Living the Dream

Prior to European contact, North American’s did not celebrate Christmas, of course.  But over the years. Customs were introduced by missionaries and First Nations have adapted and Christmas has become a tradition in their homes, as well.

The concept of a special child, born in a special way, was not foreign to our people.  There had been stories passed down and prophecies fulfilled.  And, Winter Solstice was celebrated by the tribes.  There were ceremonies that were specific to First Nation’s tribes.

For example, the Hopi tribal celebrations are dedicated to giving aid and direction to the sun which is ready to return and give strength to new life. Their ceremony is called Soyal. It lasts for 20 days and includes prayer stick making, purification, rituals, and a concluding rabbit hunt, feast and blessings.  As well, each tribe had their traditional ceremonies.  *Notice, “Ceremonies”, which were ancient and sacred. *

The first written Native American Christmas carol was written down by a Jesuit missionary priest, Friar Jean de Brebeuf, around 1640-41, for the Huron Indians. The Hurons built a small chapel of fir trees and bark in honor of the manger at Bethlehem. This became the ’stable’ where Jesus was born. Some Hurons travelled as much as two days to be there for the Christmas celebration.

The animals at the manger were the Fox, the Buffalo and the Bear. The Hurons also made a traditional tent of skins and their nativity figures were all dressed as native Americans. This Huron Carol, originally written in the Huron language and later translated to French, has become a well known and much loved carol today.  It has become a well known and much loved carol today.
The Huron Christmas Carol is the oldest Canadian Christmas Carol.  In the English version, Jesus is born in a “lodge of broken bark”, and wrapped in a “robe of rabbit skin”. He is surrounded by hunters instead of shepherds, and the Magi are portrayed as “chiefs from afar” that bring him “fox and beaver pelts” instead of the more familiar gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The hymn also uses a traditional Algonquian name, Gitchi Manitou, for God.
http://www.subversiveinfluence.com/wordpress/?p=1488
Twas In The Moon Of Wintertime

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6IG6F6E5Ac

Tags: Journal Blog, Native Culture by Shewolf
No Comments »

The making of a prayer stick is common amongst Native Americans.  On December 21, the shortest day of the year, many begin to close the year off with honoring the prior year and prayer for being able to face the hardships until spring comes.  It is a special time of ancestral honor and gratitude for ways to pray.  Very often, a whole family will each make a prayer stick and after ceremonies, the prayer sticks will be planted.

Traditional prayer sticks are usually made of cedar, or a tree the maker feels connected to.   An offering of tobacco is given to the largest of the same species of tree in the area and permission is asked prior to the taking of the forked stick.   The length of the stick is the length of maker’s elbow to fingertips.

Once the stick is taken, it is blessed, and then stripped of the bark, or some bark can be left to enhance design.  A feather is added to the prayer stick and I have seen them use eagle or ground eagle (turkey) feathers.  A tobacco tie is made and tied onto one of the forks.  Fur or bone from an animal that means something spiritual to the maker, is attached.  Nothing unnatural is tied onto the stick, nor should stone be added.  During the making of the stick, the maker should be very prayerful during the making.

It is important to note that many tribes used these types of sticks, and the making of them is typically the same, but additions and decorations on the sticks may differ, as do the ceremonies.

Not all sticks we collect are specifically Prayer Sticks.  Some sticks call to be used.  Often I collect them because I know there is something I need in doing so, or that they need.  Sometimes, at any time, I will come across a stick that seems to feel important to me.  I will give offering and prepare that stick and wait for whoever needs it.  Some sticks want to help others, I believe, and so I take care of them and give them as a gift.
Some sticks beg to be stripped.  When this happens, I know that there of something of myself that needs to be shed.  I see the bark as Ego, very often.

I have also made sticks to help me honor my feelings, to symbolize the need to be grounded or as a way to meditate.  These are not the traditional Winter Solstice Sticks.

There is one stick I was taught to make, and I make this when I feel negativity around me.  I will share the how and why of it:

I will find a stick, the same length, and not necessarily with the prongs.  I give offerings, etc. before taking the stick, of course and typically make these during spring, summer or fall.  I typically have a fire going.  I use hardwood smoldering sticks to bore a hole near the top and bottom of the stick.  I smooth and polish the stick naturally.  I attach a feather to the top of the stick by wrapping leather around to fasten it. I wrap it four times around to represent the directions.  I paint four lines around the stick with colors that represent the seasons or with colors that represent the races.  Through the top hole, I braid sinew or homemade twine and make a hanging loop, or handle, of sorts.
Starting at the bottom of the stick, loop a strip of leather through the hole, leaving a tail end of good length ( you hold this up the stick and begin wrapping DOWN making  twenty-eight wraps that are not pressed close together and work up the stick.  You can secure back through the hole at the bottom and attach a bead on each loose end.  Hang a feather from the bottom notch as well.

Sometimes I decorate the stick, ahead of time, by carving, or painting, or using a smoldering stick to burn decoration in.  But, when it is completed, I smudge it, meditate or pray over it, tell it my desires, my needs or a message that needs to go high.  I tie it from a high branch on a tree that will not be bothered.  In doing this, I give it up to the wind, the sky.

This type of stick, as I said, is good for changing negativity, but more, if you feel someone is sending or giving you negative energy, you can make this type of stick. By hanging up this type of stick, with your prayer attached, they say the negativity will hit the bottom feather and wear itself out winding round and round the 28 windings, thus giving you a sense of protection.

Why ever you might make a prayer stick, it is between you and Creator.  Making a Winter Solstice Prayer Stick is symbolic and personal.  It is like making a New Year’s Resolution, the way to shock awe and respect, a gift you give of yourself.

This is one I have made for this year, of cedar root, gull feathers, leather and mica.  Tobacco and sage is stuffed into the gullies at the back.  I will hang it out on the great grandmother tree when I have done a ceremony with it.

Tags: Crafts & Art, Journal Blog, Native Culture by Shewolf
2 Comments »

Rumbling down corridor
Westerly to East,
snuffling winter snort of Winter,
comes pounding, so softly
it takes ear to sky
eye to ground
to notice.

Food, feathering up and over
ripened ridges of highest mounts
for thought, for soul,
longing for feast of future;

embracing slant-down
withered world,

surrounding tired warriors
with garment of good.

Instead of stopping by,
they pass, leaving but a breath
of whisper to follow
to old grounds, to old ways,
to gain red ground, yellow soil,
black sod, white roll of drifted
chill, if we do not track them.

I long for “Now”, for nearness,
for Universal spin causes grounding
that sticks my feet to pavement;

hands, grasping at green sheaves,
hang useless, when they should raise,
like bough to bend of horizon.

Heart echoes padded hooves,
and I am drawn forward,
one frail fetal beat
at a time.

http://allpoetry.com/poem/4837755   Gold Trophy Winner in http://allpoetry.com/contest/2429471

Tags: Native Culture, Poems by Shewolf
No Comments »

Looks for Buffalo, an Oglala Sioux spiritual leader, the full-blood Oglala grandson of Chief Red Cloud and White Cow Killer, and a Cheyenne Oglala leader, explains the meaning of Christmas to the traditional Indian people of the Americas: “Traditional American Indians are raised to respect the Christian Star and the birth of the first Indian Spiritual Leader. He was a Star Person and Avatar. His name was Jesus. He was a Hebrew, a Red Man. He received his education from the wilderness. John the Baptist, Moses, and other excellent teachers that came before Jesus provided an educational foundation with the Holistic Method.”

“Everyday is our Christmas. Every meal is our Christmas. At every meal we take a little portion of the food we are eating, and we offer it to the spirit world on behalf of the four legged, and the winged, and the two legged. We pray–not the way most Christians pray– but we thank the Grandfathers, the Spirit, and the Guardian Angel.”

“The Indian Culture is actually grounded in the traditions of a Roving Angel. The life-ways of Roving Angels are actually the way Indian People live. They hold out their hands and help the sick and the needy. They feed and clothe the poor. We have high respect for the avatar because we believe that it is in giving that we receive.”

“We are taught as Traditional children that we have abundance. The Creator has given us everything: the water, the air we breathe, the earth as our flesh, and our energy force: our heart. We are thankful every day. We pray early in the morning, before sunrise, to the morning star, and the evening star. We pray for our relatives who are in the universe that someday they will come. We also pray that the Great Spirit’s son will live again.” “To the Indian People Christmas is everyday and they don’t believe in taking without asking. Herbs are prayed over before being gathered by asking the plant for permission to take some cuttings. An offer of tobacco is made to the plant in gratitude. We do not pull the herb out by its roots, but cut the plant even with the surface of the earth, so that another generation will be born its place.”

“It is really important that these ways never be lost. And to this day we feed the elders, we feed the family on Christmas day, we honor Saint Nicholas. We explain to the little children that to receive a gift is to enjoy it, and when the enjoyment is gone, they are pass it on to the another child, so that they, too, can enjoy it. If a child gets a doll, that doll will change hands about eight times in a year, from one child to another.”

“Everyday is Christmas in Indian Country. Daily living is centered around the spirit of giving and walking the Red Road. Walking the Red Road means making everything you do a spiritual act. If your neighbor, John Running Deer, needs a potato masher; and you have one that you are not using, you offer him yours in the spirit of giving. It doesn’t matter if it is Christmas or not.”

“If neighbors or strangers stop over to visit at your house, we offer them dinner. We bring out the T-Bone steak, not the cabbage. If we don’t have enough, we send someone in the family out to get some more and mention nothing of the inconvenience to our guests. The more one gives, the more spiritual we become. The Christ Consciousness, the same spirit of giving that is present at Christmas, is present everyday in Indian Country.”

Looks For Buffalo resides on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota and can be contacted at (605)867-5762 or P.O. Box 150, Pine Ridge, SD 57770. He is a contributor to www.ewebtribe.com

Tags: Journal Blog, Native Culture by Shewolf
1 Comment »

By: Gabriel Duncan

Mom, are we going to have presents this year?

Mom was biting her lip. I could see she was feeling the pressure. Living in a shack out on the reservation left her with little opportunities for work or assistance. She fought again with her boyfriend last night. My two brothers are moving on. Charles and Ronald, eleven and nine. They don’t believe in Santa Clause anymore.

We know Santa’s not real. That’s what they told Mom. You’re Mrs. Clause and daddy’s Mr. Clause. Their daddy, her boyfriend to me, ran off after their last fight. Mom spent two nights in the County jail. Her boyfriend said she tried to shoot him; and run him over. Anyway, they didn’t press charges on her.

So we stood in the kitchen, the Christmas Tree that I helped steal from a local grocery store was leaning against a wall. It was the last to come out of the back of my truck. Heavy, #*#* too, took me a few minutes to bring it up to the front door. Three other households have a brand new Christmas Tree. My Aunt decided to give hers to the tribe. She told me the Chairman’s wife was ecstatic when she dropped it off.

Christmas on the rez is a very bitter-sweet thing. With no presents, barely any wood, food, no money for the phone or electricity . . . Bitter-sweet is the only thing you can call it. Mom filled out a form to get presents, and she’s hoping that the presents come soon. Part of me wonders if they’ll appear on Christmas Day, like a miracle. Mom says last year, all they got was a t-shirt, and it didn’t fit any of the kids.

A storm is coming, we can feel it. Last night, it was negative ten degrees. Thankfully, out in the desert, the cold is dry. But the kids are still getting colds, and I’m coming down with a cough. Mom’s getting old, and her body is creaking and aching. I finally talked her into getting some needles and insulin. She’s doing better now.

My grandmother’s still cranky. My older sister is living with her now. And her two kids, Samantha and Eric. We all watch as Christmas approaches. The Friday before Christmas, the Tribe has a Christmas dinner. Our chairman is a Mormon and everyone else is a Christian. I wonder if their genocidal God can hear it when they pray for food and presents every night as they go to sleep.

Meanwhile, my brothers are stealing from my Aunt’s kids. And my Uncle’s kids are stealing from my brother’s. The Sheriff comes to the rez everyday to discuss someone’s kids. My mom is sleeping all day and I’m tired of trying to straighten my brother’s out. They won’t listen to anyone, so they start getting into my shit, too. We grow leaner because my car went out and no one else is willing to drive us to get commodities. All around us are broken promises and broken cars and broken windows and fighting dogs.

Ronald and Charles are making lists of things we could never afford to have. Like a CD, a jacket, new clothes. This happens every year. There’s no hope here. Only living, life going. My mom prays for mammon or a job from Mammoth. We just keep sliding down. She asks our Chairman for help, but there’s nothing he can do. He’s too involved with the day-to-day operations of The Corporation to write a grant or even call a friend.

At school, they give out bags of toys and candy. Charles and Ronald had a cough that kept them from going to school. So codeine keeps us warm as we burn the last bit of our mahogany. As Christmas looms, we grow leery. The tree is up, and we were able to find about five bulbs and a foot of tinsel garland. My brothers have noticed that we have no new boxes, or any sign of presents. I know I’ll like my present. Charles tells us, whatever it is. The form-presents that Mom signed up for never arrived. We hunker down on Christmas Eve and try to sleep.

That night, I dream of a place where we don’t have to cut down wood in the snow to keep warm. Where the refrigerator works and is always full. I dream of everything I’ve ever wanted, a computer, more friends, a Christmas Tree that’s a hundred feet tall. And, underneath, I dream of all of the presents my brothers have wished for. I dream of medicine and food. Most of all, I dream of having a father who stays.

Then I woke up. I could hear the sound of hail hitting the roof, like a drum on a roll, waiting for the trick, the dive, the miracle. Outside it looks black. In her room, across the house, I can hear my mom crying. Somewhere in the driveway, I hear a car’s wheels spinning as someone leaves. I’m scared to ask her what’s wrong. But I feel the same way, too, when I look at our sorry Christmas Tree.

Mom is on the bed, face in a pillow. I don’t know what I’m going to do! She cried to me. We don’t have any presents! What are we going to do? We don’t have any money! We have no wood, no food, no car! Our chairman told her to get a job yesterday, when she asked for help, money, presents, hand-me-downs, something, ANYTHING!

We sat in her bedroom, together, just staring at the walls, at the ceiling, at the house, at our lives. This day wasn’t just Christmas. It was a glimpse into the rest of our lives. When the boys woke up, the terrible, crushing sorrow we had shared with each other came back fresh and new, disappointed that there weren’t any presents under the tree.

——————————————————————————–

Gabriel Duncan is a teenager who is Paiute and Mexican from the Utu Utu Gwaitu Paiute Reservation in Benton, Ca.

Tags: Journal Blog, Native Culture by Shewolf
1 Comment »