Ancient Earth Religions

Native American Articles

(click on title to link) A Woman's Feet American River Bear Spirit Fire in the Heart The Flesh Offering In Another Life Legend of the Talking Feather The Medicine Pouch Midwife The Moon of Gathering Plants My Mother Our Earth Brothers Red Sky The Sacred Circle Sacred Native Staff Sacred Space, Sacred Hoop The Shadow in the Looking Glass Spirits of the Sky Strawberry Moon Ceremony Tah nah he lah The Wind Watchers of the Sun

From down the hall, I can hear her buckskin-wrapped feet slapping on the cold floor as she passes my room. Slap, slap they go, down the hall into the kitchen. Soon the footsteps are silent and I can only hear the water being pumped into the tea pot. Click, bang. Click, bang, the pump handle goes. Rattle, clank, the stove lids make a clinking sound as she pokes wood into the still glowing embers of last night's cooking fire.

Soon the whistle of the steam flying through the little red rooster's head on the tea kettle is heard. I pull my blanket tight around me not wanting to leave the peace of my dream time to enter the cold kitchen. Finally I stick one foot out from under the covers and touch the icy floor. Burr!! The chill reaches my stomach and I sit up on the edge of the bed to find my socks.

Putting my feet into the baggy wool stockings, I look for the first time at my feet. I remember those feet; I have seen them many times before. They are my mother's, my Auntie's, my sister's, and my cousin's. We all have the same feet—high arches, delicate and female, somewhat provocative. These feet are also wide at the toes, strong yet delicate—wonderful feet—feet made for dancing and walking unbound with conventional shoes.

My mother's feet are calloused. She sometimes scrubs them with sandstone to remove the rough spots, and then taking care to rub the cooking grease over the cracked areas. I would rather run barefoot in the sand—this does a much better job of removing all the rough edges. Then there is the pure joy of walking in the spring mud and letting it ooze up between your toes; the warm, newly tilled earth that lets you sink down in it when the planting is done. So many things to enjoy with these feet, so many places to walk, and many lands to visit.

I wonder at times where my mother has walked with her delicate feet. Even as she is older, her feet are always well cared for. She sometimes tells me I will never get a man with feet all rough and scratchy. I find this out when I am trying to put on nylons and create many runs in them. Finally, I just let my tanned skin do for the time being. No nylons will come close to the color the sun brings to our skin.

In time my feet will broaden and become close to the Mother Earth. When I walk, it is as though my feet want to blend and melt into the skin of the Earth Mother.

During my years, I have carried six babies with these feet, both before and after birth. I have walked miles in my work as a nurse and mother. I have stood with my feet, shaking in my boots when confronted with life and all the fears we have to face daily. I have seen death many times, walked a young mother to her dying daughter's bed when her own feet failed to take her there.

My feet have taken me places I was afraid to go, and managed to walk me through the hard parts. These feet are getting old and sometimes swell and cause a lot of pain. Even when they are tired, they get me up each morning and walk me through yet another day. For this I am grateful. The sky that began at my feet each day is walked into the next day. Some days it is so hard to walk and stand to do the work, but my feet tell me to get up and dance the day. Maybe I will take root and become a tree or a plant. Maybe I will just stand as a stone and let life flow around me.

Slap, slap, my feet go, as I walk down into the cold kitchen and turn on a faucet to fill my tea kettle. Hiss! Poof! the gas goes as it catches fire, and heats the water. Tinkle, clink goes the china cup as I place my morning tea in it.

Who is waiting to take my place with her delicate new feet, just learning to walk and to feel? I thank you mother for these strong feet you have gifted me. I see the same feet on my new Grand Daughter Haley. Her tiny sweet pudgy feet that you want to kiss and hold. I know she will have the strength like her mother to walk the red road of life.

We are sisters here to walk in peace and harmony. Each is a separate link but none are without support or connecting sisters. Love and blessings, Waynonaha Human Being.

Copyright © 2003 Red Hawk Publishing All Rights Reserved

Waynonaha also supports a program that needs warm children’s clothing, hats, mittens, and coats. Monetary donations also accepted. Please make checks out to Seneca Indian Children’s Early Development Program, c/o Waynonaha TwoWorlds, P.O. Box 142, Lily Dale, NY 14752.

In Auburn, California, near the Sacramento area, there is a river known as the American River. In the late fifties and early sixties, we use to camp along the river and pan for gold.

Waking up early each morning, we women would take our gold pans to the river and sift the sand and gravel for gold flakes, while the men fished for lunch. If we were lucky, a small gold nugget would find its way into our pans and we would hoot and holler like the 49ers did way back when the river ran clean and full of gold.

A few of us women that summer decided to cut our living expenses and rent a house boat on the American River. It was great fun as we could swim and fish all day and just hang out in the sun. We were like a clan or community of house boat people. However, we had our share of adventures and mishaps during that summer on the river.

Our financial plans were to pan for the scattered pockets of gold and find bottles and cans to recycle along the river bank.

In those days, five dollars would pay for a week’s worth of groceries for one person. We managed to live on much less by fishing and even selling fish to the local diners. There were five of us women so sharing the rented boat worked out well. The idea was to live on the river and not work in the fruit sheds where we normally made our summer wages. Packing fruit for minimum wage was not our idea of fun work. I can remember coming home with my hands stained deep purple from the wrapping papers that we used to pack the fruit.

Life was carefree on the river: we could sleep as long as we wished, swim when we liked, and spend hours crafting on deck. House work was simple—just throw a bucket of water on the deck and swish off with a broom. The long hot days flowed by in one long endless adventure that summer.

The creative nature of the “boat women” (as we had come to call ourselves) had brought us to repaint and decorate the boat in a rather outlandish fashion. We were often photographed by people who were fishing or picnicking along the land side of the river.

Dressed as early 1800 river boat girls, we would tie up and put on plays and musical entertainment for the people who tossed money and food onto the deck as payment. We stood on the front of the deck and recited wild poetry that Sandra wrote dressed as Greek Goddesses. I remember standing on deck reciting a rendition of an old cowboy song called “Beat the Drum slowly” or also known as the “Streets of Laredo.” I was dressed in a man’s old three-piece evening suit for that scene—complete with top hat and cane. Lila played the flute and Celia beat the kettle drum. I am sure we were horrible, but we thought we were magnificent.

When we needed to purchase items, we would go into town and sell our “river crafts” and “river fudge” in the streets. The wind chimes made from cut rings of old soda and beer bottles that we painted with flowers and birds were tied with wire and fishing line. These chimes rang soft and low from the drift wood clappers that completed the rustic look. These were bought up as fast as we could cut and make them. That summer, a small fortune from our crafts and gold, was gathering in the local bank while we played on the river.

The river boat became a crowd draw on the weekends and became somewhat of a local sensation as we made our way up the river.

The word spread and soon we were known as the “Happening Boat” as in “anything can happen on that boat, and did.” Many a weekend party occurred when visitors from the “land side,” as we called the mainland, came to visit. We would sing and play music until dawn and then sleep until noon. By eating fried catfish and other fish that we caught with our trot lines, we managed to keep our entertainment fees small.

It was wonderful to sit on the deck that surrounded the boat cabin and watch the fish jump and listen to the birds in the evening. The river was cool and deep; if it was too hot, we could just step off the deck and go for a swim. What more could one wish for than that?

One night, someone let the anchor drift and we woke up several miles down river. When we finally came on deck the next morning, we found ourselves in an isolated part of the river where we had not been before. There we were, five women alone, stuck tight on a sandbar.

There were no cell phones in those days; the best way to handle this was to wait until someone missed us and came looking or had a good rain to lift us off the sandbar. The river was very low at this time of year, and the rainy season had passed over a month ago so the chances were slim of being rescued soon.

As usual, we waded ashore and decided to pan for gold. We managed to collect a good bag of nuggets during our stay, from a very large pocket under an old tree root. We protected the location of this pot of gold and made a blood promise to never tell anyone.

The canyon walls that surrounded us were very steep with soft sand cliffs; we decided, for safety, not to climb them. A quick walk of the beach area let us know that no one had been there for some time, if ever.

We used these days to pan for gold and gathering drift wood and stones for crafting. Later at night, we would build a fire on the beach and paint our bodies with mud to ward of the bug bites. Painted in mud and dressed in ferns and grasses, we danced to the music of our own voices that echoed up the canyon. We painted the outlines of our bodies on the stone insets that covered the bottom of the canyon for future visitors to find.

It was a step back in time and we enjoyed every minute of our secret beach.

The land held some plants that we had not seen before, so we gathered many samples. We had plenty of basic supplies on board the boat—those along with fish and fresh water mussels—we were happy. The crawfish were plentiful and we had a bounty of edible greens on the banks to choose from. At night we set snares for rabbits and other small game that came to the river and drink. A small spring bubbled from the side of the canyon wall, supplying us with plenty of clean water. We decided not to make an effort to be found, but to enjoy our secret land and play for a while.

Our adventure made the papers when we were finally located and pulled off the sandbar. The local papers said “Lost women found at last after a two week search. All were found safe and well in their river boat on the American River.” (Like we were ever lost!!)

That sweet summer closed with the loss of our dear sister and talented artist Kate. She passed that late fall into spirit from breast cancer. We used our funds to hold an elaborate wake and remembering ceremony for her life. The river people came and we set small pieces of wood into the water with lit candles on them to honor her spirit, then scattered her ashes into the American River. Even now, the few of us who are still alive, get together on the phone and talk about our wild summer when things were less complicated. We have made a promised to someday take a house boat back down to that magic spot. I find, as in many things, you can never return, but the thought that we one day might, can be a comfort.

I am glad I had a chance to enjoy the beauty of the river; so much has happened in the years to this once sacred area. There was talk in the late eighties of flooding some areas and diverting the river flow. I could not go back to see this destruction; it was just too painful to imagine.

In these times of stress and everyday struggle, I can still take a few minutes and remember the magic days of our lost river. Once again, we stand dressed in ferns, painted in silky river mud on the white sand. Frozen in an everlasting time, we dance as sisters under the full moon that peeks over the canyon wall. My mind and spirit can rest and be refreshed. Here in this time, thousands of miles away from my magic land and dear sisters, I stand ready for the continuing adventure of life.

Hold all the precious memories in your mind, for these are the real treasures of gold that we store in our hearts.

Copyright © 2004 Waynonaha Two Worlds. All Rights Reserved.
See article "A Woman's Feet" for information/contact with Waynonaha Two Worlds.

Gray clouds hung heavy in the mountains as we packed up the horses. My horse Smoky did not like the sudden cold after two days of hot weather. He kept rolling his eyes and looking in that wild-eyed way he had of saying, “I don’t like this at all.” Each movement I made, Smoky would jerk back his ears and stomp his front hoof, just a little too close to my toes for comfort.

I finally managed to get all the tack on and tied down my blanket to the back of the saddle. I put the gun in easy reach, right by my knee; it was a gun my Dad had given to me several years ago. The lever action 30-30 was not fancy but was reliable and easy to shoot. I seldom failed to bring home what I shot at even when up against other fancy rifles. This sometimes caused some stretches of silence, all directed at me, on long hunts. The boys did not like to have a girl out-shoot them, even if I could out-ride them. I had always been with my brothers since were no other girls in the family my age. My only sister was thirteen years older and we did not see eye to eye on many issues. She likes to dress up and wear make up; I liked my blue jeans and clean face.

This morning we had to ride for more than half a day to where a bear was reported to have been killing cattle. My Dad was already in that area with some of the hands, setting up the bait. My brother Curt and I had brought one pack horse with food and ammo. The hunters may have to be there for several days, to wait for the bear to return. We were to bring in the supplies and then return home.

We rode until noon and stopped to get a sandwich out of the pack and drink some coffee we had in a thermos. The chill did not leave the air even if it was nearly May. In the high desert, it can be very cold at night and hot in the daytime. I put my gloves back on to remount Smoky; he was still skittish and not in the mood to ride. After a few of his spins and failed attempts, I managed to get my leg over his back.

All the time this was happening, Curt was sitting on his horse laughing at me, of course. After I was in the saddle, Smoky was always good to go; it was when he had to allow you to mount would he show his stubborn streak. We rode in silence as is our way. We did not need to speak—it seem like our minds could just talk without words. I never realized that we were so silent until I had to go into the outside world. When I had to go to the outside school, I found the noise too loud that it gave me headaches.

We arrived in the area where the hunters had been, about three in the afternoon. We started to track the hoof prints they had left a day earlier. We did not see a sign of life or even a camp fire; it was like nothing was out there. After a little climb up the steep hill, we saw the two dead steers, half-eaten and rotting. As we passed by, the vultures flew up and sat on a boulder only to return and attack the carcass.

We could see the prints of the bear in the soft sand near the kill. It was one big grizzly for sure and I felt a little uneasy out in the open like this. You hardly ever saw a bear of that size come down into the clear area unless they were really hungry.

This winter had been long and cold so they must just be waking up to eat. From the size of the paw span and the length of the stride, I would say it was as big as my horse. This did not help the feeling of being exposed as we rode higher into the mountains.

Soon we came to the timberline and Smoky was starting to really make me nervous. He twitched and side-stepped, seeing his own personal ghosts at every movement. I handed the lead rope to Curt and took my rifle out of the scabbard. I checked to see if it was ready to go and set the safety.

I put the saddle tie that was attached to the ring on the gun to my wrist. This would assure me if I was thrown that I would not lose my gun, a plus if a huge Grizzly was about to make you dinner. We lost a lot of the trail as we climbed into the hard rock area of the low hills. The marks on the stones made by the shoes on the horses ahead of us were sometimes the only thing we could go by.

At one point we had to get off the horses and lead them through some narrow rocks into a more open trail. I had my gun in one hand and the reins in the other, when out of nowhere, there appeared a huge bear. He was so close we could hear him breathing as he ran. He did not see us at first—he was running down hill at a fast lope, right toward us.

When something like this happens, it seems to all be in slow motion. Smoky took that moment to bolt past me, right into the path of the bear. There was no way the bear coming down the hill could stop. Smoky seemed to be suspended in air when he jumped and the bear flew under Smoky and kept on coming. By this time Curt had his hands full with two horses going crazy. He could not reach his rifle and it was only me left to do something. I slid back against the stone wall that bordered the narrow path, flipped off the safety and prayed for good aim.

After that I do not remember a thing—it all was like a blur to me. I remember flipping the lever of the rifle several times and just shooting in the direction of the bear. The next thing I knew I was yelling to Curt and was hit by something that pushed me all the way out of the passage. I felt a rush of wind like I was being taken up in a storm; my hair flew in all directions. Something very warm was all around me and I felt like I was held in a very tight place.

When I hit the ground, I could not breathe—all the wind was pushed out of my lungs by the impact. I lay for what seemed like hours. All I could hear was screaming. It sounded like the high pitch a horse makes when it is screaming in pain or fright. I must have only been there a minute, then my breath came back into me and the pain was intense.

I looked up into the eyes of that bear that had me pinned under his paw. He was drooling right into my ear and still panting from his run. I lay very still and just looked into the bear’s eyes. It was like he was telling me something. I did not feel or think at that time; I was just numb.

Finally I felt his paw let go of me and I pulled my legs and arm out from under him. My gun was smashed; what was left of it still hung on my arm. I rolled over and tried to sit up but found no strength in my legs or arms. Finally I could hear someone laughing and it was Dad looking down at me from the top of the pass. He said, “If you’re through playing with that bear you can get up and come here.” I pulled myself up and looked at the huge bear that a few minutes ago had me in its hold. My legs felt like water and I shook all over from the fall.

I only felt sorry for the bear that I had shot—it was sad for me to see that beautiful animal dead. I went over to the bear and spoke into its ear. I ask the bear to come and be with me as I finish my journey on this earth. I said a prayer for the spirit of the bear. Later Curt told me he watched me and the bear fly down the hill in a kind of hug or dance. Curt said it was like the bear was carrying me or holding me to keep me safe. The slope was steep and I would have never fallen that far without many injuries if the bear had not protected me with his body.

To this day I carry the claw of that bear and feel his spirit around me. When I need strength and courage, the bear is with me. I can feel his huge body wrapped around me to shield me from the world of pain and suffering. Bear has come to me in times of sickness and helped me to survive.

That was a long time ago. I know the bear did not mean to attack us. He was running from my Dad and the other men and had no way to go but through the pass.

Smoky made it almost all the way home before we found him. I had to ride the pack horse home and was constantly reminded of my bear dancing by the men. Needless to say, my pride hurt along with my body. I caught my Dad at times looking at me from the side of his eye; I knew he was glad I made it out alive.

Many times I have had to go through hard times and tough spaces and the bear is always with me as a protector. Sometimes in life, we have no place to go or no choices in the way things are. We have to follow the path and trust that Creator will protect us in all ways.

Copyright © 2003 Red Hawk Publishing All Rights Reserved
See article "A Woman's Feet" for information/contact with Waynonaha Two Worlds.

 
I can vividly recall my first real encounter with my spirit guide, Kato'ya, when I was four. I had been playing out in the canyon my family shared with a herd of mustangs near Hawley Lake, Arizona. I had been playing for several hours, feeling very peaceful, and went to lie down in the grass near the waterfall and watch the dragonflies playing in the mist.

All of a sudden, it seemed like I was being talked to inside my head, yet from outside. I looked around me and saw a small rattlesnake near the pond, warming itself in Grandfather Sun's light. As I looked into this creature's eyes, it began showing me the Changing Mother, earth, explaining that she was going through shifts and changes to birth a new world, and that there was nothing to fear. The Creepy Crawler said that I would move to California to live, but that the majority of my family would stay in Arizona. I was quite comfortable living in the 1800 setting of our intimate lifestyle with Nature, and would miss my grandfather and cousins immensely, so I didn't want to move and didn't like the message. I didn't remember what else was said, although it went on for a long time. As it turned out, when I was ten, after one of my cousin was murdered, I unexpectedly moved to Carmel to live with my father.

By this time, I was receiving messages from Kato'ya on a regular basis. On the reservation it had been easy to discuss these things with my grandfather, but now, in mainstream America, it was hard to know who to trust. I sensed whole realms of ideas behind every painstakingly spelled out word, but I didn't feel confident enough to speak, and I was afraid to share with those that were not of my tradition.

Once I was able to express Kato'ya to others, my fear slowly left until one day it bid me goodbye, saying that as I became attuned to my Spiritual Guide it was difficult for it's Shadow to come through, and that it's purpose had been accomplished. From then on, Kato'ya guided me, giving direction, helping me teach, and assisting me with my spiritual evolution.

All that I share, is Kato'ya's gift.

I am inviting those of you on a Path of Beauty - of light and joy - to join with the essence of One as you read my words, and feel the community of all who are sharing knowledge in this time of earthly change. There is much that can be accomplished by a group holding unified, pure intent in their joint mind. Whenever certain thoughts and beliefs are held and practiced by a group of people - and the focus here is love, spiritual growth, and higher purpose - they magnify tenfold the ability of each person to create them in their own life, and make those thoughts available to others who are reaching out for assistance.

I invite your soul to join with mine as we explore our greater potential. Kato'ya's essence is in these thoughts and helps us open to our deeper, wiser selves. We are becoming who we always knew we were. Many of you have always felt different from those around, as if you knew you had a mission, something special to accomplish with your life. I hope my words help you unlock the keys to remembering that mission and purpose. I invite you to journey to the realms of light and love you came from, free of fear.

Joy is an inner note that you sound as you move through the day.

The Path of Beauty - of compassion - does not obligate you to love everyone regardless of how they act or who they are. It is a path of seeing the truth of who they are, acknowledging all their parts. It is the path of looking at people and asking is there anything you can do to heal, assist, or bring them in touch with their higher vision? If there is not, then you need to ask yourself, how will being in contact with them heal, assist, or bring you in touch with your higher vision? If there is no answer to either of these questions, then be on your way in peace and gratitude.

You may ask, what am I here to do that will bring me joy? Each one of you has things that you love to do. There is not one person alive who does not have something they love to do. What you love is a sign from your higher self of what you are to do.

All of you reading this are healing and growing, for you would not be attracted to this information if you were not evolving and raising your vibrational frequency.

Hiyaa gozhoo dolee . . . May peace and love flow over you.
Aho!

Permission is granted to share this article with others, provided it is done so in it's entirety and given appropriate credit. Do state on the article that this material is copyrighted. Other articles can be found at the Web Site of Maria Yraceburu, at http://home.earthlink.net/~earthwisdom. E-mail address: earthwisdom@earthlink.net

Some of you may have knowledge or be aware of the Sun Dance that we Lakota people have as a religion. My people are Sun Dancers and that is our way of praying and of offering a part of our earthly bodies to help others. It is an extreme sacrifice and one that our men dance for with utmost integrity and great honor.

Women in our nation are held in great respect and honor too, so we are not to endure this extreme measure that the men go through. To pierce our breasts would not be done in a traditional dance. The breast, as well as all parts of the female body, is sacred. We do not take that which reproduces or nourishes life and defile it.

We women come to the dance in support of our Husbands, Sons, Brothers, Uncles and male relations when they dance. We women fast and go through all the physical things that the men are going through, but we do not pierce our flesh. We stay in one place all the time our men are dancing and we stand and dance in our place with them. In this way, we too, contribute to the prayers and the sacrifice that is being made. It is in the knowing that we are there dancing that our men are given courage to go on and dance until they break loose from the tree.

I have seen some elder women offer a few pieces of flesh from their arms to the ceremony. This is rare and only done in an extreme time of praying for a loved one. It is not a common practice and is always considered a great honor when an elder does offer her flesh.

I awoke early one morning to the sound of the phone ringing and still half-asleep answered it. A very disturbed person on the other end was screaming gibberish at me and because I was in some sort of half-sleep fog, I did not at first understand them. My awareness switched from sleep to full awake in a few seconds as my mind deleted everything.

I listened to this person and finally after a futile attempt to get some reason out of the call, I gave up and let them go. It was like, okay, I will sort it all out and get-back-to-you-thing, that in reality never happens.

I remained sitting on the edge of the bed and tried to get my body and mind back onto one-tract when the dream that was so rudely interrupted returned in fill force.

It flew into my mind and actually caused me to rock back and forth in some sort of shock recoiling action. I thought this dream out for awhile before I actually left my room.

The dream was fragmented so I have no idea of what the proceeding issues were. I only was aware of the small part that was occurring when I was awakened.

It seemed in the dream that I was sitting in some place isolated and my body bare to the waist. I could look down on my breasts and they were the ones that I possess now, not young, but old breasts that have nourished many children.

I had a large knife in my hand and was calmly taking slices off my breast and handing them to the people who sat around me in a circle. There was no pain and no blood only the neat white slices of my breast being peeled off in thin layers.

I looked down at them and wondered why I was doing this and what the reason was behind this act of offering flesh. All the while I wondered, and all the while I kept slicing off the clear white breast in thin pieces and handing it out.

The people were no one in particular that I knew, but they took the slices and ate them without saying a word.

This dream or vision still holds me and is not like one I have ever had, but I feel it is some sort of message that will in time let me see the reason. I find this dream creeping into my mind daily now and there are other things happening that support the flesh offering. A small nagging voice in my subconscious speaks, saying: “Okay, stop feeding so many people; you cannot offer this to them any more. Soon the breast will be all gone that nourished so many and have supported your life work. This part of your life is soon to be over and you have given enough to the people. Now it is time for you to focus and to make a new way of teaching.”

Perhaps I will never know the reason for the dream and perhaps there is no reason. This is the Great Mystery, but I am here with open eyes and open mind and heart waiting for Creator to guide me to my next destination. Many things have happened in the past month in a small time frame that have brought my mind and my spirit into a place of clarity. I see so much in such a short time that will effect the future of the world and our own lives should we live on another ten years.

I think back onto the prophecies of Ben Black Elk and wonder at the thoughts of the mole medicine and if it is time to close the lodge doors and step back into the hills for safety reasons.

Changes are always happening every day of our lives, but we sometimes do not see them and ignore their messages.

In this dream, I felt calm about it all as if it were as natural as breathing. I know then that whatever is going to change is not of a life threatening nature. It will be a calm and peaceful transition, one of love compassion and understanding.

The morning is hot already with only a slip of the sun seeping up from the prairie. Sitting up in my bed of soft buffalo hides, I stretch to find my moccasins. My husband, Running Deer lies sleeping, his strong dark face so peaceful, he holds my eyes for a moment before I stand up. I enjoy this time of watching him sleep as there seems to be less time for closeness when the hunting starts. The men were out most of the day on the buffalo hunt, finding the herd that we will track for winter meat.

Above me hangs my daughter’s cradle board, swaying from the lodge poles. I peek in at my daughter Wind Willow’s face; she is still fast asleep. I watch to see if she is near waking and sees her eye lids fringed in dark, thick, sooty lashes fluttering in her baby dreams. A small trickle of milk had dried on her fat smooth cheeks from her late night feeding. The night she was born, the wind from the nearby willows sang to me as I was made ready for her birth. I can still remember the sound and the soft whisper of the willows in my mind. I dress as quietly as I can in the small space and put on my moccasins. There will be time to feed Wind Willow after I gather wood and bring water from the river.

Lifting the flap of the lodge door, I slip out into the humid morning. The dogs whine around my feet and I give them a “go away look.”

Reaching up on the tall pole rack to where the buffalo bladders hang, I take them down and walk to the river bank. The tall, dew-laden grasses on the path soak my skirt fringe, making them slap against my ankles. All is quiet; only the song of a few black birds breaks the clear morning sound. As I near the river, I see the red winged birds sitting on the slender reeds calling to each other. I sit for a while on the sandy bank and watch as the larger fish breaks water, and chase the small water bugs. Dipping the skins into the water, I shoo the minnows away as they flash in and out around my water skins.

On the way back to the lodge, I stop to look for soft moss to line my baby’s loin cloth.

Soon the weather will change; already the frost has touched the branches of the trees once and changed them to gold and reds. The weather has again turned warm as if to remind us once more of summer and fools us in its warmth. There is much to do in this time of gathering and making of meat. Drying racks are already being placed near the lodges and soon the smoky meat will hang to dry.

I reach the lodge and stand for a moment looking around the quiet camp; this is my favorite time of the day. Deer skins stretched on their frames wait for me to finish the scraping and tanning. Fat rabbit furs, soft and fluffy, hang destined for the baby’s winter cradle blanket.

I stir the few embers in the fire pit, add a few sticks and blow on the embers. Soon a smokeless blaze bursts from the wood. Quietly, pouring water into the dry skin that we use to make the morning corn meal, I place my cooking stones in the fire. I wait until the stones turn bright red, then dig them out with my antler holders and drop them into the skin pot. Steam rises from the boiling water, sending a sweet mist to the sky. Next the dry ground corn is added, stirring with a flat stick. After awhile the corn meal thickens and I place a handful of dry berries into the pot along with a small amount of honey. The smell lifts up into the morning air and I wait to hear movement from the lodge.

Little by little my daughter awakes and makes her baby noise. I slip into the lodge and take the hammock swinging cradle board down, unlacing the hides that hold her secure.

Tiny feet and dainty hands wave from the deep fur lining. I replace the soft moss in the lining that is wrapped around her tiny body and put the soiled moss in the fire.

I look at Wind Willow’s face, holding her up to see the wonder of the trees and sky. Her dark eyes seem to understand this change in the earth as if she came already knowing. Wrapping her tight, I holding her close to me and began to feed her, feeling the fist tugs on my breast as she settles in to nurse. My heart is happy and filled with the love that Creator has given to us all this day. The beauty flows around me, all things sacred and safe in the protection of the Earth Mother.

In this time of the morning when all is still, I send my prayers to Creator for my life here on this earth. I thank the Creator for the precious life that I hold in my arms.

This is my life, my world, filled with peaceful and gentle people who live in harmony with all things.

Many winters ago the people received a gift called the talking feather.
I will share with you the story of how this came to pass.

When the call came to the young mothers in the village to take their baskets and gather the fruit and berries, the old grandmothers, whose legs had lost the fast walk and sure foot of the doe, were left to care for the young children. The mothers honored the grandmothers by giving them this responsibility on those days.

It is believed that the young children have many dreams and visions to collect before they are grown. They were given a bit of sleep in the warmth of a darkened lodge before Sun has traveled his full path each day. Now let me tell you what happened on one of these days.

Crow and Magpie, two of our noise making winged ones were having a terrible argument outside the lodge of the sleeping children. "Caaaw-caaaw" screamed Crow. "Kaaack-Kack" yelled Magpie. They were both speaking at once and they could not hear each other's point of view on the subject of which tree belonged to which bird.

Now first one of the grandmothers asked Creator to quiet the voices outside. This was easier than going out to take care of it herself. But Creator let the grandmother know that it was her job to go out and scare off the birds. You see Wakan Tonka knew that a great gift was coming to the people and he wanted the grandmother to see it happen.

When she could not get the attention of the screaming Crow or yelling Magpie, she called on Eagle, most Wakan winged one. "Oh brother Eagle can you chase off these two noisy ones so our children can still dream", asked the grandmother.

With a might flap of his wings and a leap from the limb he sailed towards the noisy pair. He gave a call of warning to the Crow and Magpie as he came close, but they were so busy fighting they did not even hear him. When Eagle saw this he yelled louder and came closer, and that is when it happened.

"Caaaw-caaaw, Caaaw-caaaw", Crow screamed as he flapped his wings in the air so hard he nearly fell off his perch. "Kaaack-Kack", yelled Magpie as his wings too flapped up a storm. Suddenly they both felt the contact of a sacred Eagle wing and saw a feather fall as they froze in mid squawk! Oh my what had they done? Crow swooped down and caught the feather before it landed on Mother Earth. As he came back to the branch he heard Magpie speaking to Eagle.

"Oh brother Eagle most Wakan of our family we did not hear you so near. I am truly sorry for the injury I have caused you."

Crow was surprised to hear such an honorable thing come from the mouth of this rude neighbor. He held the Eagle feather in one claw and spoke with dignity. "I have many times been a naughty bird but brother Eagle I think this may be the worst I have done in many moons. I am very sorry for this bad thing I have done."

Magpie was shocked, could this be that unruly Crow who spoke such wise words? Crow handed the feather to Magpie so he could give it back to Eagle. As Magpie took the feather their eyes met and with no words at all they both knew that this mistake would not have happened if they had not been fighting. Magpie spoke as he took the feather and said, "I am ashamed, brother Eagle, that my loud talk and harsh words were more important to me than solving our problem." He looked to Crow for a sign of understanding. Crow took the feather back from Magpie and said, "We have disturbed the two legged children and torn from your wing a sacred feather and now we return it to you with a request for your forgiveness."

Eagle had watched all this with wise eyes and an open heart. He knew the lesson of listening had been learned by his little brothers and he saw that the grandmother looked on with learning eyes also. So he said to Crow, "Give my feather to the grandmother so that she might dress it with beads and leather and fur to make it even more beautiful. Let her keep it in her lodge and teach others to create this fine looking feather." Eagle said, "We will call this sacred item a Talking Feather. You have seen it's power grandmother. Tell all the people that when they come together for Council Fires or at any gathering where ears might be shut, to bring out the Talking Feather and let only the holder speak. This will be done in an honorable manner letting everyone have his say. Begin with the highest ranking Elder and pass the feather until all have spoken."

"When the feather is held with its back to the listeners and the inside curve to the speaker he will hear his own words first as they come back to him. This will help to tame the harsh tongue of the two legged. If disagreements are still between two people they will turn the feather away from themselves so the words can go straight to the one they are at odds with", explained Eagle. "When all have spoken a vote can be taken and the side who gathers the most votes will make the final decision", said Eagle.

As Eagle spoke these words Crow brought the feather to the grandmother. She was very honored to have learned this lesson and she brought the feather to her lodge and every grandmother from that day on has told this story and helped the young ones to make Talking Feathers.

Oh yes, the children also dreamed of the days when they would make important decisions with the help of the Talking Feather.

Jenny has been following her destiny and is now teaching people how to create drums, prayer fans, talking feathers, dance sticks, medicine shields and prayer staffs along with the corresponding ceremonies of the Native culture. Gathering like-minded people to build and then serve the Inipi (sweat lodge) has been one of Jenny's most satisfying accomplishments. Performing healing work taught by various Native American Shamans (similar to a combination of Reiki and Reflexology), teaching art and craft workshops as well as lecturing on various topics, this grandmother of 13 and mom to 5 has a busy and productive life. To contact Jenny for Ceremonies, Lectures, Workshops, Healing Treatments, and Arts & Crafts, call (509) 258-9446.
 

When the earth was created, a great thundercloud appeared on the horizon. Flashing lightning and thundering it descended toward the treetops. As the mists cleared, there was an eagle perched on the highest branch. He took flight and flew slowly down to the ground. As he approached the earth, he put forward his foot, and  as he stepped upon the ground, he became a man. For this reason we recognize the eagle as a messenger of the creator, and rely upon him to carry word of our actions to the creator. When the eagle comes to where we are working,  we know that someone cares about us and is watching over us.  from "Eagle" by Erik Phelps

For many years we held a council for women at the reservation. At times there would be as many as two hundred women there. We also would have a men’s council at the same time for the husbands and young boys.

At one council we decided to talk of personal medicine and how one has the ability to carry that medicine, or power of healing.

The word medicine was a French word used by the fur trappers. When they would have a physical problem or illness, they would often come to the Villages of the people to be helped. The word medicine means Doctor and they would ask for a healer by using this word; thus the healers were known by the name Medicine Doctor.

We prefer to use the word Healer or Holy person. A Healer is one who studies the herbal and Earth ways of healing. A Holy person is a person who works in a spiritual way with spirits and vision. Now that we have that all in order, let’s go on.

We decided to create a small pouch for the women to wear to show a material aspect of this idea. Each woman was excited and all ears for the teaching. A small round piece of leather hide was given to each woman and it had 12 holes punched in it. The women were told the story of creation as we know it and instructed to lace the circles and to go and gather a feather, stone, and shell. Each woman was given a piece of corn and some tobacco for the pouch. All went very well, and all weekend we saw the pouches worn with great pride and respect. The gathering ended and everyone went home.

A few months later, a woman arrived on our doorstep. She was very upset and told us she had lost her pouch. We brought her in and listened to the story she told of the missing pouch. At the end of all her tears and story, she was invited to make another pouch. Grand Mother said it was fine with her, so we got out the hides and beads and she made her new pouch. She left happy and all was good.

Months went by, and again, there she was on the doorstep. The whole scene was repeated with a different set of circumstances around the lost pouch. We again helped her make a new pouch. This time she wanted to make a bigger one, trusting that she would not lose it if it were bigger.

Months went by and again it was time for the Women’s council. The same woman attended and ask to have a bit of private time with us. Well, you guessed it; she had lost the bigger pouch. This time Grand Mother asked us to hold off on the construction of a new pouch. We figured she was going to scout around for a whole hide for this woman. I guess the thought crossed our minds that the bigger the pouch, the harder to lose.

The council got under way and the pouch was forgotten. On the last day, the women gathered after breakfast. Grand Mother asked that all the women attend as she had something very important to share. The lodge was full and all was quiet. Birds flew in and out of the windows and bees buzzed away in the flowers on the altar in the center of the round house. The air was fresh and clear, telling us it would be a very hot day. Grand Mother entered the lodge and ask us all to place our medicine pouches into a basket that she passed around. That year, as in the past, we had made pouches for the women. Each woman was alarmed that their newly made pouch was to be taken from them, yet each in turn trustingly placed their pouch in the basket which then was placed on the altar.

Grand Mother then spoke. She said that the pouch represented our need to cling to the material objects, to remind us of who we were. She told of a time when she was a child and that the children were taken away to the Indian schools. Each child was given a very small pouch to wear under their clothing. The pouch was to give the children something to hold onto when everything else was taken from them. The children were also told that if the pouches were taken from them, they still had the medicine in their heart. We each carry the medicine of all our relations, from the beyond the beyond the beyond. We carry it in our hearts and souls; our spirits are all part of that great mystery that surrounds all living things. Grand Mother said that we do not really need these pouches and all we had to do is look into our hearts to see the medicine or healing power we carry.

After that, she passed the basket back around the circle of women and said, “Now, if you feel that you need the pouch, then find yours and take it and wear it.” The basket went full circle; all the women sat with bowed heads and did not look at who searched for their pouch in the basket filled with little pouches. In the end, the basket was placed on the altar and never again referred too.

We were all curious as to what had happened. During the rest of the day, we noticed that the basket remained untouched and full of pouches. The wisdom of our Elders is a gift and we need to protect the ones Creator has chosen to help us.

Mitakuye Oyasin

For many years the practice of the midwife was considered not legal in New York. A few years back, the law was passed that we can again practice the natural way of birth.

It has always been our ways. My brothers, my sister, and I were not born in hospitals. My mother delivered us all at home with the help of my Grandmother and Aunts.

Growing up, the talk of birth was a common sharing between women only. The men where normally excluded from child birth as a traditional practice. I remembered that we were only allowed at a certain age to attend a child birthing.

First, we had to learn what to do without being told. My work began as a helper when I was 13 years old. I would take the children, if there were some in the house, and care for them. I would feed them, dress them, and in all ways, fill the mother's role until she was able to resume her work.

I then graduated to actual child birth work when I was 16 and would help with the preparations in the birthing room. This apprenticeship continued for three years and I actually worked and learned by watching and doing.

I could not write a book about this as it would include so many things that can and may happen. We used many herbs and ways that are not orthodox in the medical field, but are practical in primitive surroundings.

I see the herbal way is still somewhat included in the midwife practice of today. I know so many are not supportive of this and, in time, I trust that it will change for the better.

The Receiving of Life
It was time for the sun to set when a young man from the reservation came riding up fast on his horse. He did not wait until the horse came to a full stop before he dismounted. His long legs, graceful and strong, seemed to fly and land on the old gray plank boards of our ranch house porch. My father answered the door, as we had peeked through the lace curtains of the dusty window to see who had arrived. My brother and I could hear the low deep voices of my father and this young man from the dinning room. I started to clear the table when my mother came in and said, "Leave that and help me pack."

I ran to get the basket we used to take the medicine in and filled it from an old metal cupboard that contained bottles and jars of herbs. I picked out the proper bottles and bundles of herbs for bleeding and for pain. Tiny scissors that were shaped like a stork were wrapped and placed in the basket. Next, to the storage closet to find old sheets for the bed. I also slipped the small can of bear grease in the basket. On top of the basket, I placed the sage and rattle we would work with during the labor. Mother was busy in the kitchen gathering food and other items to use for the new mother once the baby came.

My mind raced but remained calm; I had done this many times in the past three years of my actual attendance of birthing. I ran up the stairs and pulled my old pack out of the closet; it was fashioned from the legs of well worn Levi pants. A drawstring held it tight when it was filled with clothing. In the pack, I placed some clothing for myself and an extra night gown, just in case. Dad was taking the growing pile of things to the pickup as we gathered them. At long last, we piled into the seat of the old Ford truck and rattled off down the raised dirt road.

A silence took over the ride, as we drove for over an hour to reach the neighbor's ranch house. We arrived and Mom went into the bedroom to check on the woman. I started to organize the things we had brought and put on water for coffee. I added a heaping half cup of grounds to the pot and let them boil for a few minutes. Mom finally came back into the kitchen and said we have some time to wait so let's get some food started. I put a soup pot on and cut up meat and vegetables for the stew. Mom set out the medicine and made some tea. I watched her out of one eye, as I was also busy. As she prepared the tea, she said in a soft voice that we may have to work very hard for this baby.

I knew from her face that it was not a good thing and that she was worried. We set the stew on to cook and made some biscuits. The old kitchen soon was steaming and full of good smells. I went outside to a cool fall night and gathered some wood for the stove.

On the porch sat her husband; he looked up as I came out the door but did not speak. I went back in and told my mother he was out there and she went out to talk to him. I did not hear what was said, but could feel the concern in the air as they spoke.

There was not much to do so we cleaned and cooked for a few hours. Finally, after many visits to the bedroom, my mother said it is time and we prepared the teas for the birthing. I had put some clean blankets in an old card board box and set it near the fire to warm. Both of us tied up our hair and put a handkerchief round our heads. I took two aprons, starched and clean, from the pile of sheets and we prepared for the work ahead.

Many hours had passed and the baby had not turned into the birth position. We had to do some repositioning of the mother and finally were ready for the delivery. I watched and helped as the labor grew into a full, nonstop wave of contractions. Near the foot of the bed sat a smudge bowl with a long spiral of smoke drifting up to the ceiling. After smearing the bear grease on the vaginal area, my mother took her hands and worked the skin to stretch it so that the tearing would not happen. I watched as the dance of life began.

We call this part of the birth, the dance of life, as the baby seems to spin in the opening once around and then enter the reality of life. Finally, the little head was showing and it was not long after we had a healthy baby girl letting the world know she was here.

I took her from my mother's hands as she touched her on the forehead with the sacred rattle and red earth. I saw the old and wise face, the eyes staring into my own, as I wiped her and placed the bear oil on her skin.

Wrapped tight in a flannel blanket, I held her. The wonder of life filled my hands with a warm softness. There is nothing like the feeling of a new life in your hands—the beauty of spirit that fills the space between Creator and you is so small. I carried her to the window and I looked out into the night, the sky filled with stars so clear. In the baby's eyes, these same stars were reflected in the pools of darkness. I ask the question that we always ask of the new ones: Who are you little one? What old one is coming back to the people in your spirit? May your life here on this earth be one of beauty. May you walk in beauty before you and all around you.

I saw a shooting star pass across the window and knew that this little one was someone who would help her people and stand strong in the winds of time.

Many years later, I was called to attend a birth for that young woman who I had held in my arms when she was born. I spoke to her of the night she was born, as she lay waiting the birth of her first baby to come. She said, "I have always wondered if it was so that someone had spoken to me of the stars when I was born." I only smiled at her and said, "This is our way." Later that night, she gave birth to a son. As she rested from her long labor, I held him up to see the stars. I held this precious new life in my arms, and I saw in the sky, a comet passing over us. I knew that this baby, too, was an old one returning to help his people.

Copyright © 2003 Red Hawk Publishing All Rights Reserved
See article "A Woman's Feet" for information/contact with Waynonaha Two Worlds.

Native peoples use the moon as their calendar. September’s moon is called the “Moon of Gathering” herbals and all seeds.

Today I went to the fields and the woods that surround this sacred land. Many new and wonderful things are beginning to grow. I found plants that have not been there in the past growing in abundance. I sat on a rotting tree stump and thought, If this can happen, then we can survive.

I found plants that my grandmother used. It was thrilling to see them. As I said my prayer to enter into the sacred world of the Plant Nation, it was made clear to me that only if I shared would I be given. On this night of the full moon, I walked in the old trees that grow here and seek out the moon plants. These are plants that can only be harvested on the full of the “moon of gathering.”

Each plant has a healing all of its own and needs to be honored as such. We can order herbs from various sources but the ones that are the most powerful are those we gather. The prayers are infused into the plants before they are taken from Mother Earth. In saying a prayer, and even singing a plant song, the process of honoring the healing plants is started.

In my years of walking this Earth Mother, I have seen many falls and winters. In all that time we did not seek out Western Medicine but were healed by our Elders. My first visit to a medical facility was at age nineteen for a tooth filling. Other than that, we five children were taken care of by our Mother and our Grandmother.

My first gathering started when I was about three or four. I remembered I had to be very careful where I walked and what I thought. The first lesson was one of listening to my Grandmother and watching as she explained the plants to me.

I can still find them, and know by touching each one, although I never knew the Latin names. Maybe the reason we have a hard time sharing the knowledge with others, is the fact that it is a hands-on process. Many want a book and a picture to go by but the best way is to do it by touch, taste, and smell. I have seen blind healers gather the plants because they can smell them or know them by touch.

Just as the mint family all have a certain common factor (the square stems), a person could find them in the dark, or if you had no sight, you could still find them. You would know them as tea plants or soothing plants, as we called them.

So there were many plants that were all lumped under one word, such as soothing or women’s plants, and poultice plants. I would know then that Grandmother wanted some plants that would soothe whatever she was treating. An injury or a wound was under poultice plants for drawing out the pain or inflammation. Woman issues were another category of plants. We learned the common gifts of the plants, then the use of them in everyday life.

I made herbal soap and shampoo for people with scaly skin or dandruff. Babies sometimes got Cradle Cap and we used herbals with Rosemary in it and healing balm to treat this condition. The oils were from goose or bear—we hardly ever used domestic animal fat for this purpose. The best was deer tallow for soap and shampoo—it makes a soft and creamy soap. Goose fat was used for rubbing compounds with plenty of pepper plants for warmth. We now can use almond oil, olive oil, and grape seed oil for this purpose. I still save my goose and deer fat for the medicinal. Sometimes I can get Bear fat for its wonderful fine oil. There is nothing better for chapped hands than Bear grease.

I trust that each one of us who are walking in a Earth Spiritual way will honor the plants that are awakening and presenting themselves for us to use. If you do not work with this medicine then you can still honor the Plant Nation by song and prayers.

We are sisters here to walk in peace and harmony. Each is a separate link but none are without support or connecting sisters. Love and blessings, Waynonaha Human Being.

I had wandered into a small Indian shop in the foothills of the Sierras in Northern California, and struck up a conversation with the Native American woman who owned the shop. My own Modoc Indian heritage and love of Indian jewelry prompted me to tell her of the pain I suffered when my mother's silver Navajo concho belt was stolen.

My mother had worn it almost every day of her life. It was passed on to me when she had passed through the arch of life to the other side. I remember as a small girl putting my arms around my mother's waist and feeling the warmth of her body through the silver platelets. Having her belt gave me great comfort after her death.

As I talked with the Indian woman, I could sense her empathy. But when I finished expressing my grief at having lost the belt, her message was not the one of sympathy I expected. What she gave me was a new beginning and an insight into my mother. "Remember," she said, "the true gift you were given was things of the spirit. Don't ever cry over things that can't cry over you."

My mother is not a belt. My mother is reflected in the woman who now stands in her place - me. My true heritage is the talents and strengths that she left to me. I no longer cry over things that can't cry over me. I cherish the fortitude and the love a woman left to me.

With the birth of the white buffalo, the final set of prophecies are near fulfillment. Soon a great spiritual awakening will begin.

Slowly, at first, the spirit of mankind will begin it's transmutation. "The soul will remember..." Whereas we once were of one power, so shall we be again. Whereas we were one body with one voice, and became many bodies with many voices, we will become many bodies with one voice.

"Witness hereunto the proliferation of "god' as "god' is known. "The lines of energy that permeate, quadrate, parallel, transfix, and disperse throughout the entire material, astral, and ethereal planes are in the process of COMING INTO HARMONY.

In the history of my people, there is a story of four brothers that set out on a trek to gain wisdom and understanding of the four elemental powers that combine to become the one true power:

To the Yellow-skinned race, the elemental power of Air was given as quest. This is the power of wisdom itself. They would learn that the power of the air was of the mind. Oneness with the element of air was, to them, oneness with self through the power of the mind.

To the Black-skinned people, the element of wisdom was Fire: the power of the physical body. The oneness that they sought was oneness of structure, rites of fertility, the manipulation of the physical aspect of the prime material. (They were building pyramids when the majority of us were living in caves.)

To the White-skinned people, the element of Water lent it's power of aesthetics, as well as the chaotic factor of criticism. Oneness to them became beauty, rhetoric, and emotional religion.

And to the Red-skinned people, was given the charge of the element of Earth. They found that oneness was the power of the earth. The earth is your mother, all things have spirit. Ne-uii-aeo - the breath we all take.

The story goes on to say that the brothers would one day come back together. To insure the original intention would remain clear, they agreed that when their descendants were ready to reunite, that the spirits of the four brothers would speak to the hearts of the children in dreams and visions and tell them when the time was approaching. They would then be prepared when the four brothers picked up the four corners of the veil that shrouds the earth from the spirit world, and tore it asunder.

"The Earth-centered spiritual devotee believes all life has a spirit, an essential life force that participates with and is part of the life web of spiritual energy in this Earth’s atmosphere and beyond the Universe."

I was three years old when I saw a pueblo for the first time – earth houses with rounded corners and hard earthen floors polished by years of moccasins. My family and I moved into an adobe house not far from the pueblo. It had polished brick floors that although beautiful did not feel as wonderful as the earth floors. The walls, windowsills, every corner was rounded. Even the fireplace was oval. I tried to reshape my sandbox by wetting the sand and molding it to the plywood that surrounded my square of sand. The sand would dry and fall away from the board. By the next day, I resorted to little buckets of mud procured from the garden, rounding the corners with the wet desert earth. My skills were limited and the results did not resemble those beautiful rounded corners of the nearby pueblo.

I abandoned the sandbox to the cats who enjoyed it much more than I and wandered throughout the Earth garden of my small universe looking for holy places. I found one in the grape arbor. I took my special stones, small ones that fit in the hand of a three year old, and sat shrouded by the grape vines covered with big round purple taste delights. Around me I placed my stones. I would stay there for hours talking with my visitors, the spirits that respond when a holy place is consecrated and the circle of life is remembered.

As the Lakota holy man Black Elk said, “You have noticed that everything an Indian does is in a circle, and that is because the Power of the World always works in circles, and everything tries to be round. In the old days when we were a strong and happy people, all our power came to us from the sacred hoop of the nation, and so long as the hoop was unbroken, the hoop flourished. The flowering tree was the living center of the hoop, and the circle of the four quarters nourished it. The East gave peace and light, the South gave warmth, the West gave rain, and the North with its cold and mighty wind gave strength and endurance. This knowledge came to us from the outer world with our religion. Everything the power of the World does is done in a circle.”

The simplest reminder of the circle is the rising and setting of the sun, the rising and the setting of the moon. Each day we are given a mandala of life by contemplating the energy and teachings of the passing of time as Grandfather Sun and Grandmother Moon circle around our sweet Mother Earth. With each moment, there is a teaching and a blessing. My religion and the Native belief is that everything is alive and has its special place on the Medicine Wheel. Sun Bear, an Ojibway holy man, had a vision of The Medicine Wheel and its return all over this Earth. In his book, THE MEDICINE WHEEL, he recalls his vision saying, “A leader among them was saying, ‘Let the medicine of the sacred circle prevail. Let many people across the land come to the circle and make prayers for the healing of the Earth Mother. Let the circles of the Medicine Wheel come back.’ ”

The Sacred Center is part of this way. So often people think we do not believe in ‘God.’ This is not true, we believe in a divine power and the power of Spirit in all life. We learn from that which is around us and the powers that come to us each day. In this way, we begin to understand the great power that connects us all as one.

Indigenous spiritual beliefs hold that all things are alive and have a spirit. For over 20 years, I have felt this knowing in my soul, perhaps from past indigenous lifetimes, and definitely from numerous spiritual experiences. Over the years, the Spirits have helped me to communicate with so-called 'inanimate' objects such as drums, the sacred pipe, ancient temples, rock and trees. In September 2006, I was again honored by having another spiritual experience in which I met a sacred healing staff.

I was in Montana where I met a lady named Joy, who was chosen by the Spirits to be the caretaker of a powerful sacred staff. It originally came from the Eyak native tribe near Cordova, Alaska. This staff is a Peace and Dignity Journey Staff that began its first run in 1996 in Chickaloon, Alaska. It has been carried by indigenous runners from Alaska to Panama, Greenland, Antarctica, Mexico, the Dakotas, and Arizona. It has been honored at the United Nations, along with 90 other sacred staffs from around the world.

Peace and Dignity Journeys originated at the first Continental Encounter of Indigenous Pueblos and Nations in Quito, Ecuador in 1990. The mandate was for the unification of all indigenous peoples under the sacred prophecy of the eagle and the condor. The prophecy said that when the eagle of North America and the condor of South America fly together, the earth will awaken. In the original Maya codices, the picture of the condor and the eagle are entwined, curving around each other at the neck.

In 1992, the runners collected sacred ceremonial wooden staffs from 43 Indian nations—sacred feathered walking sticks that represented the prayers, memories and dreams of the native nations. Peace and Dignity runs are held every four years, and the purpose is to help heal the world and seek peace and dignity in all lands. Spiritual runners from indigenous nations carry the sacred staffs throughout the western hemisphere enroute to the Sacred City of Teotihuacan, Mexico.

This staff is about four feet tall, with a big, beautiful deep purple amethyst crystal at the top. It has leather straps and multi-colored ribbons and feathers attached to it. There is a leather cap that covers the amethyst crystal when the staff is not ‘awakened’ and being used.

When I first met this staff, I felt a huge powerful spiritual presence emanating from it. I was able to communicate with it and experienced vivid visions in its presence. Other people at this gathering were also able to communicate with it and feel its energy.

Every full moon, the staff is ceremonially set outside all night on Mother Earth to activate the staff's healing energies, with a human guardian who sleeps outside with it. When I watched this staff being placed on the earth in the center of the medicine wheel there, I saw a green light go out from the top of the amethyst and white light go down into the earth. I heard the staff say that it was happy it was doing its work and sending out healing energy. My friend who slept outside with it said that all night long she could hear a humming sound coming from the earth.

For the past few years I have traveled to Alaska, Utah, Montana and Washington, lead by the Spirits to do sacred healing ceremony work for Mother Earth. So I was not surprised the next day when I was prompted by Spirit to ask if Joy and the staff would like to come to the Spokane area. I saw a vision of the staff in the center of the medicine wheel and earth circle on my property, and at the top of Mt. Spokane. Joy and the staff said 'yes.' I felt so honored to have met this staff and to help facilitate it coming to Eastern Washington to do its healing work.

The week before their arrival, I was told to honor my medicine wheel by bringing in new rocks and making it look like new. The day they arrived was also a full moon, so that evening we held a ceremony and activated the staff by placing it in the middle of the medicine wheel for the night. The sight and feeling of the staff in the medicine wheel was breathtaking. This area had been in a long drought and that evening there was a short heavy downfall of rain. Joy said that weather changes sometimes occur when the staff is present.

The next day we had a small ceremonial gathering to honor the staff. We placed objects that represented the four elements on the four medicine wheel directions. The object representing earth was a large crystal that I had gotten in Alaska 20 years ago. While the group was standing around the medicine wheel, the person standing by the crystal saw a line of energy between the staff and the crystal, and felt that they were communicating with each other. Only moments before I had telepathically told my crystal how neat it must be that it (the crystal) was meeting the staff which also came from Alaska. I could also sense that the staff and my crystal were saying a friendly 'hello' to each other!

The next morning we took the staff to the sacred earth circle on my land, which is an energy vortex that is connected to the earth's ley line grid system. I was shown where the staff should be placed in the circle and we could feel energy emanating from that spot. When the staff was placed there, we could feel the masculine and feminine energies of that circle balancing themselves out.

Lastly, we took the staff to the top of Mt. Spokane for a healing ceremony. It was very powerful and I saw a line of energy from the mountain top connecting to my medicine wheel. And it started snowing while we were doing the ceremony! It was an honor and a blessing to have this special sacred staff come to this area.

My message is that everything, from the tiniest rock to the mighty tree does have a spirit. All you need to do is take the time to open up your inner vision and hearing, and communicate with the spirit that is within all things. And the coming together of the prophecy of the eagle and the condor is now happening and indigenous prophecy is being fulfilled!

From within, through our Spirit we are each connected to Creator just as the spokes of a wheel are connected to the hub. Without the hub the spokes have no direction, guidance or purpose. With the hub the spokes have a secured point at Center to guide them. Yet there is one more important part ~ the rim of the wheel. Securing the loose ends of the spokes to specific locations on the wheel rim results in a functional, well-balanced wheel. No two spokes can hold the exact same location at either the hub or the rim. One may call these connecting points "Sacred Space". Each person has their very own "Sacred Space" firstly with Creator, by whatever Name they choose to call Creator. Secondly, upon the "Sacred Hoop" represented by the wheel rim.

From Bighorn Wheel (left) in the USA to Swineside Circles in the UK (right),  the Spiritual Symbol of the Wheel has been Universal since ancient times.  More about the Bighorn Wheel can be found at: http://www.kstrom.net/isk/stars/starkno5.html  Information about the Swineside Circles can be found at: http://home.sunrise.ch/hermi/starmap/hd177565/hd177565.html#stonehenge

It has been my observation that many people do understand their personal connection to Creator. Sadly, many have forgotten their personal connection to the "Sacred Hoop". In essence this "Sacred Hoop" is very fractured as evidenced by such negative things as domestic violence, wars and other senseless destructive behaviors. These fractures upon the "Sacred Hoop" began a very long time ago, and continue to this day. Every time a person refuses to respect another person's "Sacred Space" another fracture occurs. Every time a person turns away from Creator again the "Sacred Hoop" is weakened.

Now, picture our wheel again; with a rim composed of bits and pieces, large cracks, small cracks, some spokes doing their best to hang on, other spokes missing, bent or broken. Not a very good wheel, is it? But have faith! We can mend the "Sacred Hoop" quickly and easily IF we all work together and with Creator's help. If each of us claim our individual "Sacred Space" and respect each other's right to their own "Sacred Space", their own connection to Creator, we will begin to mend the "Sacred Hoop".

Add to this a daily prayer to Creator to hasten this mending of the "Sacred Hoop" and we shall co-create a true peace on earth, now and for the next generation and beyond the beyond.

Heal the Sacred Hoop!
For the latest information on the 2001 World Peace and Prayer Day gatherings throughout the world, please visit: http://worldpeaceday.com/

Copyright 2001 Sage MorningSky/All rights reserved.

Ancient Past, Ancient Future by Sage MorningSky We came here long ago, Remember? We created this realm, Remember? The joy we shared, The Elements became, Air, Fire, Water, and Rock Remember? How beautiful it was, How desperately we wanted To feel the Elements To be fully a part of Our Creation, Remember? We worked in groups In the vastness of Our Creation, In the Loving Light Of Creator, Remember? And we become Part of Our Creation. Remember? Remember. Remember!

Life is but a solid reflection of the spirit world. We come here to live as humans and we leave our earthly bodies behind to live as spirits. We come from one place and enter into another to exit again through the door we first came out of. The circle and cycle goes on and on into the Great Mystery.

I have no desire to learn of the after time too soon, but as I grow older it seems to hold more curiosity for me and beckons me to explore and understand. I do not seek to learn of the spirit world for I know, like my shadow, it exists and yet it does not have physical aspects.

I, like many, have left this plane of the living for a while and ventured into a place of all knowing. It was an unconscious act and held only an innocent lesson that I will apply to my life as I live it now.

One time I disappeared from this Earth only to wake up with a jolt on a hospital bed looking at IV poles and bottles that surrounded me. A nurse asked me how I was feeling, and I said that I had the best sleep of my life. She stood back and had a very puzzled look on her face. Later I found out that I had indeed died a clinical death and had been brought back.

Was I truly brought back, or did I choose to come back, or was I sent back? I have no answers for these questions. I just remember that it was a very pleasant experience and I do not have bad thoughts when remembering the time I was gone. If this is an indication that we carry our memories out of this world and on into the spirit world, to surface into another world, then that is what happened to me in reverse. I carried the memories of that other spirit world back into this physical world. Thus, the name Two Worlds was given to me, and in time, my other name Waynonaha, (woman who comes carrying water—for water to us is precious and sacred) erased the Christian name that had held such fearful memories. I took that old name and with the help of Rolling Thunder, buried it in the sands of Carlin, Nevada.

As a child, I remember I watched my shadow all the time. I could tell the time of day by my shadow and knew that when the shadow ate you up or was not visible around your body, then you must go home for lunch. When you faced the East and your shadow was long in back of you, it was early morning, and in the evening the same applied when looking West. We played a game called shadow tag, in which we tried to step on another’s shadow to trap them and hold them. This never trapping of the shadow could happened yet as children; this was a wonderful game of running and playing.

In the early 90’s something happened to me that would bring back all of the forgotten memories of my trip to the places beyond.

I had taken a trip out West to speak on religious freedom for imprisoned Native American Indians. It was our work to go into the prisons and be allowed to speak and perform a circle. During this time we could make sure that they were being allowed to hold lodges. Some of the prisons were maximum security and they did not take well to two American Indian women parading in with long skirts, drums and sage. We managed to pass some pretty ridged screening and supplied the men with prayer tie material, books, sage, and sweet grass. It was amazing that they did not look in our canvas bags that we carried. No one checked for weapons and my knife that I kept tucked in my moccasin was overlooked many times—possibly because I, too, had forgotten about it. We were allowed to take in our bundles and Channupa (pipes) without them ever being opened. In some places, it was the first time the men or women had ever been allowed to burn sage or pray in a circle.

We had just finished the last prison in Boise, Idaho and decided to make a loop back down to Nevada to see an old and dear friend, Rolling Thunder. Rolling Thunder, who many people know about, was in his time a good healer. There was a book written about him which said he was not accurate. He, too, has taken the long walk home.

Well, we decided while we were there, to go out to his land and dry out our tents in an old barn.

We hung the tents in the barn and were given a trailer to sleep in for the next few nights. If you have ever seen the movie Billy Jack, then you have seen Rolling Thunder’s land. All of this land at one time was Piute and western Shoshone land. We stayed there for a week and had some good times just making a fire and sitting out under the stars. We drummed and sang and generally let our hair down for a few days. There were many things that happened on this trip, but this one incident still stands out in my memory as an important one.

One night as the moon started to climb up over the hills, I thought that I would take a walk alone. I can remember walking down the path and the moon was behind me, bright and clear as it pushed up over the mountain. My shadow did a strange thing—it started to go all thin and long in front of me. The image of me became like a dark line no more than a hand span in size and getting longer as I walked until I could not see the end of it on the desert floor. I felt as though as my shadow got longer, I was getting smaller and smaller. I continued to walk in this way until I did not exist on the earth as a person. My body was swallowed up in the sand and my shadow just stretched on and on.

From this place of nothing, I could see everything. I saw all the stones and small night things that come out of hiding in the coolness. I saw villages of people there, all living in harmony and at peace. I stopped and watched and could see the past time before the coming of the white man on the land. No one saw me, no one spoke to me, it was as if I did not exist. In truth, I did not exist in that time, but I had a strange feeling of peace and rest come over me. I do not know how long I was in that place and time or when I decided to return. When I came walking back toward the trailer, the moon had swallowed up my shadow and I had only a fringe of it around me. I remember the old people who spoke of the stick people or the Chi Chi’s who came out at night, so we were not allowed to be out after dark. One time, I think I saw some stick people when we were traveling at night in Montana in a heavy wind storm. They did not alarm me; they only stood on the side of the road watching us as we passed by in slow motion.

All things in nature that touch our lives are lessons and sign posts of what is to come or what has been. We are the ones who must listen, look, and learn, for these things are there to tell us all something.

With our busy lives and hectic schedules it is a challenge to stay centered. For health and wellness, it is essential to achieve harmony and balance in our daily lives, but exactly what does that mean? With cellular phones, e-mail, tight schedules and constant demands, how can we stay balanced and not feel overwhelmed, stressed and anxious? What is harmony when chaos is a constant part of daily life?

My Native American culture has taught me to seek harmony and balance for the benefit of my physical health, mental well-being and spiritual enrichment. Native Americans have a fundamental belief that harmony and balance is maintained in our world when we appreciate and respect nature. Without tuning into nature, we cannot understand and embrace its gifts. Borrow some wisdom from Native American culture and begin to see the beauty and energy of the spirits of the sky, for these energies of nature remind us to move through our day in a balanced way that promotes harmony.

The sky is a powerful place to Native Americans, as it radiates the energy forces of the sun, wind, rain and the moon. These spirits of the sky are respected and appreciated for their distinct energies. Furthermore, these energies mirror the moods we go through in our daily lives.

Invigorating SUN
THE SUN is a gift of warm energy that invigorates and brightens our day. Sunrise marks the beginning of each day and therefore its energy is radiant and new. In the morning, when we give thanks to the Sun's presence of warmth and light, we have established the start of our day in a positive and powerful way. Sun is represented by orange, which is a color of brilliance and vibrancy. When you awaken, take a moment to absorb Sun's invigorating energy and feel your day begin.

Energizing WIND
THE WIND is a powerful force. Wind is an energetic spirit that brings us gentle breezes filled with sweet aromas of flowers in the spring. Wind dances with the leaves on trees and creates a beautiful song like no other. Wind is powerful enough to blow away one season and usher in the next so that we may move from spring to summer. Wind is represented by blue, which is a color of power. Wind's force is energizing and brisk. When you feel the wind blow, tilt your face upward and feel it exhilarate you.

Refreshing RAIN
RAIN is a refreshing energy filled with cleansing water that promotes growth and renewal. Rain sprinkles upon flowers and creates beautiful blooming landscapes. Rain is represented by the color green, which is the color of nature.  When you feel raindrops, think of its tremendous ability to create growth and renewal and become absorbed in its refreshing energy.

Relaxing MOON
THE MOON is a gift of calm energy associated with prayer and meditation. Moon marks the end of our day with quiet time of  relaxation and reflection. Moon is represented by the color purple, which is a color of spirit, clarity and lightness.  Moonlight is incredibly soothing for the soul if we just take a moment to admire its beauty and energy.

Our lives can abe hectic, but it is important to take time for yourself to ground, center and balance you inner spirit. When you are feeling overwhelmed, simply embrace the energy and beauty of the spirits of the sky and you may be pleasantly surprised by the results. Rise in the morning to greet the sun and give thanks for its warmth and light and see how positive the morning can be. At night, take a moment to release the day to the calming energy of the Moon and experience a serene feeling. When it Rains, feel its refreshing energy kiss your face. As the Wind blows, visualize its energy embrace and inspire you. When you embrace the beauty and energy of nature and all her gifts you are closer to maintaining harmony and balance in your daily life.

I share the insight of my cultural experiences in hopes that it inspires you to connect with your natural surroundings. The role nature plays in our lives is often neglected, forgotten or ignored. In my culture, there is an interconnection with all life force on our planet; humans, plants, animals, environment and natural forces all have an equal right to exist and should not be destroyed or damaged. When we abuse our natural surroundings, we disrupt the harmony and balance in our world. If we take care of nature, it continues to bestow us with many gifts!