A young girl, who was daughter to the chief sat crying. She cried because no one could give her what she wanted, a great shining fish. Neither her father, nor the wisest elders of the clan could give her the great shining fish, none of them had ever even seen such a fish. As his daughter continued to cry they soon discovered that she was making herself very ill, and soon because of it, the chief ordered a great council fire to be gathered.
All of the tribal elders and medicine people sat around the fire as the most respected of them began to speak. “The child cries for a thing which she has seen in her dream walks. Many fish have we in our great waters, but none resemble the one of which she speaks. This fish may prove to be good medicine for our tribe that is being sent by our Creator. He looked at those gathered around the fire, “Perhaps one of you may know where such a great gleaming strong fish with such medicine may be found.”
Only one of them stood turning to address his Chief and the council,”The Raven, who lives among the cedars, is my good friend. She is very wise and knows many things that the wisest among us know not. Allow me to return with her to this Council Fire, in order for her to share her wisdoms.”
They all agreed to this and the chief gave his permission. Soon the warrior gathered his things and traveled to the cedars to find his wise friend. Raven seated on his shoulder began to speak, but only the ones of true medicine could follow her words. “What the girl is asking for is the giant fish, known as Salmon. In this full moon, they can be found far from here at the mouth of a mighty river, which flows into the other side of the lakes here.. Because those of your clan are considered friends, I will fly swift and far to gather one of these fish and return it to your village.”
Before the counsel could thank her, the Raven was high in the air flying far and fast until her keen eyes saw far beneath her, many Salmon swimming together at the mouth of the river. The Raven dived quick as a hawk and, by chance caught the little son of the Salmon Chief in his talons. Rising high in the air, with the fish held firmly in her claws, the Raven flew toward the distant village of her friends.
Salmon Scouts that were leaping high from the water in great flashing arcs, saw the direction that the Raven was flying. A school of Salmon, led by their chief soon began to swim rapidly in pursuit. As quickly as the fish swam, the fast-flying raven reached the village far ahead of them where Raven placed the great fish before the little daughter of the chief, she smiled, and cried no more.
Then the Raven told the clan that many Salmon would be sure to swim into the river to the village in pursuit, to try and rescue the young Salmon which he had caught. They all decided to have the people of the clan to weave a huge net. This they did quickly so that when the Salmon came, all of the fish were caught in it. To hold them prisoner, a long, strong leather thong was passed through their gills. One end of the thong was tied to a big rock and the other end was fastened to this great totem pole, which then grew as a tall cedar.
Ever since, it has been called the ‘Nhe-is-bik’, or tethering pole. On this pole – a totem pole – there was carved a mighty Thunderbird, an Indian Chief, a Raven and a Salmon, carved in that order from the top of the great cedar pole. Year after year, from that time, the Salmon have passed on that side of the river and continue to this day. They are held as sacred with the people and the story continues to be shared.
As an artist and photographer I often find myself out in nature, it has been this way since I was very young and will probably be so until I leave this earth. One of my favorite flowers since I was a child has been the small bright red/orange flower called Indian Paintbrush. So today I would like to share with you a story that my Grandfather who could always be found out in his flower garden when I was young, shared with me.
Long ago there was a young Indian Boy who was born crippled. He longed to play as young boys should, yet he could not. His legs did not work the way the other young boys of his age did. He could not ride the beautiful horses of the fields, nor could he run in the meadows with his Sisters and brothers.
His spirit was low. He felt useless as he watched his family go through their daily chores, unable to help. And he felt even more of a burden for they had to assist him with so many things he could not accomplish by himself. Soon with determination, he learned to fish if someone could carry him to the river. He also began to help his Mother grind the corn into flour. But he wanted to do more, much more.
One day in the late summer sun, his Mother decided that the family should go on a picnic. As they sat smelling the sweetgrass, listening to the winged ones, and watching the clouds dance in the sky, the young brave prayed to the Creator.
“Father,” he prayed. “Please show me how to be useful to my people. I cannot hunt for game or plant corn to feed them. I don’t do enough to help them. Please show me the path I am to walk.” He patiently waited to be shown an answer, yet none came. He was again saddened fearing that Creator felt he was not worthy of an honorable path.
After some time had passed, his Mother watched her son, and her heart hurt for this gentle boy. Hoping to change his mood she decided to return to the meadow to connect with the Great Mother in hopes something would change for her young Son.
When they arrived, they found something new among the tall sweetgrass. Growing in the clearing exactly where the Young Brave had called to Creator for a sign, grew a beautiful and unusual small red flower.
Turning his Mother he looked at her puzzled, “What kind of flower is this Mother?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen a flower like this before,” as she looked out in amazement at the field splashed with little flecks of red dancing in the gentle breeze. Be fore the day was done they gathered some of the flowers and took them back to the village, certain that one of their Elders would be able to tell them what it was. Still, no one recognized the flower at all.
Excited they returned to the meadow, and they looked out at the field and saw that the number of flowers had doubled. “They are so beautiful!” cried the young brave. “I just wish we knew what they were called.”
As the seasons passed, the Young Brave made many trips to the meadow. Each time he went, more of the red flowers could be found. One day, he decided to draw a picture of the flower in hopes of capturing its beauty. He carefully sketched the plant and found that he had captured its shape and detail. But he was not happy with the drawings.
As he sat there pondering what to do, a deer wandered into the meadow. It grazed on the sweetgrass occasionally looking up at the Young Brave as he kept drawing.
“What’s wrong Young One?” the deer asked. “Why do you look so sad?”
“I cannot capture the true color of this flower in my drawing. It is so beautiful, but the dye I make from our berries is too purple, and when I mix water with the red earth for paint, the color is too brown.”
“Why do you not just use the flower? Wouldn’t it make the red color for you?”
The Brave looked up at the deer in astonishment, “I never thought of that.” He reached down and picked up the flower, dipped it into the water and brushed it across his paper. To his amazement, what it left behind was the perfect shade of red coloring.
The brave took his picture back to the village and presented it to the Chief. It was perfect. They asked him how he get the coloring so perfect. “I used this,” and he showed them one of the flowers. “It’s like a paintbrush.”
“Then that is what we will call it,” the Chief declared. “It shall be The Red Indian Paintbrush.”
From that time on, it was called Indian Paintbrush, and only that. The Young Brave had found his path, becoming a remarkable craftsman, painting pictures, pottery, and other items and selling them to help his people attain the things they needed to flourish within the village. Donating the profits to those less fortunate than him, For he had come to realize that although he had no legs, he was still useful.
The Creator had indeed answered his prayers with a simple red flower called “Indian Paintbrush”
In the beginning there was only blackness, no one could see anything. People kept walking into each other and stumbling around blindly. Soon they gathered to discuss the problem, “What we all need is to be able to see.” They all agreed but were not sure what to do, they needed to find light.
Fox said he knew others on the other side of the world who had plenty of light, but they were too greedy to share it with anyone. Possum said he would be glad to steal a little of it. “I have a bushy tail, I could hide the light inside all that fur.” It was agreed and decided he could try to get some light for them all, so he set out for the other side of the world. There he found the sun hanging in a tree and lighting everything up. He quietly crept over to the sun taking from it a tiny piece of light and stuffing it into his tail. But the light was too hot and it burned all his fur. Soon the people discovered his theft and took back the light, and ever since, Possum’s tail has been bald.
“I will try,” said Buzzard. “I know better than to hide a piece of stolen light in my tail, I will place it on the top of my head.” He flew to the other side of the world and swooped straight into the sun seizing it with his claws. He then placed it on his head, where it proceeded to burn all his head feathers off. The people seeing him on fire and trying to steal what was theirs, grabbed the sun away from him, and ever since that time Buzzard’s head has remained bald.
Grandmother Spider said, “I will try!” So she set about the task of making a thick walled pot out of clay. Next she spun a web reaching all the way to the other side of the world. The fact that Grandmother Spider was so small, none of the people in the village of the sun even saw her coming. Quickly Grandmother Spider snatched up the sun and placed it in the bowl of clay carrying it back home along one of the strong strands of her web. Now her side of the world had light, and everyone rejoiced.
Grandmother Spider brought not only the sun to the Cherokee, but fire with it and she taught the Cherokee people the art of making pottery.
“I am Dedicated to Educating and sharing the Native culture with the World. It is not enough merely to teach the ways of our Elders. We must honor those traditions by sharing and educating the World. Inspiring others …Inspiring our Youth. Through the Music… the Arts…the stories…” Mitakuye O’yasin ~bear Medicinewalker
“Join Me as I continue the Sacred Hoop Project into this Year 2016…the year of Truths!”
Many of you have heard Native Flutes, how their sounds can awaken a soul or tell a story. We can look and see how carefully they are made, all with a different stories or personalities of each. Within the Native Culture the Flute is known for music that sings a story of Love. In days gone by one would sit by themselves perhaps even lean on a great wise old tree for inspirations, or even in the darkness of the night skies with stars shining down upon them, creating their music to be shared as courting songs or love songs.
By nature most Indians are quiet, even the warriors who had fought wars, would find themselves trying to gather up the courage to speak to the one they loved. In the old days, couples were not allowed to be alone inside the village. The family dwellings where always filled with people yet it was not allowed to just walk hand in hand with someone you loved and were not married to. Often the only chance they had to met was at daybreak when the women of the tribe would journey to the river or brook with their skin bags to get waters edge to gather what was needed for the day. Then as they would appear, one would show them self long enough for the intended to see them and perhaps have a small exchange.
So it was that the song of the flute would have to speak for them. In the evening it was often heard as the soft night breezes would greet the night skies, magical and mystical sounds of the flute could be heard. Each having their own style of playing and each one intended for the heart of would know their love. If the Medicine of the song was right that night and strong between them, they could sneak out and meet each other for a short time going unnoticed.
The flute was traditionally made from cedarwood. In the shape it describes the long neck and head of a bird with a open beak. The sound comes out of the beak, and that’s where the legend comes in, the legend of how the Lakota people acquired the flute.
Once many moons ago the People had gourd rattles and drums but no flutes. During that time, a young warrior went out to hunt and that year the winter had been extremely harsh, so much so that fresh meat was scarce and the people were very hungry. Soon the young warrior came upon the tracks of an Elk. He tracked them for a long time excited as the Elk in tradition holds the key to the love charm. If one possesses Elk Medicine, the one he holds in his heart can’t stop thinking of them. This particular warrior had held no Elk Medicine as of yet so he was anxious. After many hours of tracking he finally reached the spot the elk were grazing. Being skilled with a bow and having just finished making a fine new one, a quiver full of straight, well-feathered, flint-tipped arrows he was ready. Yet the Elk always managed to stay just out of range, leading him on and on farther from his village. Soon having had followed the Elk so closely, he lost track of where he had gone and how far he had walked.
When night came, he found himself deep inside the woods where not only the tracks had disappeared but so had the Elk. The moon was covered with clouds and he realized that he was lost and it was too dark to find his way home. He stopped to get his bearings and saw he was near a stream with cool, clear water. He had been wise enough to bring along with him a dried meats and ground corn that would last a few days. So he drank and ate afterwards settling in for the night, wrapping himself in the warm hide of his pack. Yet rest did would come for the woods were full of strange noises, cries of night animals, owls and trees in the wind. They were familiar yet it was as if he heard these sounds for the first time.
Suddenly there was a entirely new sound, a kind he had never heard before. It was a mournful and filled with spirit, making him afraid. Drawing his robe tightly about himself, he reached for his bow to make sure that it was properly strung. He listened again, the sound was like a song, sad but beautiful, full of love, hope, and yearning. Then before he knew it, he was asleep. He dreamed and in his dream the bird called the redheaded woodpecker appeared singing the strangely beautiful song that spoke to him, so he followed it hoping he would receive teachings.
When the hunter awoke the sun was already high in the clouds and its warmth could be felt. On a branch of the tree against which he was leaning, he saw the redheaded woodpecker. The bird flew away to another tree, and another but never very far as it would look back all the time at the young warrior as if to say, “Follow me.” Then once more he heard that wonderful song and his heart yearned to learn the song. The bird kept flying leading the hunter towards the magical sound, as it darted through the the trees, its bright red top made him easy to follow. Finally it landed on a cedar tree and began pecking on a branch making a noise sounding like the fast beating of a Shaman’s drum. Then the winds blew bringing with it the beautiful sound that the warrior had heard right above his head.
Looking up he saw the woodpecker was tapping his beak. He realized also that it was the wind which made the sound as it whistled through the hole the bird had drilled. “Kola, (friend)” said the hunter, “let me take this branch home, you can make yourself another.” Carefully he broke the branch away from the tree, a hollow piece of wood full of woodpecker holes that was about the length of his forearm. Placing some tobacco at the foot of the tree he thanked both the bird and the Sacred Cedar tree for their gifts they had shared. He then headed back towards his village bringing back no meat from the hunt, but happy and smiling just the same.
Back in his lodge the young warrior tried desperately to make the branch sing for him, blowing on it, waving it in the air he sat frustrated for still no sound came. It made him sad for he wanted so much to hear that wonderful new sound. He went and sat in the sweat lodge, then climbing to the top of a nearby hill he sat and fasted for four days and nights praying for a vision to come and tell him how to make the branch sing. In the middle of the fourth night the little bird with the bright red top appeared and transforming itself to man teaching the hunter how to make the branch sing. Over and over he was shown how to play the branch, and in his dream the young warrior watched and observed very carefully.
When he awoke he went in search of the Sacred Cedar tree. He broke off a branch, laid tobacco at its roots in thanks for the gift it shared, and working many hours hollowed it out with a bowstring drill, just as he had seen the woodpecker do in his dream. He whittled the branch into the shape of the Woodpecker with its long neck and a open beak. He then painted the top of the birds head with the sacred red color. He then prayed, smudged himself and the branch sage, cedar, and sweet grass. He fingered the holes as he had seen the man-bird do in his vision and blew air softly into the mouthpiece. All at once there was the song, haunting and soulful beyond words drifting upon the breeze and back to his village. The people were amazed as they listened to the sound carry across the winds to their ears. With the help of the Sacred Winds and the little woodpecker, the young warrior had finally created the first flute.
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“I am Dedicated to Educating and sharing the Native culture with the World. It is not enough merely to teach the ways of our Elders. We must honor those traditions by sharing and educating the World. Inspiring others …Inspiring our Youth. Through the Music… the Arts…the stories…” Mitakuye O’yasin ~bear Medicinewalker
“Join Me as I continue the Sacred Hoop Project into this Year 2016…the year of Truths!”
Long ago, when all people and animals spoke the same language, there was only one tobacco plant in all the world. From far and wide they come for their tobacco. All was well, until the greedy Dagul’ku geese stole the plant and flew far to the south with it where they guarded it night and day. Before long the people and animals began to suffer greatly because the tobacco was gone. One such person was a beloved Elder woman who had become very ill, so thin and weak that it was felt by all that she would die soon, and could only be saved by their Sacred tobacco and it disturbed them all that they could not provide what was needed. So it was decided that they should hold a council and make a plan on how to retrieve the tobacco that had been taken from them. They all agreed that the animals should be sent to see if they could get it back.
One by one, the animals all tried to get the plant, but each time they were seen by the Dagul’ku geese and could not reach the Sacred tobacco plant. From the largest to the smallest, the Four Leggeds failed. Then one among them, the Mole decided he should be the one that he would go. Everyone thought this to be a good idea since he would tunnel under the ground to the plant and be able to get it back. So off he went tunneling ever closer to the Sacred tobacco plant. However the Dagul’ku geese were waiting for him for with their keen sense of hearing they heard him underneath as he was digging his tunnel and they waited at the plant for him to come out. As soon as he raised his head above ground the Dagul’ku geese attacked him and he went back to the village without the Sacred plant. The mood within the council was very somber after that. None could think of any way to get the Sacred tobacco plant away from the greedy Dagul’ku geese. No one wanted to go only to be attacked and sent back in defeat.
As the Hummingbird sat listening to all of the plans she had come up with one of her own. She boldly arose in front of the council and told them all that she could retrieve the Sacred plant. They all looked at her and laughed, “How could you do this, you are so small? How could you get to the Sacred plant past the Dagul’ki geese? She held her ground and told them that she knew she could do it and if they wanted they could test her. So they pointed to the middle of the meadow, they showed her a plant that all could see and said to her, “Go, sit on that plant, but do not let us see you getting there.”
No sooner than the words had been spoken then they all could see the little Hummingbird sitting atop the plant in the meadow. And then again before their very eyes she disappeared again only to reappear within the council circle with not one of them having seen her go or return. The all sat Stunned at the feat and skill she had shown them all and it was soon agreed to give this little warrior a chance. She wasted no time flying off straight to the Sacred plant, right under the noses of the Dagul’ki geese. She flew right up to the plant without them even suspecting her being there. Quick as a wink she used her long beak to cut off the top of the plant that had a few leaves and the seeds, then off she flew straight back to the council circle.
By this time the Elder woman was thought to have died, but smoke from the Sacred tobacco plant was blown into her nostrils and with a cry of “Tsa’lu”, she opened her eyes and regained her strength.
From that day forward, all looked with favor and respect to the little Hummingbird who managed to out wit the Dagul’ku geese to return the Sacred tobacco plant back for all to use.
I am often asked, how do I walk the Red Road…will you teach me? Or where can I read about what I need to do to walk it. I also have heard many of the tribal People speak of it as the “Good Red Road” , or when I speak with my Elders or tribal neighbors we refer to it as the Red Road…
Lately to me it strikes me as odd, that we are trying to promote the Red Road on one hand… and trying to eliminate the word Red in many other ways. There are those willing to teach others as it was handed down to us, so that people will be able live more balanced and honorable, happy lives, and those that feel we should hold on tightly to all we have been taught because as it stands, many have treated our People badly. It is an interesting dilemma to ponder for sure.
Yet getting back to the main point, is what the Red Road truly is. For me that is about a way of life, a spiritual way of being. If we stop and take a moment we will find that this is a thought process that is found often in similar forms within many different cultures, and called by many different names all depending on your point of view or location of where one lives for that matter.
The bottom line again for me, is it is about the way we live as human. Our connections to the world around us and to the Creator are what will make us weak or strong. The rituals we perform daily in prayer and thought whether we are Native American, Asian, French, Canadian, Italian, Irish, Latino, African, Christian or Jew, Buddhist or Protestant, Islamic or any other spiritual background or faith is what forms the person we are in front of the world, and who we are in front of that higher power of the Creator God.
Strip the material away from any of us and what do we have? We have but a humble human standing naked for the entire world to see. Although the color of our skins may be different and our homes may be on the opposite side of the world…we all are made up of water, we all breathe air, we all need to eat food to sustain ourselves, we all share the world…and the main thing we all have in common is when we are cut we bleed…and the color of our blood is Red.
So when I think of the Red Road… it is about how all humans walk this world, it is how the four leggeds travel alongside of us, the winged ones and the swimmers co exist with us all, it is about how we are to treat each other as humans, it is about honor and respect, for ourselves and others. It is about the Good Red Road, a healthy path of life. One that is in balance with all that is.
So how does one walk it? Well we are to walk it with respect and honor for the gift that it is. To be thankful for all our blessings, all the miracles of life large and small, to remember we are but a guest here during our lifetime, and that we are one of many guests here now and to come. Think of it as Sacred, then listen to the Ancestors as they share the lessons and wisdom’s of old… and remember it is a good day to be alive and Honor the Sacred of All that Is, then take one step at a time and walk that Red Road.
