially taught the same lesson: “If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.”  Herein, for me, is the essence of OtherEsteem—we belong to one another.  We are family and we share Love just as assuredly as we share the Breath of Life.  I, for one, thank my lucky stars we belong to one another, and that we share the path set before us with others who understand—or, who want to understand.

Every Leader, especially everyServant Leader, should read Monica’s post!  Thank you for an uplifting, inspirational post dear friend.  Hugs!

Ou alors quelque chose comme ça… cela signifie “Danse avec les Loups” en langue Sioux.

Ce sera le film de la semaine, Danse avec les Loups, de et avec Kevin Costner, en 1990. Un film vu avec ma tante (qui m’avait pris en photo tout petiot, laquelle photo figure sur le prochain recueil de poésie) dans ce petit cinéma d’auteurs appelé Le Katorza. Sièges trop serrés les uns des autres, odeurs fortes de sueur et de pop-corn. Le prix était encore en francs et c’était super moins cher… ! Bref !

A chaque fois que je regarde ce film, cela éveille en moi une envie irrépressible d’aller dans les grands espaces, de parcourir des lieux incroyables, de partir à la rencontre de l’Autre. Ce film est un tel hymne à la liberté, selon moi, que cela titille mes sens, un besoin inhérent à ma personnalité.

Ce film, on dirait un livre-fleuve tiré des meilleurs scénarii de creative writing (atelier d’écriture) avec la spécialité de nature creative… Désolé pour la digression littéraire. Mais bon, mon écriture devait en être imprégnée et elle l’est, assurément. Mais en France, le genre n’est pas super prisé… dommage !

Je me souviens de cette relation unique quand, vers la fin du film, “Cheveux dans le vent” (nom Sioux) hurle sur sa falaise à Kevin Costner son amitié, ce cri incroyable et déchirant devant toute la communauté, “Jomani tatanka oatchi!”. La couleur de la peau a laissé la place aux sentiments, à la sincérité des relations, ils se sont reconnus. Ils sont amis.

J’aime ce genre de récit, j’aime que l’on exacerbe ces sentiments. Il y a quelque chose de grand, d’absolu. Et cela me fait du bien.

Si seulement je pouvais écrire de la sorte, tout du moins m’en approcher…

foto "Sitting Bull kite" by Confetti - flickr

Quando avranno inquinato l’ultimo fiume, abbattuto l’ultimo albero, preso l’ultimo bisonte, pescato l’ultimo pesce, solo allora si accorgeranno di non poter mangiare il denaro accumulato nelle loro banche.

Tatanka Iyotake (Toro Seduto), capo Sioux (Grand River, 1831 – Fort Yates, 15 dicembre 1890)

No porque la historia lo haya escondido (o no por que no sea uno de sus temas preferidos) esta de más recordar de vez en cuando que los Estados Unidos se cimientan sobre un gran genocidio de naciones indias, otro infame holocausto. La triste y aberrante tradición de los estados a realizar genocidios en sus historias. A principios del siglo XVII, las naciones indias tenían aproximadamente entre 8 y 10 millones de habitantes en el territorio actual de los Estados Unidos. En cien años en 1800, 24 años después de haberse proclamado la independencia norteamericana eran entre 850.000 y un millón y medio. Las causas de esta disminución: enfermedades desconocidas, el deterioro económico y social, las hambrunas, el alcohol, las matanzas y deportaciones. En tres siglos se exterminaron casi el noventa por ciento de los indios norteamericanos.
Lo anterior fue la antesala de lo que irónicamente se llama la Epopeya de la Conquista del Oeste. En 1860 entre los 31.4000.0000 de los norteamericanos blancos y el Océano Pacífico se interponían centenares de miles de indios agrupados en diferentes naciones. Treinta años más tarde, los dos océanos estaban unidos bajo la jurisdicción de un solo Estado habitado por 62.7000.000 habitantes, en su mayoría inmigrantes extranjeros dispuestos a vivir en las tierras expoliadas a los indígenas: el golpe final del genocidio indígena.

Algunas armas del genocidio: La base del sustento de las naciones indígenas de la pradera era el búfalo; su matanza indiscriminada y preparada obligó a muchas de estas naciones a lanzarse a una guerra perdida de antemano. El extermino y la extinción de especies naturales como herramienta genocida. Otras formas; las matanzas de indígenas ante la resistencia a ceder sus territorios tampoco tuvieron reparos oficiales, a pesar de la Constitución americana, los derechos del Hombre y un sinfín de disposiciones legales sólo, (como en el caso del nazismo y de los fascismos varios) dirigidas a los anglosajones, en definitiva los blancos. Enfermedades y esclavitud encubierta hay que contarlas como otras formas del genocidio físico y cultural.

Sioux, Cheyennes, exterminados y los verdugos creando mitos como los del general Custer, símbolo de la brutalidad y del genocidio contra las naciones indias. Estas naciones tan peligrosas e incivilizadas que daban gracias al búfalo, llamándolo hermano por alimentarles. Naciones que entendían la guerra como supervivencia, no como posesión, no como usura, no como poder. Eran tan incivilizados que jamás mataban un ser vivo, animal o vegetal, puesto que al mismo nivel que ellos eran parte de un todo, de una vida, de un cosmos. Unas culturas fundamentadas en el respeto máximo a la vida, a toda la vida.

Pero qué importa, la historia estadounidense falsifica y califica de gran desastre la derrota de su ejército frente a los indios en Little Big Hom, en la que murieron 260 soldados del general Custer, olvidando los millones de indígenas masacrados antes, durante y después. Por cierto, los indios eran 2000 guerreros, frente a un gran ejercito profesional con un armamento de los más avanzados de la época. En 1886, Jerónimo, jefe de los Apaches-Chiricahuas, terrible peligro para el gobierno americano, llevaba tres años huyendo por tierras de Nuevo México ridiculizando a varios regimientos que le perseguían, con una tropa conjunta de 5.000 hombres. Los indios eran 25, con sus mujeres y niños. Finalmente, fueron atrapados 18 peligrosísimos y fieros indios, como expuso la prensa americana de la época.

En 1889 se cerró el último acto de aquella conquista, tan deformada por el cine y la televisión, el llamado Territorio Indio, que quedaba y aún no había sido saqueado y limpiado étnicamente, fue convertido por el gobierno Norteamericano en el Estado de Oklahoma. En esa tierra sobrevivían, harapientos y muertos de hambre 75.000 indios deportados de diferentes regiones. El 22 de abril de aquel año, y en sólo 24 horas, vieron invadidas aquellas tierras deprimidas y secas por 50.000 colonos. Las reservas, el particular holocausto que les esperaban a los supervivientes de las milenarias naciones indias, los autóctonos americanos, serían y son el fin de la historia de aquellas antiguas naciones.

Fuente: Socialdemocrata.org

This year the battle re-enactment that will depict the First World War era will be something special. Rather than the standard New Zealanders versus Germans battle, in the scenario devised for this year there is more to it. An Allied forward medical aid post has been captured by the German forces, and the New Zealanders have to attempt to rescue their medics back from the enemy.

For the unarmed army medics who operated on the front lines and right into no man’s land, the war was a very dangerous place. Dodging bullets and shellfire in order to rescue and assist others took a special courage. It is fitting that we acknowledge their work in the form of this re-enactment becuse one of the men taking part, as he does every year, is historian Brendan O’Carroll, who has just released the book Khaki Angels. This book is all about the medics and the amazing work they did. You can see more about the book at his publisher’s website here http://www.ngaiopress.com/KA-home.htm

Throughout history  New Zealand’s Armed Forces have continued to have medics in the front lines of the world’s conflicts, from World War Two to Korea to Vietnam and to the first Gulf War. Even now we have medical teams in several UN hotspots including Afghanistan.

Another display this weekend that remembers the great work of military medical staff is the display of the Sioux helicopter by Phil Hooker.  Painted in the colours of a M*A*S*H unit, or Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, this helicopter was not just made famous by the popular TV comedy but in fact really did carry out medivac (medical evacuation) flights and other mercy missions on the front lines in the Korean War (1950-1953). The bravery of these US pilots flying in unarmed and alone to front line positions to exacuate wounded soldiers was outstanding. New Zealand didn’t then have military helicopters so did not take part in that aspect of the Korean War, however the RNZAF did have trained helicopter pilots by the time the Vietnam War came along, and many New Zealand pilots flew in Vietnam with the Royal Australian Air Force. One such was Robin Klitscher, who is now the National President of the Royal new Zealand Returned Services Association. Robin will be laying a wreath at the Armistice in Cambridge Commemorative Ceremony on the morning of Sunday the 8th of November 2009.

Melvin Martin (Oglala Sioux) gives the best discussion I’ve heard yet about the New Age “sweat lodge” deaths in Arizona and how they fit into a larger context of cultural theft and materialism.  Very profound.

The so-called “dominant culture” is greatly conflicted vis ‘a vis the American Indian so much so that they occupy a brutally nightmarish, cultural dead zone; they either hate us (with the worst of that hatred to be found in Rapid City, Bemidji and Farmington as previously noted) or they patronize us (‘a la legions of New Age devotees), with a pathetic absence of any sort of humane middle ground. A certain distance and even greater disconnect characterizes the contemporary status quo between white and tribal America that has manifested all sorts of social dysfunction, the Sedona incident being perhaps the latest and best example.

Let me tell you a few stories:

When I was living in San Francisco in the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties, I didn’t limit myself to one quarter that was black-friendly, like Fillmore, Hunter’s Point or Lower Haight. I explored almost all of its neighborhoods and main drags, like Noe Valley–24th Street, The Mission–Mission and 16th, Potrero, Pacific Heights, The Marina, and Cow Hollow–Union Street.

One fine day in the Eighties, I happened on a shop on Union Street that had just opened which was packed to the rafters with masks and carved gods and goddesses and other icons from Africa, Asia, Melanesia and Micronesia. It looked really interesting on the  outside, and people were going in and out.   However, I wasn’t there for long, because I felt that I had to leave after less than five minutes. No, it wasn’t the manager/owner or the clutter. And I didn’t feel that it was the effect of electronic messages that security firms insert surreptitiously in music to keep customers from stealing. I’ve had that experience before. I do remember that there was no music in the place.  Nor was it hot or stuffy in there, and I hadn’t eaten anything weird.

How can I explain it? I felt that I was extremely sensitive to the organic vibrations those masks and idols gave off. There was a sense of confusion, suppressed rage, and of dread in that shop. Many were beautiful, and with strong images, but some were quite ugly, and were less artistic than grotesque.   I was talking to the manager when suddenly, it did not feel right for me to be there to be among these “ancestors” who were all mixed up, and crowding in on each other.  They were unrecognized, unnameable, dishonored and in a place where they were to be sold as mere conversation pieces and as decorations. I felt that they were angry as hell. That’s why I had to get out of there quickly, and breathed fresh air just outside the door.

The manager, a white man, followed me out, seeing that I looked overwhelmed, asking whether I was okay, and I managed to mumble to him something of what I felt.  He said proudly that he had collected these items along with a friend for a number of years, and that they were now selling them. He invited me to come back later when I felt better, but I never returned.

The voudou flag of the god Loko Atison, the aspect of Legba who is the protector of the voudou shrine; he represents medicine and the healing arts. He is often invoked to help with healing and to protect against black magic (Courtesy: Wikipedia)

In contrast, I visited a shop in Noe Valley that once had a lot of vodun (voudou) flags. A voudou flag essentially is a banner with an emblem or vévé for the god, or a picture of the god. They are sewn with native threads, spangles, and sequins.   This experience was different. I walked down the row of flags for sale, and none were crowded on each other; they were organized, separate and no masks were there except on the other side of the room. Then, the proprietor behind the desk specifically warned me about purchasing one with Baron Samedi (the god of death and the graveyard; the old Haitian dictator François Duvalier always dressed publicly as the god to strike fear in his constituents), unless I knew exactly what I was doing.   I looked straight at him.   I’m from New Orleans, I said.  Which meant,  I know what the voodou pantheon is. I wouldn’t want that, I agreed, giving a shiver to my shoulders.  We agreed that something like Oshun or Erzulie would be best.  Yeah, but there are so many people wanting to see his particular flag and wanting to buy it for their homes, he said.  My mouth flew open.

Lastly, when I visited New Orleans in 1996, I spent days in the French Quarter.  Naturally, I went to the Voodoo Museum and to Mam’zelle Marie Laveau’s house on St. Ann Street.  Among the usual tourist gew-gaws and real voudou products was the door to a room where there were altars dedicated to about six separate voudou gods.  They were protected by a wire fence on both sides.  You have to pay to enter this room, and you can close the door or leave it open.  I decided to take my chances and close the door.

I could feel vibrations coming from these altars, very, very strong, but they were rather benign.  I felt that the gods were indeed present there, and I inclined my head to each one in respect, after admiring and marking what was on their altars, until I got to the one dedicated to Baron Samedi, which was the last and nearest to the door.  I stood there slowly feeling as if I were about to be pushed into a large, dark mouth where there was no light, and when I couldn’t stand it anymore, I swung open the door.

Some Native-, Asian- and Latino-American peoples as well as Africans and Haitians have warned against people collecting certain religious idols, masks, and flags without knowing exactly what they are and what they depict.  They say that having such a item in one’s home could influence a room and the people in it. With the experiences I have had, I would have to take them at their words. The same can be said of religious rituals and rites that, cherry-picked and chosen by New Age practitioners, can be misused to the detriment of others. Rituals by themselves are not enough without the religions that created them, and the process by which they are understood and used correctly.

From Scandinavia to South America to Africa, people have come together in the sauna-like structures — typically heated by pouring water on hot lava rocks — for a variety of reasons, said Joseph Bruchac, writer and author of The Native American Sweat Lodge. He’s part Abenaki, a tribe concentrated in the northeast United States, and part European.

“Each tribal nation has its own traditions, so one group might do it differently from another so you cannot generalize too much,” said Bruchac, who runs an outdoor education center in Greenfield Center, New York.

In North America, most Native American tribes use the term “sweat lodge” to refer to a dome-shaped structure where the intimate ritual of the sweat takes place, said Bruchac, who has his own sweat lodge on his property in the foothills of the Adirondacks.

“Sweat lodges are typically used for a ritual preparation, like before a hunt, or nowadays, people might do it before a wedding or dance or some kind of community event as a way of putting yourself in balance,” he said.

Bruchac noted that incidents like the one in Arizona tend to raise discussion in Native American communities over whether non-Natives should be allowed to adapt traditional ceremonies.

“It’s a very meaningful ceremony. I can understand why people find it attractive,” Bruchac said. “But I consider it sacrilegious and foolish to do someone else’s rituals without proper guidance or practice, especially in sweat lodges where you’re raising people’s body temperatures. With that many people, oxygen is going to be depleted, and if you have heart problems or breathing problems, you could faint or die.”

I’ve participated in a sweat lodge. For a time in the late Eighties, I was into one aspect of Native American religion, but it was promulgated by a Lakota Sioux woman.   I went to the meetings with a white woman who has continued in Native religion after I decided to return to Nichiren Buddhism.   I photographed the building of the lodge until I was told not to, because it was not something to be shared with those outside of the group.  The sweat lodge experience occurred in a state park.

And when the lodge was completed, covered in hides and blankets and evergreen branches, and when the stones were heated, and we were in various stages of undress, in shorts and in bathing suits, we went in small groups at a time. It wasn’t the 50-65 at one time that was said to have occurred at the James Arthur Ray-led group in Sedona, AZ. I’d say that there were about six to eight people at a time in the lodge.  And I sat and withstood the steam and heat from the stones until it was time for me to go. Compared to say, a sauna, where pine tar and eucalyptus mixed with water can be thrown on onto the heat, no scents were allowed on the stones. And it wasn’t for two hours either. I was there for at least twenty minutes to half an hour. Everyone was like that. No one was forced to stay in longer than it was possible for them.  People were quietly asked if they were okay during the sweat; they simply said yes or no, or nodded. I nodded. I did not speak until we were led in chants; my mind focused, and I was at peace and in inner prayer.  It had been a difficult day for me; my anger flared out on another black woman who was present with her daughter.  I cannot understand why even now; but perhaps this was because about inner change for me and cleaning out anything about me that was impure, and any change is scary.

James Arthur Ray, a self-help expert from Carlsbad, Calif., led what was billed as five-day “spiritual warrior” experience at Angel Valley, which concluded with a tightly packed sweat lodge ceremony. Participants paid about $9,000 each for the weeklong retreat, which included seminars, a 36-hour fast and solo experiences in the forest.

The authorities say that at any one time 55 to 65 people were packed for a two-hour period into a 415-square foot structure that was 53 inches high at the center and 30 inches high on the perimeter. Mr. Ray’s employees built the wood-frame lodge, which was wrapped in blankets and plastic tarps. Hot rocks were brought into the lodge and doused with water. Mr. Ray, who conducted the ceremony, left the area on Thursday after declining to give a statement to the police.

Sheriff Steve Waugh of Yavapai County said a death investigation would continue for several weeks. Mr. Ray, the Angel Valley owners, Michael and Amayra Hamilton, and all the participants are part of the investigation, the sheriff said. The results from autopsies that were conducted Friday have not been released and results from toxicology tests are not expected for several weeks.

Our late teacher did not ask for money except for the campsite and the food.  She was not some kind of exalted guru, she was a human being and an individual with failings.  She could have been like some of these New Age people, giving her groups half-truth feel-good medicine instead of whole truths as she raked in money, but she was not like that. She was even criticized and ostracized by other Native people for teaching non-Indians “the way.” I still remember her generally as a warm, decent woman, and there are times that I chant daimoku for her and thank her for her teaching me about respect for Turtle Island, and for “the plant people and the animal people for giving up their lives that we can live.”

We all ate afterwards; we had eaten little all day long, and it was like a giving thanks dinner. I think that everyone was in appreciation of each other and their lives that evening. And when I went back to my tent to sleep, I know that I slept deeply and well as if had I sloughed off something…bad.

“It’s important to know who is responsible for your spiritual and physical safety in that lodge,” said Vernon Foster, a member of the Klamath-Modoc tribe who regularly leads ceremonial sweat lodge events in central Arizona.

Mr. Foster said native people would use only natural materials in the construction of a sweat lodge. “We would never use plastic to cover our lodges,” he said. “The lodge has to breathe, that steam has to go someplace.”

Sheriff’s office investigators are conducting tests to determine whether any toxins were released during the ceremony. The authorities said sandalwood “was thrown on the rocks to give the effect of incense.” A 2007 study by the National University of Singapore on the effects of smoke emitted by sandalwood incense published in the journal Science and Technology of Advanced Materials found that “continuous and prolonged exposure to incense smoke is of concern.”

This past weekend I watched the Concert for George again. The Concert for George is George Harrison’s memorial concert, which occurred a year to the day after the former Beatle made his transition, on November 29, 2002 at the Royal Albert Hall. George Harrison first embraced the music, and then Indian culture and Hinduism. He felt that you could not appreciate Indian music unless you came to appreciate the culture from which it sprang, and that meant the people as well. That’s why I admire George Harrison, not just for his music, but that he walked his talk; he did not pick and choose (or steal or romanticize) from Asian people.

In contrast, people in New Age religions embrace only one part of the totality of a culture or a people–like the buying masks and idols or a religion–without an understanding of what these items or these rituals really mean. Disrespect results, and then eventually, leaders can become authoritarian and cultish, people can get turned off and leave, or people can get hurt or worse, die. That’s the cruel lesson, I feel, that’s being learned regarding this tragedy. I can only hope that this time, that it’s heeded.

So, tomorrow is the day for me.  I will be attending my first writer’s conference.  Thank gawd it’s a small one and in my hometown.  I have no idea what to expect, I don’t know what to bring and I can’t remember anyone’s name.  I’m doomed!  The name thing is the worst.  And believe me I have tried everything from repeating their name in the conversation which I think is totally lame and makes me feel more uncomfortable.  I have tried saying the name in my head like sixty times. I ‘ve tried picking out certain features and doing word association with the name, but nothing seems to work.  Maybe I’m lucky I can remember my own name! Maybe I should tell people right up front “Hey, I’ll never remember your name but it was nice to meet you anyway.”  Maybe we’ll have to wear goofy name tags and I can spend my time sneaking peeks at the name tags.  Like anyone wouldn’t notice that! Unless I can wear sunglasses…Maybe I’ll just sneak out and go to the hockey game, because I do have a ticket and it’s the start of the regular season and the Fighting Sioux are raising the league championship banner and…wait aren’t I supposed to be at a writer’s conference? What was your name again?

…basically I think I’m just screwed…so I’ll probably end up trying to blend into the wall or sitting in the back of the room wondering what the #@*& I’m doing here, because really I’d rather be at home writing not trying to remember someone’s name!

Shhh…Don’t tell anyone but I am going to the hockey game…

2009 Board of Directors Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission

Ron Augustson, Chair

Janice Lee Jim

Roger Johnsen

Jerry Thomas

Bill Heincke

Richard Wixom

David Ulibarri

Jeannie M. Harvey

Christel Badey

Clarence Begay

Sue Vogel-Herrera

Alice Natale

You can support the Navajo Lutheran Mission through financial donations, volunteering and many other national programs.

For details visit the mission’s support page

Campbell’s Labels for Education

General Mills Boxtops for Education

Links related to the Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission (NELM):

NELM on facebook

NELM on wordpress blog

NELM on Blogger

NELM on Zimbio

NELM on myspace

NELM on bliptv

NELM on youtube

NELM on photobucket

NELM on Twitter

Flute music courtesy Arizona Flutes and Native Arts in Camp Verde, AZ

Navajo Lutheran Mission Second Week of School and Photo Montage:

Check out Carol Buckley CD’s

I hold this ancient instrument to my heart

And bless it with love.

I ask that my breath flow with ease

As my fingers dance to the rhythm

Of the ancient spirits joy.

May the music coming from this ancient instrument

Flow from my heart to heal wounded spirits,

Comfort and sooth troubled souls

And bring joy to the lives it touches.

Allow me to play in the peacefulness of the moment,

In the joy of celebration, and in the sacredness of living.

Arizona Flutes and Native Arts homepage

Navajo Nation Flag used in this video was created by artist R. Daniel Markstedt of Linköping in central Sweden:

R. Daniel Markstedt Wikipedia username is Himasaram

Link to Navajo Flag on Wikipedia

Himasaram Wikipedia gallery

Knox College

2 East South Street

Galesburg, IL

61401-4999

1-309-341-7000

Knox College website

Knox College students at NELM (left) in 2008. Students make fry bread (right) on the Navajo Reservation

Knox College students at Navajo Lutheran Mission

Knox College Courses involving Navajo Lutheran Mission

Wikipedia page about Knox College

Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch in Texas

Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch

Located 36 miles northwest of Amarillo, Texas, on US Highway 385

Cal Farley’s Girlstown, U.S.A.

Situated on 1,425 acres of land eight miles south of Whiteface, Texas, (west of Lubbock)

1-806-372-2341

1-800-657-7124 (toll free)

Cal Farley’s

600 W. 11th St.

Amarillo, TX

79101-3228

A Couple With A Mission: Rev. Dr. Lynn Hubbard and Rev. Deborah Haffner Hubbard

Photos of the students, teachers, staff and friends of the Navajo Lutheran Mission:

2009 Board of Directors Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission

Ron Augustson, Chair

Janice Lee Jim

Roger Johnsen

Jerry Thomas

Bill Heincke

Richard Wixom

David Ulibarri

Jeannie M. Harvey

Christel Badey

Clarence Begay

Sue Vogel-Herrera

Alice Natale

You can support the Navajo Lutheran Mission through financial donations, volunteering and many other national programs.

For details visit the mission’s support page

Campbell’s Labels for Education

General Mills Boxtops for Education

Links related to the Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission (NELM):

NELM on facebook

NELM on wordpress blog

NELM on Blogger

NELM on Zimbio

NELM on myspace

NELM on bliptv

NELM on youtube

NELM on photobucket

NELM on Twitter

Flute music courtesy Arizona Flutes and Native Arts in Camp Verde, AZ

Navajo Lutheran Mission Second Week of School and Photo Montage:

Check out Carol Buckley CD’s

I hold this ancient instrument to my heart

And bless it with love.

I ask that my breath flow with ease

As my fingers dance to the rhythm

Of the ancient spirits joy.

May the music coming from this ancient instrument

Flow from my heart to heal wounded spirits,

Comfort and sooth troubled souls

And bring joy to the lives it touches.

Allow me to play in the peacefulness of the moment,

In the joy of celebration, and in the sacredness of living.

Arizona Flutes and Native Arts homepage

Navajo Nation Flag used in this video was created by artist R. Daniel Markstedt of Linköping in central Sweden:

R. Daniel Markstedt Wikipedia username is Himasaram

Link to Navajo Flag on Wikipedia

Himasaram Wikipedia gallery

Knox College

2 East South Street

Galesburg, IL

61401-4999

1-309-341-7000

Knox College website

Knox College students at NELM (left) in 2008. Students make fry bread (right) on the Navajo Reservation

Knox College students at Navajo Lutheran Mission

Knox College Courses involving Navajo Lutheran Mission

Wikipedia page about Knox College

Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch in Texas

Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch

Located 36 miles northwest of Amarillo, Texas, on US Highway 385

Cal Farley’s Girlstown, U.S.A.

Situated on 1,425 acres of land eight miles south of Whiteface, Texas, (west of Lubbock)

1-806-372-2341

1-800-657-7124 (toll free)

Cal Farley’s

600 W. 11th St.

Amarillo, TX

79101-3228

A Couple With A Mission: Rev. Dr. Lynn Hubbard and Rev. Deborah Haffner Hubbard

Photos of the students, teachers, staff and friends of the Navajo Lutheran Mission:

Video of the First Day of School (August 13, 2009) and the second week of school at the Navajo Lutheran Mission in Rock Point, Arizona.

2009 Board of Directors Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission

Ron Augustson, Chair

Janice Lee Jim

Roger Johnsen

Jerry Thomas

Bill Heincke

Richard Wixom

David Ulibarri

Jeannie M. Harvey

Christel Badey

Clarence Begay

Sue Vogel-Herrera

Alice Natale

You can support the Navajo Lutheran Mission through financial donations, volunteering and many other national programs.

For details visit the mission’s support page

Campbell’s Labels for Education

General Mills Boxtops for Education

Links related to the Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission (NELM):

NELM on facebook

NELM on wordpress blog

NELM on Blogger

NELM on Zimbio

NELM on myspace

NELM on bliptv

NELM on youtube

NELM on photobucket

NELM on Twitter

Flute music courtesy Arizona Flutes and Native Arts in Camp Verde, AZ

Navajo Lutheran Mission Second Week of School and Photo Montage:

Check out Carol Buckley CD’s

I hold this ancient instrument to my heart

And bless it with love.

I ask that my breath flow with ease

As my fingers dance to the rhythm

Of the ancient spirits joy.

May the music coming from this ancient instrument

Flow from my heart to heal wounded spirits,

Comfort and sooth troubled souls

And bring joy to the lives it touches.

Allow me to play in the peacefulness of the moment,

In the joy of celebration, and in the sacredness of living.

Arizona Flutes and Native Arts homepage

Navajo Nation Flag used in this video was created by artist R. Daniel Markstedt of Linköping in central Sweden:

R. Daniel Markstedt Wikipedia username is Himasaram

Link to Navajo Flag on Wikipedia

Himasaram Wikipedia gallery

Knox College

2 East South Street

Galesburg, IL

61401-4999

1-309-341-7000

Knox College website

Knox College students at NELM (left) in 2008. Students make fry bread (right) on the Navajo Reservation

Knox College students at Navajo Lutheran Mission

Knox College Courses involving Navajo Lutheran Mission

Wikipedia page about Knox College

Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch in Texas

Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch

Located 36 miles northwest of Amarillo, Texas, on US Highway 385

Cal Farley’s Girlstown, U.S.A.

Situated on 1,425 acres of land eight miles south of Whiteface, Texas, (west of Lubbock)

1-806-372-2341

1-800-657-7124 (toll free)

Cal Farley’s

600 W. 11th St.

Amarillo, TX

79101-3228

A Couple With A Mission: Rev. Dr. Lynn Hubbard and Rev. Deborah Haffner Hubbard

Photos of the students, teachers, staff and friends of the Navajo Lutheran Mission:

Antes de kumplir los 12 años ya había matado un búfalo y a los 16 emprendió su primera batalla kontra “hombre blanko”. Desde entonzes llevó una vida de lutxa plena por preservar la Natura, las kostumbres de su pueblo y la libertad, la verdadera libertad.

Héroes hay mutxos, en todos los tiempos los han habido, pero la kapazidad táktika, la destreza, el koraje, la valentía, el orgullo y la voluntad de este hombre no tenían límites. Un hombre al ke le fue dado el nombre de “Tasunka witko” (Caballo Loco)

Tal era la konvikzión de este gran jefe de los Sioux Oglala ke un día un komerziante le dijo:
– “Kaballo Loko, eres más testarudo ke una mula, ¿Por ké no te vas a las reservas dónde están tus hermanos, los sioux? ¿Dónde están ahora tus tierras?”
Y él levantó la mano por enzima de la kabeza de su kaballo pinto para señalar kon el dedo las montañas negras ke se veían en el Horizonte. Y kon orgullo de guerrero feroz le kontestó:
– “Mis tierras están donde yazen mis muertos”

Te dejo un aporte dokumental sobre la vida de este gran luchador: Caballo Loco. Pintxa en el rótulo para verlo:
Quien mató a Caballo Loco

So..as a starving artist I can tell you – while you get pretty intimate with poverty, sometimes you find yourself working jobs of the absurdly fun, unreal, and amazingly lucrative nature. I’ve been a waitress at many a burrito stand and coffee shop, worked both the sales and sweatshop sides of an “alternative” retail chain, sold gastric bypass products over the phone, and taught tiny tots to silver sneakers how to … shake their groove thang.

Fortunately, prior to moving west, I had been lucky enough to fall into working as a pseudo-personal assistant for whom most would consider a madman. Pompous and intense and quite possibly a secret genius a la’ Hagbard Celine – my employer had for the past few months rambled at great length of mystics, 2012, and meaning — not the meaning of life, no – he could never be so cliche – but MEANING; the meaning of a look or gesture, the significance attached to a symbol or network, and all the muddled and not-so-muddled in-betweens. He mentioned something to me quite some time ago about a Lakota Indian ritual he was preparing himself for. He was brief and I assumed it was for the purposes of secrecy and reverence. Maybe it was. However, I’d soon come to find my research on dance practices and their connection to the “ALL ONE” quickly hurtling towards the details he originally failed to extend to me.

Wikipedia describes the Sun Dance Ritual: “The Sun Dance is a ceremony practiced by a number of Native Americans. Each tribe has its own distinct rituals and methods of performing the dance, but many of the ceremonies have features in common, including dancing, singing, praying, drumming, the experience of visions, fasting, and in some cases piercing of the chest or back. Most notable for early Western observers was the piercing many young men endure as part of the ritual.

Frederick Schwatka wrote about a Sioux Sun Dance he witnessed in the late 1800’s.

Each one of the young men presented himself to a medicine-man, who took between his thumb and forefinger a fold of the loose skin of the breast – and then ran a very narrow-bladed or sharp knife through the skin – a stronger skewer of bone, about the size of a carpenter’s pencil was inserted. This was tied to a long skin rope fastened, at its other extremity, to the top of the sun-pole in the center of the arena. The whole object of the devotee is to break loose from these fetters. To liberate himself he must tear the skewers through the skin, a horrible task that with even the most resolute may require hours of torture.

In fact, the object of being pierced is to sacrifice one’s self to the Great Spirit and to pray while connected to the Tree of Life; A direct connection to the Great Spirit. Breaking from the piercing is done in one moment, as the man runs backward from the tree at a time specified by the leader of the dance. A common explanation, in context with the intent of the dancer, is that a flesh offering or piercing is given as part of prayer and offering for the improvement of one’s family and community.

Put that in your peace pipe and smoke it! I’m wondering right now – where the magic has gone…

Got a story about your movement and mysticism to share? Shoot me a line at MojoDeVille@gmail.com!

]]> http://navajolutheranmission.wordpress.com/2009/09/30/2009-navajo-lutheran-mission-in-rock-point-az-volunteers-from-pittsburgh-area-churches-paint-murals-and-more/ Wed, 30 Sep 2009 10:20:36 +0000 yoopernewsman http://navajolutheranmission.wordpress.com/2009/09/30/2009-navajo-lutheran-mission-in-rock-point-az-volunteers-from-pittsburgh-area-churches-paint-murals-and-more/

2009 Navajo Lutheran Mission: Volunteers from Pittsburgh area churches paint murals and more in Rock Point, AZ

(Rock Point, AZ) – Videos produced by two Pittsburgh area churches led by Pastor Susan C. Schwartz that sent missionaries to the Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission in Rock Point, Arizona in July 2009.

Volunteers from several faith traditions and churches painted murals and did other work at the Navajo Lutheran Mission included helped including Hope Lutheran Church of Forest Hills and St. John Lutheran Church in Swissvale.

Flute music by Travis Terry

Visit Travis Terry myspace page

Hope Lutheran Church of Forest Hills
353 Ridge Ave
Pittsburgh, PA
15221-4111

1-412-242-4476 (church office)

The church blog about 2009 NELM trip by volunteers from several Pittsburgh area churches including Hope Lutheran Church of Forest Hills and St. John Lutheran Church in Swissvale

email the Hope Lutheran Church of Forest Hills near Pittsburgh

Travis Terry is a native Flutist of the Pima Nation who is born of the indigenous Gila River Pima Nation in Sacaton, Arizona.

On his myspace page, Native flutist Travis Terry says:

“I grew up surrounded by ethnic music and instruments of long ago, including the Native flute,” Terry said. “As a child I had natural appreciation for music, which contributed to me becoming a self-taught flutist in my adult years. My military service has sent me around the world exposing me to the musical traditions of various cultures.”
“Ethnic music was a continual interest and drew me closer to this dream of creating music. I have always been grateful to my parents (Irving and Caroline) for supporting my dreams and at the same time continually teaching me and my sisters (Denise and Dawn) the indigenous Pima culture, traditions and language. These values have aided me in blending contemporary culture with this heritage of the ‘Desert People.’ This conscious blending of cultures is very much reflected in my musical compositions and playing style.”
“After my military service, I visited Canyon De Chelly where my good fortune led me to meet my lovely wife Cara and settle in Chinle, AZ. Cara and her family taught me the ways and language of the Dine (Navajo) people.”

Preview story on April 9, 2009 in Pittsburgh Tribune-Review and Pittsburgh Live about area church group heading to NEML to paint. Pastor Susan C. Schwartz heads Hope Lutheran Church of Forest Hills and St. John Lutheran Church in Swissvale and Kathy Gaberson, a Hope Lutheran member.

Preview story about the trip in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

Related Navajo Evangelical Lutheran Mission (NELM) Links:

NELM on facebook

NELM on wordpress blog

NELM on myspace

NELM on bliptv

NELM on youtube

NELM on photobucket

NELM on Twitter

…Die Sioux-Überlieferung von Steinjunge, wird in verschiedenen Varianten erzählt. Diese Version aus der Cheyenne River Reservation hörte Henry Crow Dog um 1910 in seiner Kindheit…

Einst lebte ein Mädchen mit seinen fünf Brüdern zusammen. Die Menschen in jener Zeit mussten nach Nahrung suchen, das war ihre wichtigste Beschäftigung. Während also die Schwester das Essen zubereitete und die Kleidung anfertigte, waren die Brüder auf der Jagt.

Einmal geschah es, das die Geschwister ihr Tipi auf dem Grund eines Canyons aufschlugen. Es war ein merkwürdiger, stiller  Ort, doch ein kleiner Fluss spendete Wasser und die Jagt war ergiebig. Im Sommer war der Canyon kühl, im Winter bot er Schutz vor dem eisigen Wind. Immer wenn die Brüder auf der Jagt waren, wartete die Schwester auf sie. Während sie wartete und lauschte, hörte sie Geräusche. Oftmals glaubte sie, Schritte zu vernehmen, doch wenn sie nach draußen schaute war niemand zu sehen.

Eines Abends kehrten nur vier der fünf Brüder von der Jagt zurück. Sie und die Schwester blieben die ganze Nacht wach und fragten sich, was wohl mit dem anderen Bruder geschehen sein konnte. Als die Brüder am Tag darauf wieder zur Jagt gingen, kamen am Abend nur drei zurück. Am dritten Tag kamen nur zwei der Brüder von der Jagt nach Hause ins Tipi, und die beiden Brüder und das Mädchen waren in großer Sorge.

In jener frühen Zeit hatten die Indianer noch keine heiligen Zeremonien oder Gebete, um Beistand zu finden. So war es für das Mädchen und die verbliebenen beiden Brüder schwer, an diesem unheimlichen Ort, die Nacht hindurch zu wachen. Wieder zogen die Brüder am Morgen zur Jagt los und nur einer kam am Abend zurück. Nun weinte das Mädchen und bat den letzten Bruder inständig, zu Hause zu bleiben.  Aber sie mussten etwas zu essen haben und so zog auch der letzte und jüngste Bruder, der ihr der liebste von allen war, hinaus auf die Jagt und kehrte wie die anderen Brüder nicht wieder zurück. Nun hatte das Mädchen niemanden mehr, der ihm Nahrung und Wasser brachte und es beschützte.

Weinend verließ das Mädchen den Canyon und stieg auf einen Hügel. Sie wollte sterben, wusste aber nicht, wie das geschehen sollte. Da erblickte sie einen runden Kieselstein auf dem Boden. Sie dachte, das er sie töten könne, hob ihn auf und verschluckte ihn.

Nachdem Frieden in ihr Herz eingekehrt war, ging das Mädchen zurück zum Tipi. Sie trank ein wenig Wasser und spürte auf einmal, wie sich etwas in ihr bewegte, als ob der Stein ihr sagen wolle, das sie sich nicht zu ängstigen brauche. Sie beruhigte sich, konnte aber dennoch nicht schlafen, weil sie ihre Brüder so sehr vermisste.

Am nächsten Tag hatte sie außer ein paar Beeren nichts mehr zu essen. Sie dachte daran die Beeren zu verspeisen und Wasser aus dem Fluss zu trinken, doch sie spürte keinen Hunger. Sie fühlte sich so, als ob sie auf einem schönen Fest gewesen wäre, sie lief umher und sang  und tanzte vor sich hin, sie war glücklich und zufrieden wie nie zuvor.

Am vierten Tag ihres Alleinseins verspürte das Mädchen Schmerzen. < Nun kommt das Ende > dachte sie < jetzt sterbe ich >. Es machte ihr aber nichts aus, doch anstatt zu sterben , gebar sie einen kleinen Knaben. < Wie kam es nur dazu > fragte sie sich < Es muss der Stein sein, den ich verschluckt habe >.

Das Kind war stark und hatte leuchtende Augen. Obwohl sich das Mädchen eine Zeitlang schwach fühlte, musste sie jetzt fortwährend für ihren kleinen Sohn sorgen. Sie nannte ihn Iyan Hokshi, Steinjunge und wickelte ihn in die Kleider ihrer Brüder. Tag für Tag wurde der Knabe größer und stärker, er wuchs zehnmal schneller als gewöhnliche Kinder und hatte einen vollkommenen Körper.

Die junge Mutter wusste, das ihr Kind große Kräfte besaß. Eines Tages, als der Kleine draußen vor dem Tipi spielte, fertigte er ganz allein einen Bogen und Pfeile an. Als die Mutter die Pfeilspitzen aus Feuerstein sah, wunderte sie sich, wie er das fertig gebracht hatte.

Der Kleine wuchs so schnell, das er schon bald umher gehen konnte und sein Haar wurde schnell lang. Als er heran reifte, bekam die Mutter Angst, auch ihn wie ihre Brüder auf der Jagt zu verlieren. Sie weinte oft und obwohl  Steinjunge seine Mutter nicht fragte, schien er den Grund für ihre Trauer zu kennen.

Schon bald war er groß genug um auf die Jagt zu gehen. Als seine Mutter das sah, weinte sie mehr als je zuvor.  Steinjunge ging zu ihr und sagte < Mutter, weine nicht >.

< Du hattest einmal fünf Onkel > entgegnete sie < sie gingen auf die Jagt und einer nach dem anderen, kehrte nicht zurück >. Sie erzählte ihm auch von seiner Geburt, wie sie auf den Hügel gestiegen war, einen Stein verschluckt hatte und wie sie fühlte, das sich etwas in ihr bewegte.

< Ich weiß > sagte Steinjunge < ich gehe, um nach Deinen Brüdern, meinen Onkeln, zu suchen >.
< Wenn Du aber nicht zurück kommst > schluchzte sie < was soll ich dann allein tun >.

< Ich komme zurück > versicherte Steinjunge < ich komme mit meinen Onkeln zu Dir zurück >. Fortsetzung folgt…

A true account.

Picture by Liv Honeywell

On a bright day, when the winged seeds of the prairie-grass were flying hither and thither, I walked solemnly toward the centre of the camping-ground. My heart beat hard and irregularly at my side. Tighter I grasped the sacred book I carried under my arm. Now was the beginning of life’s work.

Though I knew it would be hard, I did not once feel that failure was to be my reward. As I stepped unevenly on the rolling ground, I thought of the warriors soon to wash off their war-paints and follow me.

At length I reached the place where the people had assembled to hear me preach. In a large circle men and women sat upon the dry red grass. Within the ring I stood, with the white man’s Bible in my hand. I tried to tell them of the soft heart of Christ.

In silence the vast circle of bareheaded warriors sat under an afternoon sun. At last, wiping the wet from my brow, I took my place in the ring. The hush of the assembly filled me with great hope.

I was turning my thoughts upward to the sky in gratitude, when a stir called me to earth again.

A tall, strong man arose. His loose robe hung in folds over his right shoulder. A pair of snapping black eyes fastened themselves like the poisonous fangs of a serpent upon me. He was the medicine-man. A tremor played about my heart and a chill cooled the fire in my veins.

Scornfully he pointed a long forefinger in my direction and asked:

“What loyal son is he who, returning to his father’s people, wears a foreigner’s dress?” He paused a moment, and then continued: “The dress of that foreigner of whom a story says he bound a native of our land, and heaping dry sticks around him, kindled a fire at his feet!” Waving his hand toward me, he exclaimed, “Here is the traitor to his people!”

I was helpless. Before the eyes of the crowd the cunning magician turned my honest heart into a vile nest of treachery. Alas! the people frowned as they looked upon me.

“Listen!” he went on. “Which one of you who have eyed the young man can see through his bosom and warn the people of the nest of young snakes hatching there? Whose ear was so acute that he caught the hissing of
snakes whenever the young man opened his mouth? This one has not only proven false to you, but even to the Great Spirit who made him. He is a fool! Why do you sit here giving ear to a foolish man who could not defend his people because he fears to kill, who could not bring venison to renew the life of his sick father? With his prayers, let him drive away the enemy! With his soft heart, let him keep off starvation! We shall go elsewhere to dwell upon an untainted ground.”

With this he disbanded the people. When the sun lowered in the west and the winds were quiet, the village of cone-shaped tepees was gone. The medicine-man had won the hearts of the people.

Only my father’s dwelling was left to mark the fighting-ground.

From ‘The Soft-Hearted Sioux’, a tale in American Indian Stories by Zitkala-Sa

Am nächsten Morgen brach  Steinjunge auf und hielt Ausschau. Er lief, bis die Dunkelheit herein brach und er einen guten Schlafplatz fand. Vier Tage lang wanderte er umher, am Abend des vierten Tages stieg ihm der Geruch von  Rauch in die Nase. Er folgte dem Geruch  und der Rauch führte ihn zu einem Tipp , das schäbig und halb verfallen war. Im inneren konnte Steinjunge eine hässliche alte Frau erkennen. Als sie ihn vorbei gehen sah, rief sie ihn an und bot ihm zu essen und einen Schlafplatz an.

Steinjunge ging in das Tipi, obwohl er ein beklemmendes Gefühl verspürte und ein wenig Angst bekam. Er sah sich um und erblickte fünf große Bündel, die aufrecht an der Wand des Tipis lehnten und seine Aufmerksamkeit erregten.

Die Alte kochte etwas Fleisch und als es gar war, aß er es, obwohl es nicht gut schmeckte. Später bereitete sie ihm ein Nachtlager auf einem schmutzigen alten Büffelfell. Er spürte jedoch eine drohende Gefahr und blieb hellwach.

< Mein Rücken schmerzt> klagte die Alte < Bevor du schlafen gehst, möchte ich, das du ihn mir massierst, indem du auf meinem Rücken auf und ab läufst. Ich bin alt und allein und habe niemanden, der mir sonst die Schmerzen lindern kann>.

Sie legte sich hin und Steinjunge begann auf ihrem Rücken hin und herzulaufen. Dabei fühlte er etwas unter ihrer Kleiden hervorstechen, etwas spitzes wie ein Messer, eine Nadel oder die Spitze eines Speeres.

< Vielleicht hat sie damit meine Onkel getötet >  dachte er < vielleicht hat sie die Spitze mit Schlangengift versehen, so muss es wohl sein >.

Iyan Hokshi überlegte, dann sprang er so hoch wie er konnte in die Luft und landete krachend auf dem Rücken der Alten. Er sprang und sprang, bis der alten Hexe der Rücken brach und sie tot war.

Nun ging Steinjunge hinüber zu den großen Bündeln, die in Tierfelle gehüllt und mit Lederriemen verschnürt waren.  Er wickelte sie aus und fand fünf Männer- tot und ausgetrocknet wie Dürrfleisch- die kaum mehr wie Menschen aussahen.

< Das müssen meine Onkel sein > dachte er, doch er wusste nicht wie er sie zum Leben erwecken konnte.

Draußen vor  dem Tipi lag ein Haufen runder, grauer Steine. Er bemerkte, das sie sprachen und das er sie verstehen konnte. < Steinjunge, du bist einer von uns, du stammst von uns ab, hör zu und gib acht >.

Nach ihren Anweisungen baute Steinjunge eine kleine, runde Hütte aus gebogenen Weidenruten. Er bedeckte sie mit den Büffelfellen der Alten und setzte die fünf ausgedörrten Menschen hinein. Draußen im Freien  entzündete er ein großes Feuer und legte die Steine mitten in die Flammen. Dann hob er die alte Hexe auf und warf sie ins Feuer, um sie zu verbrennen.

Als die Steine rotglühend geworden waren, fand Steinjunge ein Hirschgeweih, mit dem er einen nach dem anderen in die kleine von ihm gebaute Hütte trug.  Dann nahm er einen Wassersack und füllte ihn mit Wasser. Er zog das Lederband des Sacks fest zu und brachte ihn ebenfalls in die Hütte. Nun stellte er die fünf ausgedörrten Männer im Kreis in der Hütte auf.

Den Eingang der Hütte verschloss er mit einem Büffelfell, damit keine Luft entweichen oder eindringen konnte. Während er Wasser auf die Steine goss, dankte er ihnen und sprach  < Ihr habt mich hierher geführt > Viermal besprengte er sie und viermal schob er das Büffelfell zur Seite und zog es wieder zu. Jedes Mal sprach er zu den Steinen und sie zu ihm. Währenddessen füllte sich die kleine Hütte mit Dampf, so das er nichts außer dem weißen Nebel in der Dunkelheit sehen konnte. Als er zum zweiten mal Wasser zugoss, spürte er, wie sich etwas bewegte. Beim dritten mal begann er zu singen und als er die Steine zum vierten mal besprengte, fingen auch  die ausgedörrten Leiber an zu singen.

< Ich glaube sie sind lebendig geworden > dachte Iyan Hokshi < nun will ich meine Onkel sehen >.

Er öffnete zum letzten Mal die Tür aus Fell uns schaute zu, wie der Dampf hinaus strömte und als Wolke zum Himmel aufstieg. Das Feuer und das Mondlicht erhellten gemeinsam die kleine Schwitzhütte und in ihrem Schein sah Steinjunge, fünf junge Männer in der Hütte sitzen. Er sprach < Hou lekshi, ihr müsst meine Onkel sein >. Die fünf Brüder lachten und waren froh, wieder am Leben zu sein.

Steinjunge sagte < So wollte es meine Mutter, eure Schwester.

Er sagte ihnen auch < Der Stein hat mich gerettet und nun hat er euch erlöst.  Tunkashila, Großvater – Geist, wir wollen die heiligen Handlungen lernen. Diese kleine Hütte, diese Steine, das Wasser, das Feuer – sie alle sind heilig. Von nun an werden wir sie gebrauchen, wie wir es hier zum ersten Mal getan haben: zur rituellen Reinigung, für das Leben, für die Gesundheit. All das ist uns gegeben worden, damit wir leben können, wir werden ein Stamm sein >.

Erzählt von Henry Crow Dog am 26.02. 1968 in Rosebud , South Dakota, aufgezeichnet von Richard Erdoes.

Ich habe leider nur Bilder von Henry Crow Dog gefunden…

Quelle: “ Der Tanz der Büffel” von Richard Erdoes und Alfonso Ortiz