Going Home Together

I'm sitting here this morning, as I do most mornings. Outside in a lawn chair, giving thanks for the day. Greeting those who walked before me, my Ancestors. A smoke, a cup of coffee. Superdog terrorizing the cat, and any other creature that gets his attention. Coming over for the occasional pat and scratch, then off again, determined to get that squirrel out the tree. On my mind, my prayer, is how. How do I do this? How do I get the attention of my lost relatives? Those like myself, with no tribal connection. Only a burning desire to return to what was, what should have never been taken away. I ponder often on how it must have been. When we were one.

I am only a man. With a broken heart and a dream. A burning desire to bring us together. How do immigrants come here, with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, and within months have a home, a business? Six months ago they were flat broke, living in absolute poverty. Now look at them. How does this work? And it hit me like a brick to the forehead. Unity. Their people work together as one. All give a little, so none suffer. Beautiful. Now, why in the flying sam hell cant we do this? I cant read another story of a grandmother beaten. Another single mother abused and raped. Not one more teen suicide. My soul screams every time I see the young men branded with gang symbols. Branding themselves, like cattle. Hunting their own people. No opportunities, no direction. I cant live with the ugly anymore. There must be beauty here, somewhere.

My mind drifts back to my first Sundance. I tell you this not because I want to, but because I am asked to. Draw your own conclusions. My first dance was in the desert. Nothing like Sundance in August in the middle of the desert. This I don’t recommend. Many things happened at that first dance, one particular event pertinent. Sitting in my chair between rounds, resting, napping, The second day this was. Walking up to the arbor is this little Elder woman. No idea who she was, I had never met her before. She has just arrived to camp and was standing at the entrance to the arbor, greeting those she had not seen since the year before. This was my first time in this camp, and many I didn’t know. I watched her for a few moments, then returned to my nap. Through the fog of a half sleep came the call for dancers. Eagle bone whistle piercing the dry dusty air. Slowly, achingly, tired and sore I rouse myself from the chair. Time to dance another round. We line up, shuffling our way into the dance circle. As I pass this Elder woman, still standing and chatting at the arbor entrance, I black out.

One of the prayers I brought to Sundance that year was to know my mothers people. I had previously met my fathers. An Uncle who was the spitting image of my Dad, but that’s another story. What follows next is what I was told. I have no memory of it. Of those moments, approximately 10 minutes, I have no recollection. I spoke with that Elder, this small woman who seemed to emanate raw spiritual power. I spoke with her, in our language! I don’t speak our language. All I remember is slamming back into my body, her smiling face before me, a soft tinkling laugh, like bells in the arid noon day heat. Her words to me were, “I thought I was the only one here. Imagine, two people from Alaska meeting in the desert!” She is my Auntie, on my mothers side. A prayer answered.

We spent that Sundance together, and she couldn’t tell me enough stories. No words exist to describe the joy, the absolute rapture, I felt to my soul. We left that dance, she returning home to Alaska, to continue the work she had been called to do. Me back to Pennsylvania, continuing on as the Guardian of the White Buffalo. A few months passed and we chatted occasionally on the phone. She passing on knowledge, me opening my big fat mouth and saying something stupid. I'm human, what can I say? I didn’t grow up in the culture, like so many others. So much I didn’t, and still, don’t know. So much I learned.

Days passed, nights turned. Little happened and life continued as usual. Until the evening my Ancestors came for me. I lay sleeping when they came. To an island they took me, far to the north, off the coast of Alaska. Around me stood totem poles of all shapes and sizes. All manner of creatures, from real to fabled. I was standing amongst them, surrounded by them. Nothing other than these totem poles could be seen, other than the emerald green grass beneath my feet, the crystal blue sky of a crisp fall day. From the silence, a crackling, a splintering. The totem poles were coming apart! Each carved creature separating from the one above and below. To me they came, singing in many voices. They danced for me, welcoming me home. Welcoming me back to my People.

This is what I carry with me each day. What I so desire to share with all my relatives. But how? What can I do to get your attention? And I realized, I cant. It isn’t up to me. We don’t tell the Sacred, the Sacred tells us. We must only learn to listen, then do as we are asked. I'm listening. I wonder, are you? Can you hear them singing in many voices? Can you see them dancing? Welcoming you home, to your people? A call to the lost to come together, as one. A song to come home. Dance with me my relatives. Sing with me. Come home with me.