REDWINDS

As a youth I yearned to feel connected with my spirituality. 

At 8 years old I sent myself to Catholic Sunday school and initiated my own holy communion, but I still struggled to put faith into the cross. I struggled to believe in the institution of the church.  

And as it happened, one day my older sister invited me on a trip to a Native American Reservation.

I was sixteen years old.

“You have to go with me”. She said. "It'll be good."

We were traveling with a large group of community organizers in the Bay Area. Three large vans shuttled us there.  It was somewhere near a military base and surrounded by dry hills of shrub and manzanita.

The native families living on the land were there waiting to greet us. 

Upon arrival we all got together and formed a large circle.  Longwalker, the elder, burned sage in prayer. A pure-blood Lakota, he spoke with a deep raspy voice. He had a stalky frame and parted his grey hair into long braids. As he spoke, the other men beat large drums to a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. Each loud beat pierced my gut. 

And in the four directions we bowed and prayed and let the drumming seep into our hearts. And amidst our prayers and our drumming came the scratchy, majestic calling from the conch. Held by a man with dark hands and a frowning brow, it sounded almost omnipotent. I instinctively felt like bowing but there was know one to bow to. There was just the call. 

Together they all called out, “Aho! Mitakuye Oyasin!” 

I had no idea what that meant. 

On the morrow the men of the camp were called upon to build a sweat lodge. After our sunrise ceremony, the elder directed us to dig a long trench. And within the trench we built a large fire atop a pile of river rocks.  And as the fire raged we cast tobacco prayers into it, honoring our ancestors, our families, our loved ones. You. 

After a few hours we removed the rocks to reveal red-hot glowing pieces of live earth. Using long tree branches and wool blankets, we built a dome hut with a pit in the middle. And in the pit we placed the red hot glowing rocks. And throughout the hut we lay a bed of wild sage. We did this all with prayer and intention throughout. There was just enough room for six men to huddle in a circle.

As I entered I noticed a pure, potent, earthly smell. It was difficult to describe - a sensation of sweet vapors of molten rock, baked wood and earth, wild sage, and sweet grass. It all smelled familiar somehow. Once in a while, I experience a fleeting sense that I can I smell it again, but in the oddest settings - a ceramics studio perhaps, or backpacking in the mountains, or sometimes even through a beloved woman’s nostrils as we kiss. 

We all said a prayer as we entered the hut. 

“Aho! Mitakuye Oyasin!”

Once inside, we closed the entrance and the hut became dark. The only light emanated from the glowing rock. 

Longwalker told us stories. He talked about the Creator and the beginning of time. He told us parables about honor and manhood and our relations to the Great Spirit. In this world, every action had meaning and we took no worldly pleasure for granted.

He described how no matter where we went, we were never alone. We remained connected to something bigger than ourselves - beyond culture and religion. Our world was full of this ubiquitous bond of life and ancestral spirits.

He explained how certain practices, the beating of a hide drum, or even the trumpeting of a conch during ceremony, can open channels within you, instinctual feelings, that bring you closer to them.

Using a gourd, Longwalker reached into a large bowl of water. In prayer, he doused the glowing rocks and sent billows of steam rolling toward our faces. The heat was excruciating. It burned and I was scared. 

He prayed that we might be lifted from the endless sadness that our world had instilled within us - an emptiness that left us wandering, void of our warrior spirit.

“Like walking dead men”. He said. 

The elder advised us to use the branches of sage as fans to cool ourselves off. He reminded us how the fire within the rocks brought forth the spirit of our ancestors and the pain from the heat cleansed our souls. 

“Embrace it. Breathe in.” He said.

I was dying from the heat.

Again he reached down with his gourd and this time doused each of us, one by one. Finally, it was my turn. And as the water graced me, I gasped as my soul lifted from my body and back in again. I felt alive once more, and stronger. 

After disclaiming that he couldn’t sing it correctly anymore - speaking English had ruined his abilities to howl in his native tongue - the elder then began beating his drum and singing his warrior call from his Lakota tribe. It sounded like a high-pitch whisper. 

Careful not to fall into the glowing, molten rock, we proceeded to exit the hut. The sage was now steaming into our lungs. I lifted my head from the hut and closed my eyes in relief. 

She immediately was there. Her cool windy kisses swept over me, my skin tingled all around. I felt it. And as I opened my eyes and looked around, I knew. It was all true - Everything Longwalker said was real. 

The smoke that arose from our big fire, from our tobacco prayers, never left. Instead it hovered over and circled around us. As if watching us, or protecting us somehow. They were there with us. 

And glowing warm through the smoke, through the trees, and omnipresent throughout, shown the light of the Sun - the Father. Because He was there too. 

I saw and felt it all and gave thanks.

And yelled from my gut,

“Aho! Mitakuye Oyasin!”