Spring 1987
The circle was held in the family room downstairs. There were candles set around in a circle, with an opening. In the center of that circle was a smudge pot, and a Medicine Bag, on a woven saddle blanket. Women sat round the edges of the room. We were invited to enter the circle. We moved around from east to south to west to north and sat in equal distances apart. I sat at the south cardinal point of the circle. The ceremony began, as all traditional ceremonies, do, with the closing of the circle and the lighting of the smudge.
Around the circle, we introduced ourselves and expressed our need from the ceremony. I asked for help, for strength, for courage, and for compassion.
We meditated as the pipe holder opened the pipe. The pipe was passed around the circle four times, words were spoken, and our hearts and minds were opened.
We were invited to a guided meditation to find our answers. Those who were comfortable with this, stayed in the circle. Those who were not, we asked to move to the far west of the room and continue meditating and praying for those of us in the circle.
The leader began speaking. She began preparing us for our journey, gathering us to a place of comfort. Suddenly, I stopped hearing her voice that was guided us to walk forward to a place to meet what we must meet.
The forest was dense, but I was able to struggle under, over, and through the low brush and downfall. I became more and more aware of the sounds of the forest, of a lightning, of a warm quilt of green warming shadows of the forest. I walked on, as if I knew where I needed to be.
Time was of no interest nor of any importance. It felt like a long journey.
Suddenly, I came to a high-cliffed, narrow valley. I continued out of the forest and towards a small green knoll just before the entrance of the canyon. It was like the painted mountains, with waves of rock of different colors on the canyon cliffs. I felt no angst.
Jut at the top of the knoll, the grass led to dry dusted path that led into a narrow crevice. I could touch the sides of both walls, if I spread my arms out wide enough. I was mesmerized by the beauty of the pinks, salmon-colored walls and the beautiful shadow of warmth I was enfolded by. I walked on in, leisurely because this was all new to me. I had never been in such a beautiful place.
I came to a curve and through that curve was an opening into a flat are, with a rise in the center. It was like a beautiful bowl of warm peach/pink glow. On the far side, maybe ten feet, was another narrowing that led back into the curve of canyon walls, just as narrow as where I came through.
I leaned to peer in to see if I should go in. As I leaned forward, I saw a deeper brown shadow tracing the curved wall of the crevice in front of me. Slowly, a man led a painted horse out through the opening.
His horse was led by a grass-braided halter around just the nose. A single braid looped to his hand. The horse was white with brown splotches. A paint.
The man was dark-skinned. His hair was deep brown. He wore a red tie around his forehead, like a bandana, but the ends of the tie were in a knot that was wrapped over itself and the ends dropped down to the base of his neck. He was, probably, in his fifties but his hair was still dark.
He wore a red light cotton tunic-typed shit, a ribbon shirt, without the ribbons. He wore a woven tie around his waist. His pants were buckskin and were loose at the ankle. He was barefooted. I did not recognize his outfit nor short-chopped hair that was straight at shoulder length. It did not seem to matter that I knew.
He never spoke. His eyes were the warmest deepest brown I have ever seen. They were big eyes, wide and sparkling with a light that came down in a strand from above the cliffs around the bowl of the spot we stood. I felt no need to speak. I felt loved. I felt held. I felt total peace.
After some time, I heard the voice of the leader calling me. I did not want to leave, but he turned and led his horse back through the curved entrance and out of sight. I heard my name called again and was made to turn back and go back to whence I came. I did not want to leave.
The trip back went very quickly. At once, I was sitting in the circle. Others had already left the circle. I was the last. I was told to go and sit back on the padded bench at the south end of the room. Each of us that had been in the circle were to sit in the same position but outside the circle. The pipe was put away. The smudge was put in a cloth for currying. The candles were snuffed out and we sat in silence for some time. The leader, looked at each of us. I guess she went around the circle in the order in which we had completed her journey, because I was the last. She looked around me, through me.
“Carol, you have brought someone back to us.” I was startled and looked behind me at the wall, just a couple of feet from my back. “He wants us to make you believe that you met him. He says you will feel the warmth of his hand on your back. Feel it and know it to be there. He is standing just to the right, behind you. He says that he has always been there. He wants you to know he will always brace your back. He wants you to know he is your guide, but he will never lead you. He says you know where to go and he will back you up while you do what you must do. He says you have reborn by entering the canyon, meeting in the womb of the canyon and exiting. He tells you your birth mother sent him here. He says he will always be with you.”
I wept.
The next day, I had to know what tribe he was from. The man had looked Navajo, or south western. I went down into the University shelves, in the Native Studies area and spent hours searching books. I took a break and went up to the atrium for coffee. There I met the dean of native education, my friend, my spiritual mentor, Dr. Dupres, a Nakota Elder and Medicine man. I told him of my experience the night before. He thought for a few moments then told me to go to a certain place, in a certain area of the library ( not the Native Education area) He told me to count down five shelves , then he told me to divide the last shelf in quarters and on the south wall of shelves would be my book. I returned to the library. I followed his directions. A book was partially forward in the smooth straight-lined row of books. It was a large thin book. I pulled it out and it fell open to a page. There, exactly, was the costume. Arapaho.
To this day, I often feel a warmth on my back. I know that warmth to be his hand.
Dec. 12. 05
Often I feel a warm spot on my back, my neck, my legs, and sometimes on my groin. iI is like a hot spot. Sometimes I have thought it to be all a part of early and interim menopause. But tonight I know differently.
This evening, with the medicine man, I spoke of the pots, the dream, the women of the pots and said I did not know why I would be so connected to the pot-makers. I said, I felt like they needed to be filled…or, perhaps, was it emptied???? Gary said, “Did you know that when the people of the pots moved, they broke all their pots into shards? They would make new ones when they found their new place to live.
I have had an epiphany.
The dream came when it was time for me to leave the north. I did not leave when I should have, and I became ill. The less I listened, the more ill I became. My work was done, my home was no longer the north. I needed to move south.
Now, I am seeing more of the Woman with the pots. I am drawing them, writing about them, making them. It is almost urgent. I am where I am supposed to be.
Tags: Pot Of Thoughts by Shewolf
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