by Jacob Devaney: The Ancient Wisdom Of The Drum…

As social creatures, we humans depend on connection with others and when it is missing, we instinctively search for it. Stories are a powerful way to remind us of these connections. We gather around stories the way we gather around a warm fire; it is a magnetic, healing, and empowering feeling to be drawn together to share an experience of community. When cultural stories from different people entwine, those people begin to feel entwined. If we are going to make peace and come together in unity, there must be a story for it, and so our ancestors spent much time speaking in prophecies. Amazingly, here is one that has come true and continues to blossom in beautiful ways in our modern world.

Down in New Orleans, where Spanish moss hangs lazily from the branches of ancient Oak trees, there is a story that few remember but many still feel deep in their bones. Where alligators troll the murky swamps, and people enjoy Crawfish Étouffée by the lazy Mississippi River, there is a wisdom as old as the wind. Coined the City of Dreams for it’s voodoo temples, dark shadows, and cemeteries above ground that look like cities of the dead, in this place lives a prophecy enmeshed with a history as deep as any roots. A forecast that animates the world in ways unimaginable, yet true.

Since the beginning of time, native people have utilized the technology of metaphysical architecture to serve the purpose of the collective. This includes drumming, dancing, chanting to create a unified field of consciousness. This is a place where spiritual magic happens. –Andrew Ecker, Drumming Sounds.

Humans have long told their stories and connected through song and dance.

This is a prophecy of rebirth, illustrating unity, healing, and the magic that comes from people collaborating creatively to overcome hardship. Passed down from ancient cultures, this story has been whispered through the syncopated rhythms of the blues and all of the musical forms that have descended from it; including jazz, rock, funk, and hiphop. This is the wisdom of the drum, and it is still with us today.

Native tribes in the south understood that Africans were a proud people, enslaved to work the plantations. Africans had stories about their ancient relatives from across the great waters and the Natives loved to hear the sound of their drums. There are rhythms for all occasions in African traditions, including the war drum. Slave owners were oblivious to the variations and unaware that the drum allowed communications to echo from one plantation to the next, like smoke signals. When war drums played, a slave revolt was imminent and the local native tribes were happy to assist their African relatives in finding freedom. Often, the Native Americans would escort the escaping slaves to villages deep in the swamps where they intermarried, baring children that were referred to as ‘Black Indians.’

The Birth of an Allegiance

This alliance between the Native Americans and the African Americans was built on the shared desire to resist the bondage of colonial authorities. But eventually, slave owners caught on and the drums were taken away. Laws were enacted, prohibiting people of color from wearing feathers, as it symbolized the solidarity between the natives and the slaves. Yet, the progressive French slave owners in New Orleans made exceptions and allowed drumming on Sundays after church.

A few blocks away from the first bi-racial church in North America, outside the city walls on what is now called Rampart Street, was a flat open field they called Congo Plain. This is where the Louis Armstrong Park is today in New Orleans. Unbeknownst to colonial authorities or slaves, this was a sacred place to local tribes; an ancient burial ground. The stories say that the ancestors will one day return, dancing upon their graves with songs to heal the nations of the world.

In this place, the slaves drummed for hours, entranced by the rhythms and dancing. They called this trance-dancing Bamboula or Calinda and it is believed that the ancestors would join the living in these dances. Though these were people of African descent, their tradition shared similarities with stories of the Ghost Dance, which came from the Paiute Holy-Man, Wovoka.

Ghost Dance was the first pan-tribal religion shared by Native Americans in the 19th century, and a key element to the dance was the chant, “we shall live again.” The famous words of Tasunka Witko, aka Crazy Horse, echoed this fearless sentiment as he rode into battle, declaring “it is a good day to die.” It is no surprise that many local Native Americans saw these African slaves dancing and drumming and viewed them as their relatives; the ancestors returning with new songs and dances to heal the nations of the world.

White Buffalo Day Gathering in Louis Armstrong Park. Photo Credit: James Shaw

Native Americans are known for their 4-beat, pow-wow rhythm, and Africans have endless polyrhythms. When Native Americans and Africans shared their cultural wisdom and when the four beat measure merged with polyrhythms, blues was born. This cry of the people gave birth to most forms of modern music including jazz, rock, funk, and hip-hop. This music continues to influence cultures throughout the world with dances, art, and celebration, which begs us to ask–could this be the manifestation of the prophecy?

The Prophecy of Rebirth

Over the decades, the roots to this history were buried and forgotten. In 1994, David ‘Goat’ Carson (of mixed Cherokee descent) and Chief Allison Tootie Montana (of Black Indian descent) had a vision to host a medicine circle and pipe ceremony in the old Congo Plain. They invited another man–coincidentally of the same name, David Carson–author of Medicine Cards, and a keeper of the Ghost Dance Tradition. On that day in late August, David ‘Goat’ Carson spoke a prayer asking for guidance from the Buffalo Nation.

The first Drums Around the World event had been planned for that same week in 1994. It included people drumming simultaneously in 38 countries and 42 US states, with a prayer for unity and healing amongst the nations of the world. That is the same week that a White Buffalo was born in Janesville, Wisconsin, fulfilling a 19-generation-old prophecy of the Lakota People. It’s no surprise that this sacred white animal was born with the unification of people in prayer and healing. This amazing occurrence signified a new beginning, but the process of healing comes with a great responsibility and takes much time. Again, it was the drumming and prayers of many nations that brought forward another ancient prophecy that has to do with unity for the people of Mother Earth.

The tradition of Drums Around the World continued for many years but then began to dwindle, until this year. The Standing Rock Movement in 2016 re-ignited this fire for healing by bringing many diverse tribes together to protect our sacred waters. From this, the drum beat once again grew louder, and the vision of a Global Drum Prayer was born.

Join Us for the Global Drum Prayer!

On August 29 at 6:30pm PDT, with a live broadcast on Unify, we invite you to join once again in a global moment of unity around the sacred drum. People can participate from wherever they are by adding their drum circle to the global map and tuning into the livestream.

Whether you do or do not believe in prophecy, it is not important. We have all inherited many stories and a deep history from whichever lineage we come from. Our roots wrap around the world and we all call this planet our home. We are all indigenous to Mother Earth. We have rich cultures to share and celebrate, along with many reasons to know each other and learn who we are.

There is wisdom in your bones, just like there is wisdom in the land. There is a rhythm that is calling just for you. When you feel your spirit lifted by music, remember this story, and consider the prayers and stories of all the ancestors that came before you. Take a moment to tune into it; let it move you in a dance that brings strength, healing, and peace. This is the pulse within you; the heartbeat. This is the sacred message of the drum.

Source: Uplift Connect

If you grew up religious, you probably witnessed the ritualistic use of smoke in ceremony…

For me it was frankincense and myrhh being burned during Sunday mass. For others it might be smoldering incense at their Buddhist Temple, or the spiraling tendrils of bukhoor in a mosque.

There is something primordial within us that connects smoke with spirituality.

The Cherokee is a Native American tribe that is indigenous to the Southeastern United States…

They believe that the Creator has given them a gift of understanding and preserving medicinal herbs.The Cherokee trust the healing and preventative properties of nature’s pharmacy. Because many plants become scarce throughout history, the Cherokee promote proper gathering techniques. The old ones have taught them that if you are gathering, you should only pick every third plant you find. This ensures that enough specimens still remain and will continue to propagate. Here are some of the medicinal plants that were commonly used and foraged for by the Cherokee tribe.

However, the following 12 plants were used by this tribe in the treatment of almost every single illness and health condition. However, before we explain their properties, we must warn you that they can be quite strong and dangerous if not used properly.

Keep in mind that the Cherokee healers were experienced as they had centuries of practice. Furthermore, it is of high importance to understand their value as powerful natural medications, so you should be gentle when scavenging them.

These are the natural plants that provide amazing health benefits:

PLANTS FOR HEALING

BLACKBERRY

To the Cherokee, the blackberry is the longest known remedy to an upset stomach, however this herb can be used for just about anything. Using a strong tea from the root of blackberry helps to reduce swelling of tissue and joints. A decoction from the roots, sweetened with honey or maple syrup, makes a great cough syrup. Even chewing on the leaves of blackberry can sooth bleeding gums.

Some other health benefits of blackberry fruit include:

better digestion

strengthened immune system

healthy functioning of the heart

prevention of cancer

relief from endothelial dysfunction

These tasty berries are also incredibly nutritious. Vitamins provided by blackberries include vitamin A, vitamin B6, vitamin C, vitamin E, vitamin K, thiamine, riboflavin, niacin, and folate. Blackberries also have an incredible mineral wealth of calcium, iron, magnesium, phosphorous, potassium, and zinc. They are also a good source of dietary fiber and essential amino acids.

HUMMINGBIRD BLOSSOM (BUCK BRUSH)

Hummingbird blossom has been used by the Cherokee for treatment of cysts, fibroid tumors, inflammation, and mouth/throat problems. Present day research has concluded that this herb is also great for treating high blood pressure and lymphatic blockages.

The Cherokee mainly use hummingbird blossom as a diuretic to stimulate kidney function, however it was was also used to treat conditions such as:

inflamed tonsils

enlarged lymph nodes

enlarged spleens

hemorrhoids

menstrual bleeding.

To get all of the benefits from hummingbird blossom, the Cherokee would steep the leave and flowers in a boiling water for about five minutes then drink the tea while it is still warm.

CATTAIL

The Cherokee consider this herb to not exactly be a healing medicine, but rather a preventative medicine. It is an easily digestible food that can help with recovery from illnesses. Almost every part of this herb, except for the mature leaves and seed heads, can be used for medicinal purposes. The root of cattail is high in starch and the male plants are high in pollen content.

Cattail root can be prepared much like potatoes, boiled and mashed. The resulting paste is a great remedy for burns and sores. The pollen from cattail is a great source of protein and can be used as a supplement in baking. The fuzz from flowers, called the seed down, can also be used to prevent skin irritation in babies, such as diaper rash. The flowers of cattail can even be eaten to help with diarrhea.

PULL OUT A STICKER (GREENBRIAR)

The roots of this herb are high in starch while the leaves and stems are rich in various vitamins and minerals. Due to the rubbery texture of greenbriar, its roots can be used like potatoes. The starch in the root of greenbriar has a harsh, strange taste but is rich in calories.

The Cherokee use greenbriar as a blood purifier and mild diuretic that treats urinary infections. Many Cherokee healers make an ointment from the leaves and bark and apply it to minor sores and burns. The leaves from this herb can even be used in your tea to treat arthritis! The berries of greenbrier can be eaten raw or made into jams. They make great vegan jello shots too.

MINT

Mint is a very popular herb in present day culture and is commonly used in tea. However, many people don’t know that mint contains a variety of antioxidant properties. It also contains magnesium, phosphorus potassium, calcium, vitamin C, vitamin A, and fiber!

The Cherokee use this herb to aid with digestion. The leaves can be crushed and used as cold compresses, made into ointments, and even added to your bath to sooth itchy skin. The Cherokee healers use a blend of stems and leaves to lower high blood pressure. If you are breast feeding and find your nipples cracking, try applying some mint water. It worked miracles for me!

MULLEIN

This herb has the power to soothe asthma and chest congestion. According to the Cherokee, inhaling the smoke from burning mullein roots and leaves works miracles to calm your lungs and open up pathways. Mullein is exceptionally helpful to soothe the mucous membranes. You can make a warm decoction and soak your feet in it to reduce swelling and joint pain. Due to mullein’s anti-inflammatory properties, it soothes painful and irritated tissue. Mullein flowers can be used to make tea which has mild sedative effects.

QUA LO GA (SUMAC)

Every single part of this herb can be used for medicinal purposes! Sumac bark can be made into a mild decoction that can be taken to soothe diarrhea. The decoction from the bark can also be gargled to help with a sore throat. Ripe berries can make a pleasant beverage that is rich in vitamin C. The tea from the leaves of sumac can reduce fevers. You can even crush the leaves into an ointment to help relieve a poison ivy rash. A study published in Iranian Journal of Pharmaceutical Research reported that sumac, if added to daily diet, can help lower cholesterol levels.

BIG STRETCH (WILD GINGER)

The Cherokee recommend a mild tea, made from the root of wild ginger, to stimulate better digestion. This herb can also help with intestinal gas, upset stomach and colic. A strong tea from the root of wild ginger can be used to remove secretion from the lungs. The Meskwaki, another Native American tribe, use crushed, steeped stems of wild ginger as a relief from earaches. You can use rootstocks from this herb as a substitute for regular ginger and flowers as flavoring for your favorite recipe!

JISDU UNIGISDI (WILD ROSE)

The fruit of a wild rose is a rich source of vitamin C and is a great remedy for the common cold and the flu. The Cherokee would make a mild tea out of wild rose hips to stimulate bladder and kidney function. You can even make your own petal infusion to soothe sore throat! Or try making a decoction from the root to help with diarrhea. My grand-mother use to make jam out of the petals and it was delicious.

SQUIRREL TAIL (YARROW)

This herb is known best for its blood clotting properties. Fresh, crushed leaves can be applied to open wounds to stop excess bleeding. Yarrow’s juice, mixed with spring water, can stop internal bleeding from stomach and intestinal illnesses. You can also use the leaves to make tea which will stimulate abdominal functions and assist in proper digestion. It can also help with kidney and gallbladder related issues. Oh, and did I mention that you can use a decoction made from leaves and stems to help clear up your acne? It works wonders for chapped hands and other skin irritations.

KAWI IYUSDI (YELLOW DOCK)

The Cherokee often use this herb in their kitchen. It is very similar to spinach but contains a lot more vitamins and minerals due to its long roots that gathers nutrients from deep underground. The leaves of yellow dock are a great source of iron and can also be used as a laxative. You can even prepare a juice decoction out of yellow dock stems to treat minor sores, diaper rash, and itching. The Cherokee healers use a decoction, made from the crushed roots of yellow dock, as warm wash for its antiseptic properties.

You should always remember that all of the above mentioned herbs are very potent and might be dangerous if used in the wrong way. The Cherokee healers have many centuries of practice and experience. Another thing to keep in mind is the fact that these herbs are all very valuable! They are the nature’s pharmacy, so please be kind and caring when scavenging any of these.

Source: yeswenative

Is it a coincidence that both men and women had long hair during the ‘Summer of Love‘? What tests did the government run after Viet Nam that proves how hair has energy?

This information about hair has been hidden from the public since the Viet Nam War.

Our culture leads people to believe that hair style is a matter of personal preference, that hair style is a matter of fashion and/or convenience, and that how people wear their hair is simply a cosmetic issue. Back in the Vietnam war however, an entirely different picture emerged, one that has been carefully covered up and hidden from public view.

In the early nineties, Sally [name changed to protect privacy] was married to a licensed psychologist who worked at a VA Medical hospital. He worked with combat veterans with PTSD, post traumatic stress disorder. Most of them had served in Vietnam.

Sally said, “I remember clearly an evening when my husband came back to our apartment on Doctor’s Circle carrying a thick official looking folder in his hands. Inside were hundreds of pages of certain studies commissioned by the government. He was in shock from the contents. What he read in those documents completely changed his life. From that moment on my conservative middle of the road husband grew his hair and beard and never cut them again. What is more, the VA Medical center let him do it, and other very conservative men in the staff followed his example.

As I read the documents, I learned why. It seems that during the Vietnam War special forces in the war department had sent undercover experts to comb American Indian Reservations looking for talented scouts, for tough young men trained to move stealthily through rough terrain. They were especially looking for men with outstanding, almost supernatural, tracking abilities. Before being approached, these carefully selected men were extensively documented as experts in tracking and survival.

With the usual enticements, the well proven smooth phrases used to enroll new recruits, some of these Indian trackers were then enlisted. Once enlisted, an amazing thing happened. Whatever talents and skills they had possessed on the reservation seemed to mysteriously disappear, as recruit after recruit failed to perform as expected in the field.

Serious causalities and failures of performance led the government to contract expensive testing of these recruits, and this is what was found.

When questioned about their failure to perform as expected, the older recruits replied consistently that when they received their required military haircuts, they could no longer ‘sense’ the enemy, they could no longer access a ‘sixth sense’, their ‘intuition’ no longer was reliable, they couldn’t ‘read’ subtle signs as well or access subtle extrasensory information.

So the testing institute recruited more Indian trackers, let them keep their long hair, and tested them in multiple areas. Then they would pair two men together who had received the same scores on all the tests. They would let one man in the pair keep his hair long, and gave the other man a military haircut. Then the two men retook the tests.

Time after time the man with long hair kept making high scores. Time after time, the man with the short hair failed the tests in which he had previously scored high scores.

The recruit is sleeping out in the woods. An armed ‘enemy’ approaches the sleeping man. The long haired man is awakened out of his sleep by a strong sense of danger and gets away long before the enemy is close, long before any sounds from the approaching enemy are audible.

In another version of this test the long haired man senses an approach and somehow intuits that the enemy will perform a physical attack. He follows his ‘sixth sense’ and stays still, pretending to be sleeping, but quickly grabs the attacker and ‘kills’ him as the attacker reaches down to strangle him.

This same man, after having passed these and other tests, then received a military haircut and consistently failed these tests, and many other tests that he had previously passed.

So the document recommended that all Indian trackers be exempt from military haircuts. In fact, it required that trackers keep their hair long.”

Comment:

The mammalian body has evolved over millions of years. Survival skills of human and animal at times seem almost supernatural. Science is constantly coming up with more discoveries about the amazing abilities of man and animal to survive. Each part of the body has highly sensitive work to perform for the survival and well being of the body as a whole.The body has a reason for every part of itself.

Hair is an extension of the nervous system, it can be correctly seen as exteriorized nerves, a type of highly evolved ‘feelers’ or ‘antennae’ that transmit vast amounts of important information to the brain stem, the limbic system, and the neocortex.

Not only does hair in people, including facial hair in men, provide an information highway reaching the brain, hair also emits energy, the electromagnetic energy emitted by the brain into the outer environment. This has been seen in Kirlian photography when a person is photographed with long hair and then rephotographed after the hair is cut.

When hair is cut, receiving and sending transmissions to and from the environment are greatly hampered. This results in numbing-out .

Cutting of hair is a contributing factor to unawareness of environmental distress in local ecosystems. It is also a contributing factor to insensitivity in relationships of all kinds. It contributes to sexual frustration.

Conclusion:

In searching for solutions for the distress in our world, it may be time for us to consider that many of our most basic assumptions about reality are in error. It may be that a major part of the solution is looking at us in the face each morning when we see ourselves in the mirror.

Source: Body Mind Soul Spirit

by Damian Costello and Jon M. Sweeney: In Our Lady of the Sioux, a small Catholic church in Oglala, S.D., George Looks Twice is waiting…

Looks Twice, 83, holds a stick next to a drum that sits beneath his legs as the priest intones the eucharistic prayer. He is waiting for the point of consecration, where the bread becomes the Body of Christ. But instead of ringing bells, Looks Twice will strike the drum three times, the honor beats heard in the Sun Dance and other Lakota traditional songs. The drum will give honor to Jesus, whom the Lakota call Wanikiya, “He Who Makes Live.”

In one sense, George Looks Twice has been waiting since 2012. In October of that year he was in Rome for the canonization of Kateri Tekakwitha, the 17th-century Mohawk woman who became the first Native American saint from North America. It was during that trip when Looks Twice first thought of how his grandfather Nicholas Black Elk could one day too be declared a saint by the Catholic Church.

Before Mass, Looks Twice sat down next to Mark Thiel, an archivist from Marquette University, and they got to talking. Mr. Thiel was familiar with Black Elk but had never met one of his close relatives. Looks Twice mentioned his hope of sainthood for his grandfather. “I felt a tingling, like this was a divine moment,” Mr. Thiel remembers. “Never before had I heard someone speak of Black Elk that way.”

Outside of Pine Ridge Reservation, most people know of Black Elk through Black Elk Speaks, the book by John G. Neihardt first published in 1932, based on three weeks of interviews conducted the prior year. Neihardt told only part of Black Elk’s story; still, the Lakota medicine man became iconic for his presence at many of the events that represent the struggle of Native America as a whole. A second cousin to Crazy Horse, Black Elk was 12 years old when he participated in the Battle of the Little Bighorn, in 1876. He became a ghost dancer and fought in the aftermath of the Massacre of Wounded Knee, in 1890. He spent two years touring Europe with Buffalo Bill Cody. Globally, Black Elk is seen as a teacher of what was lost, an alternative and oppositional voice to the forces of industrialization and colonialism. But most seem unaware that he spent half a century as an active Catholic.

Back at Pine Ridge, people of Looks Twice’s generation know Black Elk primarily from his work as a Catholic lay preacher, or catechist. In 1904, at the age of 40, he became interested in Catholicism after a Jesuit objected to a healing ceremony Black Elk was conducting. He gave up his medicine practice and converted to Catholicism. Black Elk then learned to read and became known for his ability to memorize Scripture and for his dynamic preaching. He spent decades as a catechist, taking numerous missionary trips to other reservations in what he called “spiritual scalping-tours.” The Black Elk family stayed so long on the Yankton Reservation that his daughter, Lucy, remembered being made fun for talking like a Yanktonai when she returned to Pine Ridge.

Today, in the parish where Black Elk did much of his pastoral work, the aura of sainthood is unmistakable. There is an air of reverence when his name is spoken. He is credited with bringing 400 people into the Roman Catholic Church. Black Elk also lived a life of unquestioned holiness and experienced the kind of suffering that is often associated with lives of the saints. His first wife died in 1903, son William in infancy, son John of tuberculosis at 12, an infant son and two stepdaughters of tuberculosis in 1910. He himself lived with tuberculosis from 1912. But Black Elk never complained about his suffering and he proclaimed his Catholic faith until the end. “Now my heart is getting sad—but my heart will never turn bad,” he wrote in a letter in 1948. “Ever since Wakan Tanka [the Lakota name for God] gave light to my heart, it stands in light without end.”

The priest raises the host and Looks Twice strikes the drum three times. Black Elk taught that the drum is the beating heart at the center of the universe, saying, “the voice of Wakan Tanka [Great Spirit], and this sound stirs us and helps us to understand the mystery and power of all things.” The host stays in the air, the congregation is still, and the drum echoes, filling the small church.

Pine Ridge

Last fall, Black Elk’s grandchildren presented the bishop of Rapid City, also in South Dakota, with a petition of over 1,600 names requesting that the diocese formally nominate their ancestor for canonization.

What would the canonization of Black Elk mean to Lakota Catholics today? Not surprisingly, there are significant cultural issues involved. The conflicts of the Indian Wars and the reservation system, easily filed away as history elsewhere, remains palpable and unresolved here. And unknown to Catholics in other parts of the United States, the church, and particularly the Society of Jesus, is right in the middle of it all. The Jesuit-run Holy Rosary Mission was founded in Pine Ridge in 1890, as its website explains, “with the westward expansion that delivered Christianity to the Lakota.” While many missionaries were well intentioned and well liked, the church was also a willing participant in the federal government’s program of cultural persecution, where “saving the man” meant “killing the Indian,” or erasing the only identity he had known.

Some voice no resentment. “It wasn’t so bad,” one Lakota-speaking elder says in passing about Red Cloud School, where children are enrolled from kindergarten through high school. “I learned religion there.” But history has scarred many, and the desire to escape anything related to the colonial past is strong. For some, there is the feeling that the canonization of Black Elk would be a continuation of the church’s role in colonialism. This makes them wary of the process, as if the church is appropriating something that is not hers to take. Once a participant in the cultural persecution of the Lakota, this thinking goes, the church is now using what is left to cover its sins in Native garb.

I heard these concerns in Pine Ridge recently from a couple of 30-something Lakota who had recently returned to the church. They saw the practices of Catholicism, along with those of the Lakota way, as part of their path of sobriety. But they were unsure about the motives behind the cause of Black Elk. “Look, the Catholic way, it’s a good way,” one said. “It teaches spirituality and goodness, something we desperately need more of around here. But the church has never owned up to what they did in the past. Until they fully admit that and take steps to make reparations, the wounds won’t heal.”

Uncertainty and pain are real, but this healing is occurring, and Black Elk is a part of the process. Much of the church’s ministry in Pine Ridge is now in the hands of the Lakota, both in the parishes and in the community. The “Lakota Catholic Radio Hour” on KILI, the tribal radio station, is a fine example. The station sits on Porcupine Butte, just north of Wounded Knee, and its broadcast area covers 30,000 square miles. Every Friday at 2 p.m., Patricia Catches, a lay minister at the largest parish on the reservation, discusses the intersection of Lakota tradition and Catholicism with a fellow Lakota Catholic lay minister, Charles McGaa, and one of the Jesuit fathers of Pine Ridge.

Patricia Catches’s own roots run deep in both Lakota tradition (Lakota is her first language) and the Catholic Church. Her grandfather, Paul Catches, was a catechist and filled in for Black Elk when he was away on missionary trips. Pete Catches, her father, started out as a catechist before leaving to become a medicine man. Her mother remained active in the church, working with the nuns at the local Montessori school. Patricia was raised in both traditions.

It has not always been easy for Ms. Catches to be both. She was sent to boarding school back when students were prevented from speaking Lakota. “After that, I had a lot of bitterness and moved away from the church,” she once explained in an interview on the “Lakota Catholic Radio Hour.” “But over the last 20 years, as I practiced my Lakota traditional ceremonies, I realized that they teach us to pray for those who have done us wrong. And I saw how much the church has changed, and how today it includes and honors Lakota traditions as well. So now I’m following in my father’s footsteps as a catechist. I’m in the fourth year of a class to become a Lakota lay minister in the church. I’m letting the Lord lead me in that way.”

Black Elk aided her in her journey. In the 1990s, Ms. Catches read a book by the Jesuit anthropologist Michael Steltenkamp, Black Elk: Holy Man of the Oglala (recently issued in a revised edition under the title Nicholas Black Elk), that has, more than any other, explained the Catholicism of Black Elk. “What caught my attention is that he was always with the children, that he taught the two ways. It really affirmed my role as a lay minister,” she told me when we recently sat down to talk. When I asked about the possible canonization, she responded: “I’m very excited. Many Native Americans could be named saints…. We stand on the shoulders of giants, and Nick Black Elk certainly was [one of them].”

Black Elk serves not only as a spiritual mentor but also as a lodestar for sorting out issues of Native identity. “There’s an element of mystery to Black Elk,” Maka Clifford tells me. Mr. Clifford is a graduate of Red Cloud Indian School and works there now as the volunteer coordinator. I was told to be sure to meet him because he is a descendant of Black Elk, but Maka quickly downplays that connection. As a descendant, he explains, it “puts a false authority on me, one I haven’t fought for or earned.”

“His journey was complicated, just like mine,” he adds. Clifford’s mother, Charlotte Black Elk, is a lawyer, prominent activist and, according to Clifford, explicitly “anti-Christian.” His father, Gerald Clifford, spent a number of years as a Camaldolese Benedictine monk. When Gerald married Charlotte, he became a Sun Dance chief while remaining a practicing Catholic. As a result, Maka grew up with all the prominent traditions and perspectives in his family.

The most important issue at the moment for Maka Clifford and his students is to figure out how to be indigenous in modern society: “History has produced a society that feels the need to authenticate itself.” He says that participating in activities deemed nontraditional leaves people open to the criticism that they are “not Indian enough.” The witness of Black Elk, as both indigenous and a potential Catholic saint, is a resource in the process of decolonization and healing, he says. “My hope is that we can learn that we can be indigenous and all these other things: Catholic, worldly, a diplomat, a scientist, etc. My hope is that being indigenous is not limited. And Black Elk is part of that conversation.”

The Church

Bishop Robert D. Gruss of the Diocese of Rapid City is the person tasked with deciding whether or not to formalize Black Elk’s cause. Bishop Gruss was born and raised in Texarkana, Ark., and worked as a pilot for several years in his 20s before deciding to go to a four-year college. In 1990, he earned his B.A. from St. Ambrose University in Davenport, Iowa, with a degree in theology. Now 62, he is a genial man put in a unique situation.

He came to Rapid City with powerful connections in the Vatican. Bishop Gruss is a former vice-rector of the Pontifical North American College, in Rome; he was also chaplain to Pope Benedict XVI and is a close friend of the pope emeritus. Intriguingly, the Diocese of Rapid City has been a training ground for a number of people who now hold much more prominent positions in the church: Bishop Gruss’s two predecessors were Charles J. Chaput, O.F.M.Cap, now the archbishop of Philadelphia, and Blase J. Cupich, now the archbishop of Chicago.

Soon after members of Black Elk’s family brought the petition to Bishop Gruss, he began to deliberate. It was his first time in such a process and, he admits when we talk, it was a lot of work. “In the beginning it was going through a lot of documents,” he says, and he felt the pressure.

Essential to the petition’s future is the appointment of a local postulator for the cause. Bishop Gruss has chosen Bill White, a Lakota candidate for the diaconate and the father-in-law of Jerome Lebeaux, a prominent Sun Dance chief. (It is not common for a postulator to be a layperson, but there is no restriction against it.) If the cause ends up moving forward, a postulator at the Vatican will be found, and White will become vice-postulator.

For Bishop Gruss, there is no debate over the authenticity of Black Elk’s conversion. When I ask if the lack of public awareness of Black Elk’s Catholic life could complicate the cause, he does not respond with theory but with pastoral concern. “There is overwhelming support from Lakota people, from the Natives,” he says. (A diocese that uses smudging, the Native practice of burning sage or cedar for purification, and the Lakota Four Direction Song at the Chrism Mass has presumably worked out many of the uncertainties regarding how Catholicism and Lakota practices can make a spiritual home together.)

Still, the image of Black Elk holding a position of honor in the church equivalent to that held by St. Teresa of Calcutta may be controversial. I ask about the conflict that occurred over the recent name change of Harney Peak, the highest natural point in South Dakota, to Black Elk Peak. “There was a lot of opposition,” the bishop says. “The Lakota felt they had a legitimate reason for the change, as it was a desecration to name something that they feel is theirs after someone who perpetrated massacres. The opposition thought it was just P.C. [political correctness], a reflection of the dominant P.C. culture that tells you what to believe and what to say.”

Could there be similar resistance to Black Elk’s cause? “There may be, but I’m not concerned about that,” Bishop Gruss says. “This is about lifting up people who lived lives of sanctity. And about those people who lived lives of sanctity lifting up the communities they come from. You can’t worry about what people think.” He recalls that people complained about Kateri Tekakwitha’s canonization: “‘Why her? Why now?’ they asked. I’m sure that will happen here.”

When I ask Bishop Gruss what he hopes to accomplish in his episcopacy, he puts his approach to Black Elk’s cause in proper perspective. “This is a mission diocese,” he says, using a common term for a geographically remote outpost of the church. “I hope that I’m able to say that I moved this diocese from a mission diocese to a diocese with a mission.” He does not say so explicitly, but I suspect that having a homegrown missionary saint would help.

Bishop Gruss has decided to continue the process by formalizing the cause for canonization. “The next step is to get the support of the regional bishops, in this case the entire U.S.,” he explains. He will bring the matter to the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops and expects that his fellow bishops will affirm his findings, as usually happens. He had hoped that this would occur at their June meeting but was unable to get it on the agenda in time; so it will wait until the fall meeting.

The Society of Jesus

In talking to the Jesuits who live at Holy Rosary Mission you get a bigger theological picture. This is only natural. Jesuits have been working alongside the Lakota since Red Cloud, the famous Oglala leader buried in the cemetery overlooking the mission, asked for sina sapa, or “black robes” (the Lakota term for a Catholic priest), to set up a school. The government approved and Holy Rosary Mission was established. That was nearly 130 years ago.

At the height of the Jesuits’ influence in southwestern South Dakota, there were 23 Catholic missions. America reported just a few months ago that 525 acres of that land were being legally and formally returned to the Rosebud Sioux.

For over a century, the Jesuits and their Lakota congregations, like missionaries and new Christians throughout the history of the church, have been sorting out what of pre-Christian culture should be retained. That is one of the important functions of Black Elk’s life and legacy, according to Joe Daoust, S.J., head of the Holy Rosary Jesuit community today. “Putting the traditions together is a fulfillment of the Lakota people’s search for God,” he told me. Father Daoust has been in Pine Ridge for only two years, but his Lakota phrases flow effortlessly when celebrating Mass. He became fascinated with the story of Black Elk through contact with Lakota Catholics at Pine Ridge.

For Father Daoust, Black Elk’s work is not just for Lakota Catholics. There is the other, often-neglected side of conversion: what new Christians bring to the church. “When opening a cause for sainthood, it’s not just a question of personal holiness,” he says. “You also ask, why should the church be interested in this potential saint? What is exemplary about their witness? Putting Black Elk forward is an example of Natives not just receiving gifts in their conversion but bringing gifts and in turn enriching the church and how we understand God working in our world.”

The analogy of St. Thomas Aquinas and his use of Aristotle comes to mind. It is easy to forget how innovative it was for the Catholic theologian to draw upon the work of the Greek philosopher, but this method gave the church a new and deeper understanding of God and God’s work in the world. What was once controversial is now seen as one of the most traditional sources of Catholic theology. In a similar way, indigenous thought has the potential to give the church a new method for understanding and interacting with God’s creation, what Father Daoust calls “a gift of Native American spirituality to the church.”

Ultimately, Father Daoust is hopeful about Black Elk’s cause. “Pope Francis has spoken of indigenous spirituality in “Laudato Si’,” and I think he will be particularly receptive to the cause.”

A Living Presence

The plains of Pine Ridge fall away easily to the horizon. Bleak and windswept in winter and desert-like in the droughts of summer, the grass is now long and green from an unusually wet spring. Small horse herds graze, their tails waving like the prayer flags on Sun Dance trees that remain from last summer. Deer dart away from the road, and a red-tailed hawk circles above. It all feels like the renewed world of Black Elk’s vision, where “the birds and animals and lightening and thunder were like laughter.”

Will Black Elk one day be made a saint? One can never be sure, but the echoes in Pine Ridge from him and his work have a vibrancy that cannot be overlooked. It remains to be seen if miracles will be brought forward and authenticated, but Black Elk has left more than a legacy. There is the feel of a living presence at Pine Ridge—and perhaps elsewhere in this country. Black Elk always had a way of finding himself in the middle of important events.

Basil Brave Heart is another of the many Lakota on Pine Ridge trying to sort out what it means to be both Lakota and Catholic, and to heal the pain for those who feel a sense of opposition between the two. Brave Heart wears many hats: a graduate of Red Cloud, Korean War veteran, a Sun Dance chief, a recently retired Yuwipi healer and a regular at daily Mass at Holy Rosary Church. He went to school with Black Elk’s son, Ben, at Holy Rosary Mission and remembers first seeing Black Elk while picking potatoes with his family in Nebraska. As a writer, Brave Heart mines Lakota tradition, Christian theology and quantum physics in an effort to articulate a unified Lakota Catholic theology. He is also the one who initiated the movement to rename Harney Peak.

It happened unexpectedly. Two years ago Brave Heart got up at 3 a.m. and picked up a book on Lakota history. He read an account of the Blue Water Creek massacre, where U.S. Army General William S. Harney and 600 troops attacked a Lakota village of 250, killing 86 (half of them women and children) and taking 70 prisoners. Brave Heart became overwhelmed by the tragedy. He lit some sage to smudge off and started to cry. This was not merely an expression of sorrow, Brave Heart explained to me, but “an act of prayer.” The word for “to cry” in Lakota, ceya, is also the root of the word for prayer, “when the whole body pushes up sacred water that emerges in your tears.”

In the midst of his lament, Brave Heart says that Black Elk came to him, not in a dream but while he was both conscious and in the realm of the spirits. He was not thinking of Black Elk at the time, he emphasizes. “People always ask me ‘How did you come up with Black Elk?’” Brave Heart says. “I had nothing to do with it. It came from God, Goddess, whatever you call the Creator.”

There was a lot of opposition and anger when this religious experience turned into a national cause for changing the name of a local mountain. But after two years, the peak became Black Elk Peak, a change that Brave Heart calls “the answer to many prayers.” And if we take Brave Heart’s word about that process, this was an example of the ongoing work of Nicholas Black Elk, an extraordinary Catholic.

Source: America Magazine

by Sandra E. Yeager: The Traditional Indian Code of Ethics is a set of rules that the Native American community choose to live by…

The earliest written source for this code is from 1982, taken from the Four Worlds Development Project, which was founded by Phil Lane Jr, a member of the Yankton Dakota and Chickasaw Nations, although it is though that there are many verbal variations of this code from times gone by.

1. Give thanks to the Creator each morning upon rising and each evening before sleeping.

2. Seek the courage and strength to be a better person.

3. Showing respect is a basic law of life.

4. Respect the wisdom of people in council.

5. Once you give an idea it no longer belongs to you; it belongs to everybody.

6. Be truthful at all times.

7. Always treat your guests with honour and consideration. Give your best food and comforts to your guests.

8. The hurt of one is the hurt of all. The honour of one is the honour of all.

9. Receive strangers and outsiders kindly.

10. All races are children of the Creator and must be respected.

11. To serve others, to be of some use to family, community, or nation is one of the main purposes for which people are created.

12. True happiness comes to those who dedicate their lives to the service of others.

13. Observe moderation and balance in all things. Know those things that lead to your well-being and those things that lead to your destruction.

14. Listen to and follow the guidance given to your heart.

15. Expect guidance to come in many forms: in prayer; in dreams; in solitude; and, in the words and actions of Elders and friends.

Source: Yes We Native

by Corinne Oestreich: Native Americans don’t just live on reservations, we live in cities, and we live internationally…

I grew up in the Silicon Valley of California. I was born in the city and have lived here my whole life, as an “Urban Native.” My grandfather moved to California from Mohawk territory in the 1950s after he served in Korea, and we have all lived in Sunnyvale ever since.

If I didn’t find my community, my Native family or my traditional support, I’d get swallowed up by colonialism.

by Lewis Mehl-Madrona: I trained as a conventional physician…

I attended Stanford University School of Medicine, completing residencies in family practice and in psychiatry, and achieved added qualifications in geriatrics. I have worked in emergency rooms for over twenty-five years, marveling at the technical wonders we can provide for patients on the verge of death. I loved the drama of saving lives, of using the technology appropriately, of intubating, inserting chest tubes, resuscitating, and stabilizing.

Much of my life was described in my earlier book, Coyote Medicine. I have also studied Native American healing for more than twenty-five years, being a “half-breed, hybrid human”; my ancestors have given me Cherokee, Lakota, Scotch, and French DNA.

Walking in Two Different Worlds

I have walked with feet in two different worlds for my entire medical career. I did this because I grew up knowing that “Indian medicine” could help people when conventional medicine had nothing more to offer, and because I was struggling to find myself through finding my ancestors.

I so desperately wanted to recapture for my own patients the amazing healings I remembered seeing as a child. Despite this, I couldn’t abandon science and technological medicine, which I also loved with a passion. I simply wanted to know what worked and when to use it. I bristled at the terms conventional, alternative, or complementary. “Why do we divide it that way?” I wondered. “Why can’t we just think about what works, regardless of its origins?”

Complementary and alternative medicine is popular today. Names change; we used holistic medicine when I was in medical school in the early 1970s. In the 1980s I started a center for integrative medicine. This is now another common name for the elusive field of everything that is not pharmaceuticals or surgery.

During medical school many of my classmates were excited by the possibilities of holistic medicine. We were an unusual class. We embarrassed Stanford by entering family practice or psychiatry in unprecedented numbers, or by establishing clinics in rural Tibet or Mexico. Others members of my class trained barefoot doctors in Central America. Stanford changed its admissions policies and its entirely elective curriculum thanks to us, for we were too unruly. A decision was made to admit only science majors to the medical school. Other restrictions followed.

I probably would have been admitted anyway; I majored in biophysics in college. But I have pursued the healing traditions of my ancestors, believing that they were the original holistic doctors of North America. I believed that what evolved through Indian medicine has applications in and power for treating patients on this continent.

What did I learn from my studies of medical miracles with Native American healers?

1. The necessity of relationship.

The people who experienced medical miracles don’t heal in isolation. No one heals alone. Relationship is necessary, as are guides — whether we call them healers, medicine women, doctors, or therapists. The implication of the oft-quoted statement that Jesus is present whenever two or more people are gathered is that he is not as powerfully present with only one person in isolation. Relationship matters.

Healing requires the power of relationship and the commitment of both parties. A good teacher does not fail his student; he redoubles his efforts to make the student successful. Wherever we struggle for meaning and direction, relationship is important. In the crucible formed by relationship we find the spiritual scaffolding necessary to explore the origins of suffering (physical, mental, social, and spiritual). Hope gels when neither party will give up. I never give up for any client. We continue our quest for healing even if conditions worsen. Neither of us can give up.

2. The importance of acceptance and surrender.

A second lesson from exceptional patients is the importance of accepting that what we want may not be what we get. None of the exceptional patients I studied were obsessed with the goal of being cured. They kept perspective. Learning how to nurture the desire to be well and to accept the lack of guarantee is a meditation unto itself. One interpretation is that the plans of the Universe may differ from ours. What we want may not be possible. Nevertheless, we must continue wanting, for the strength of our desire fuels the birth of miracles. When desire becomes obsessive the goal moves further away. Obsession communicates that the goal is hard or impossible. Easy desire is a phrase for contemplation.

We must want something in order to take action. Yet if we want it so desperately that our goal becomes an obsession, the possibility of “failure” cannot be explored and embraced. Simultaneously wanting and not wanting is a true dialectic, a necessary paradox. How do we practice wanting to be well with passionate commitment and simultaneous nonattachment? What does it mean to be nonattached? What does it mean to want to be well, but not to want it too much? My collection of patients mastered this dialectic, either deliberately or accidentally.

Our spirituality provides us with tools to master this dialectic. Native American tradition teaches that you cannot succeed if you do not ask. Jesus echoed this when he said, “Ask and ye shall receive.” Through ceremony we empower the single voice by aligning it with the multitude. We create a spiritual laser. We add the power of spirit to the message sent. Tradition teaches that the spirits come when the songs are sung. Nevertheless, we cannot make the Divine want what we want. While we must ask, there are no guarantees that we will receive. We must ask for what we want, and at the same time let go of it. We must take the attitude described in the Lord’s Prayer in the line “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

I teach patients how to perform ceremonies in this spirit. We perform ceremonies with the entire family. Eventually we expand to larger groups of friends as we continue to explore how to align our will with that of the Divine.

3. Focus on the present.

The patients who find miracles are largely present-focused, not dwelling excessively in the past or the future. Stress and anxiety are lessened when we remain focused in the present. Worry is about the future; bitterness and resentment come from the past. Emotions in the present are limited to the basic collection of anger, sadness, love, and joy. These are the primary emotions that are easiest to express.

In staying focused on the present, patients who healed avoided the trap of being caught in despair and anguish over the past or obsessing about the future. Thich Nhat Hahn says, “We don’t think of the past or the future or anything. We just focus our attention on the [present], and on the community around us.”

All spiritual traditions offer techniques to narrow our focus to the present. Thich Nhat Hahn and Buddhism call this focus “mindfulness meditation.” Christianity calls it contemplative prayer. Buddhism emphasizes mindfulness throughout its meditative practices, as does Native American spirituality in the vision quest (hanblecheya).

Mindfulness meditation represents a way to teach all patients how to focus in the present. It bridges spiritual traditions. I use mindfulness exercises, including walking meditation. I typically focus on becoming aware of my breathing to start the meditation. Observing the breath puts our focus on the present moment in which we live. Paying attention to our current body sensations brings us back from thought about past suffering and pain. Observing what thoughts come and go through the mind helps us stop worrying about what calamity might happen tomorrow.

4. The importance of community.

Modern medicine lacks an understanding of the importance of community, though my patients who found miracles were all nurtured by community. People thrive in community, like the desert blossoming after the rain. I help patients find a community of people who also believe in the possibility of healing. The community members can learn from and support each other, despite having different illnesses or problems. Having a community nurtures hope in times of despair.

Being part of a community allows us to participate in a collective energy that can sustain us — much more than one can generate alone. A nurturing community waters the seeds of hope and compassion in every one of us.

Within a community we can be touched, physically or emotionally, by other human beings and by spiritual forces. When this happens, as quickly as a fever breaking we feel the baggage leaving our souls. Being accessible to the touch of others makes us available for healing. The gentle brush of a hand can wipe our psychic slates clean.

Community also teaches us awareness of the interconnectedness, the unity, of all of life. What affects us affects the plants. What hurts the animals hurts the humans and vice versa. When we grasp the unity of all things we realize our incredible connection with the world around us and discover that action at any level affects every other level. Scientists call this systems theory; Navajos call it common sense. It explains why family therapy can help heal cancer — removal of suffering on any level affects every other level. This is why chemotherapy alone may not be successful; killing on one level does not heal on other levels. Having grasped unity, the possibilities for our therapies enlarge tremendously.

When we learn about the interconnectedness of everything, we realize that the rugged individualism — so valued in Western society — is counterproductive to solving problems and reducing suffering. Ceremony with the whole family is important. The ceremonies I do with patients’ families comfort us all. Sometimes the most important ceremony is a good-bye ceremony, which is used when treatment clearly isn’t working. Everyone needs to say good-bye to the dying, to tell the person how much he or she means to them, well before the person dies.

When treatment is uncertain we need to involve the individual’s whole community. In these cases I do a talking circle with the community to help me discover how to treat. Usually people’s friends and family know what they need much better than a doctor, anyway.

5. Transcending Blame

People who heal have gotten over the idea of blaming themselves for their illness. They have gotten past finding fault in themselves or others, knowing that blame is counterproductive to creating hope and healing. Similarly, they have forgiven themselves and let go of bitterness and resentment.

Our ancestors also made mistakes. They have been clumsy. They have acted in ways that were the opposite of love and understanding. They have used religion to fight wars, to support violence, or to support racism. Fathers and mothers have made mistakes; grandparents and other ancestors have made mistakes. We have to know how to forgive, how to go back to our parents, so that we can go together on a journey of discovery to find the beauty of our roots. In forgiving our past we also forgive ourselves. We abandon the path of blame and self-blame.

Important to the work I do is exploring our ancestors and the legacies they have given us — good and bad. We learn ways of coping and living that are conducive to illness without our even realizing what has been passed on to us. By appreciating our place in a long line of ancestors we realize that blame must be spread so widely that it becomes a useless concept.

The Native American perspective is simple: When you are sick you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you have been heading in this direction for too long. Therefore you need to turn around; you need a new direction. You need to find a different location physical, emotional, relational. All aspects of your life are suspect as contributing to your illness. We examine them all, searching for what we can change. It is impossible to look at our lives unless self-blame and guilt have been overcome.

Understanding the conditions that allowed a problem to develop and thrive is important. Some of these conditions can be changed. The quest for intellectual understanding can divert us into the pursuit of self-blame. Blame is eliminated through an emotional understanding of how little actual control we have over our lives, through understanding that much of who we are and how we react is created by others. Our ancestors gave us genes for temperament and the expression of emotions.

Through the stories passed down in our families, our ancestors continue to teach us who we are and to give us values, meaning, and purpose. This represents a psychological genetics. These lessons are reinforced by culture, and through our participation as “cells” in the body called Earth.

Blame quickly becomes meaningless when we reflect on our interrelationships with all other beings (mitakuye oyasin in Lakota). Stories and guided imagery practices are important in facilitating this process, which goes against the modern cultural training of North America and Europe.

6. The importance of the spiritual dimension.

Native American philosophy teaches that all healing is first spiritual healing. Whatever else we do — including herbs, diet, radiation, surgery, bodywork, or medications — we need to humbly ask for help from the spiritual realm. People with a spiritual practice do better with any illness than those lacking religious beliefs; we must make ourselves available to the Divine for healing. Spirit is a necessary link in the chain that creates healing and miracles. Spirit cannot be ignored, whether it is to give our pain back to the earth or to accept healing from the earth, angels, or God.

If all healing is fundamentally spiritual, then we must make ourselves available to God or to the spiritual realm to be healed. In medieval times the touch of an angel restored health. It still does today. Ceremony and ritual provide the means for making ourselves available.

Each spiritual path offers a means for coming closer to God. Native Americans use the sweat lodge, the vision quest, and the sun dance. Christians fast and meditate. Islamics make the pilgrimage to Mecca. Sufis dance until they drop. However we choose to do it, we must access this spark that ignites the fire of healing.

7. Profound change.

Profound change means that you must become a different person in some fundamental, recognizable, important way. The extreme version of this is the Cherokee practice of giving the desperate patient a new name, which means a new identity, since name is identity. In this practice the person immediately has a new family, a new role in the community, and new friends, while his old identity is given a funeral.

Treatment fails without a profound change. Hope also thrives in such changes. We must become a different person to family, friends, coworkers, and the self. In some palpable way, we must be reborn before we can heal.

Source: Innerself

by Lousie Baker: I threw on my thin, strappy dress, grabbed the sage offering and a pile of firewood, and stepped out into the unknown…

As I entered the grounds, it was obvious that I had no idea what was going on. I placed the wood on a pile and went to stand by everyone else, unaware that they were starting the ceremony with private prayers. Someone quietly told me to go and wait elsewhere. My eyes were trying to absorb all of the information they could about the upcoming sacred ceremony.

WHAT IS A SWEAT LODGE?

I had never heard of a sweat lodge before a good friend invited me to one happening nearby. So if you’re like me, here’s some brief information about what sweat lodges are. If you already know about sweats and are just curious about my story, scroll down to the next section where it continues.

In Native American traditions, sweat lodges have been used for centuries as a way to purify the body and soul and to deepen spiritual connection. Prior to the sweat, some Indians choose to meditate or fast in order to receive greater guidance. A sweat lodge is a place of prayer, a place to give thanks and a place to seek wisdom.

The sweat lodge itself is simply a small, domed, heated structure. They are typically constructed using branches covered with blankets, or more traditionally animal skins. There are three ways to heat a sweat lodge; using heated stones, directly using fire chambers, or a more complex system similar to a sauna.

The sweat lodge structure is seen by some Native tribes as representing the womb of the earth, the darkness symbolises human ignorance, the heated stones are the coming of life, and the steam is the activation of the universe’s creative force.

Sweats usually happen before and after other major Native American festivals like Sun Dance, and they can be used alone when needed.

Sweat lodges were originally given to men because women already had their time to purify during their moon cycle. Now, women may also take part in the sweat lodge ceremonies, although many tribes don’t allow women to take part during their moon cycle.

–Information about sweat lodges is taken from here, and here —

MY SWEAT LODGE EXPERIENCE.

BEFORE THE SWEAT LODGE:

Jacob and I discussed whether we wanted to go to the sweat. He did but I was more sceptical. Being claustrophobic, the idea of sitting in a small, hot, pitch black hut seemed daunting. Before I knew it though, we were pulling up outside a small patch of land on which I could see the bare (tree) bones of the lodge structure.

More people began to arrive, and with each new person, my heart rate increased. Thoughts of being trapped in an overpacked hut filled my mind. I decided to explain to the sweat leader, Hua, that I was claustrophobic. She told me how to get her attention during the ceremony and how to leave. It was arranged for me to enter behind Hua so I would be by the door. We were promptly informed about the attire that should be worn and went to change into more “modest” clothing – something I realised I own very little of.

We were told to give anything we wanted to be blessed during the ceremony to the firekeepers (they tend the fire and place the stones inside the lodge) who would place it on the altar. I handed over my favourite necklace and Jacob his Native American flute.

More prayers were conducted outside of the lodge. We were waiting in anticipation as the elders entered. Just before it was my turn to crawl into the hut, a woman approached me with support and guidance. She said she would sit by me and hold my hand if needed. I felt great comfort in this and began my entry into the “womb.”

INSIDE THE SWEAT LODGE:

On entering the lodge, I was told to bow and say “to all my relations.” It is traditional to crawl clockwise to your spot. Placing my blankets down I tried to get comfortable. I was apprehensive but the lady next to me told me there were breaks between each of the 4 rounds.

The fire keepers passed the stones in. They were placed using antlers into the centre and offered sweet grass and cedar. Hua, using a hollowed out horn, tipped water onto the stones to get rid of any ash. Then the door was closed and the round began.

ROUND ONE:

Darkness consumed all of my senses. My hands became invisible as did the rest of my surroundings. Hua poured more water onto the stones and a wave of heat hit me. My heart pounded in my head. I was internally screaming to get the hell out of there. Every cell in my body told me to escape. Breathing heavily I grabbed for the lady’s hand next to me. I calmed my breath and tried to take each second as it came.

Out of the darkness came singing. We then took turns saying our prayers. After the heat from the first cup of water had passed, I thought the worst was over. To my surprise, more water was poured onto the stones after each person had finished talking. This continual heat ignited fresh fear and I had to remember Hua’s words about embracing it. I focused on what everyone was saying to help distract me from my overwhelming fear. It felt connecting and loving to be hearing people in such a vulnerable way, and the darkness made it feel anonymous.

My eyes eventually became accustomed to the darkness. Noticing slight gaps of light I placed my hand on the cooler ground near them to keep me grounded. Soon it was my turn to speak. With nothing really planned I was surprised at how naturally the words came out.

A few more people spoke before the door was opened. Light and air filled the lodge. I had done it. The first round was complete and it wasn’t that bad. Hua asked if I was ok to continue and to my amazement I was.

The light allowed me to re-ground myself. More stones were added to the centre, along with more sweetgrass and cedar offerings. Then darkness.

ROUND TWO:

A second prayer round began, so I knew roughly what to expect. Halfway through, the lodge was very hot so Hua asked for the door to be opened slightly. This made it enjoyable and I could have sat there all day. It was light enough to see everyone clearly and the heat was like a pleasant, hot summers day.  Once the round ended more rocks were added along with more cedar and sweetgrass offerings. Then back to the darkness.

ROUND THREE:

After being in the light for so long, this new darkness was intimidating. Using the same techniques as before I managed to more easily calm my mind. This was a song round and typically didn’t last long. The purpose of this round was joy and remembering that life is meant to be enjoyed. Four people sang different Native songs which brought a sense of light-heartedness after the intensity of the previous rounds. After the final song, the door was opened. As before, more rocks were added. However, this time, Hua called in the firekeepers and gave offerings to the stones for them, this included numerous herbs and sacred plants which smelt divine. The firekeepers left and shut us back into the darkness for the last time.

ROUND FOUR:

Hua said the round was going to be hot and fast as she tipped the whole bucket of water over the stones. We all prayed out loud together. She was right, the round was hot and fast as before I knew it the door was being opened and the ceremony closed.

Hua left first, followed by the other elders and then myself.

AFTER THE LODGE:

I couldn’t believe I had done it as I was sure I would leave after the first round. I definitely felt a sense of cleansing and openness. We all enjoyed food and chatted for a while before going our separate ways. Everyone seemed calmer as we communicated and laughed. There was a sense of community.

During the drive home (well to the place we were parking for the rest of the day), I was incredibly tired and experienced an unquenchable thirst. After drinking several bottles of water the thirst didn’t go. I did feel clearer, more content, confident and cleaner though (especially after a shower!). I thought I was never going to feel hydrated again as I lay down to sleep after what seemed like a dream.

IS A SWEAT LODGE FOR YOU?

I don’t think it is a simple yes or no question. If you want to experience another culture, deepen your spiritual connection or cleanse your body of toxins then I would recommend a sweat lodge.

If you decide that you do want to take part in a sweat you need to prepare. Find a sweat that you want to attend. Sweats should never charge you for taking part, but they may ask for donations towards the wood and for offerings like sage. Read about the practices of the lodge you are attending because they can vary. Ring ahead to ask any questions.

It might not be advisable to take part in a sweat if you feel like being in extreme heat would not be beneficial for your health. Be aware that you will be in the lodge for anywhere between 2-5 hours. If you don’t feel like your body can handle that then either speak to your medical professional or consult the elders running the lodge.

If run properly lodges are safe places. Make the elders aware of any medical or mental concerns so they can adapt the lodge for you. You can always get the attention of the elder and leave the lodge if you start to feel unwell. During my sweat, in the break between two of the rounds, they gave us water and salt to keep us hydrated and to replenish some of the minerals that we lost.

If you decide to take part in a sweat lodge, enjoy it, be respectful and expect to feel a deep sense of love and connection to yourself and the earth.

Source: Route Of The Soul

Seven Principles of Distraction…

The Quest for Power

Native Americans – Coyote One

Native Americans – Coyote Two

Native Americans – Coyote Three

Native Americans – Coyote Four

Native Americans – Coyote Five

Native Americans – Coyote Six

Native Americans – Coyote Seven

by Lewis Mehl-Madrona: I trained as a conventional physician…

I attended Stanford University School of Medicine, completing residencies in family practice and in psychiatry, and achieved added qualifications in geriatrics. I have worked in emergency rooms for over twenty-five years, marveling at the technical wonders we can provide for patients on the verge of death. I loved the drama of saving lives, of using the technology appropriately, of intubating, inserting chest tubes, resuscitating, and stabilizing.

Much of my life was described in my earlier book, Coyote Medicine. I have also studied Native American healing for more than twenty-five years, being a “half-breed, hybrid human”; my ancestors have given me Cherokee, Lakota, Scotch, and French DNA.

Walking in Two Different Worlds

I have walked with feet in two different worlds for my entire medical career. I did this because I grew up knowing that “Indian medicine” could help people when conventional medicine had nothing more to offer, and because I was struggling to find myself through finding my ancestors.

I so desperately wanted to recapture for my own patients the amazing healings I remembered seeing as a child. Despite this, I couldn’t abandon science and technological medicine, which I also loved with a passion. I simply wanted to know what worked and when to use it. I bristled at the terms conventional, alternative, or complementary. “Why do we divide it that way?” I wondered. “Why can’t we just think about what works, regardless of its origins?”

Complementary and alternative medicine is popular today. Names change; we used holistic medicine when I was in medical school in the early 1970s. In the 1980s I started a center for integrative medicine. This is now another common name for the elusive field of everything that is not pharmaceuticals or surgery.

During medical school many of my classmates were excited by the possibilities of holistic medicine. We were an unusual class. We embarrassed Stanford by entering family practice or psychiatry in unprecedented numbers, or by establishing clinics in rural Tibet or Mexico. Others members of my class trained barefoot doctors in Central America. Stanford changed its admissions policies and its entirely elective curriculum thanks to us, for we were too unruly. A decision was made to admit only science majors to the medical school. Other restrictions followed.

I probably would have been admitted anyway; I majored in biophysics in college. But I have pursued the healing traditions of my ancestors, believing that they were the original holistic doctors of North America. I believed that what evolved through Indian medicine has applications in and power for treating patients on this continent.

What did I learn from my studies of medical miracles with Native American healers?

1. The necessity of relationship.

The people who experienced medical miracles don’t heal in isolation. No one heals alone. Relationship is necessary, as are guides — whether we call them healers, medicine women, doctors, or therapists. The implication of the oft-quoted statement that Jesus is present whenever two or more people are gathered is that he is not as powerfully present with only one person in isolation. Relationship matters.

Healing requires the power of relationship and the commitment of both parties. A good teacher does not fail his student; he redoubles his efforts to make the student successful. Wherever we struggle for meaning and direction, relationship is important. In the crucible formed by relationship we find the spiritual scaffolding necessary to explore the origins of suffering (physical, mental, social, and spiritual). Hope gels when neither party will give up. I never give up for any client. We continue our quest for healing even if conditions worsen. Neither of us can give up.

2. The importance of acceptance and surrender.

A second lesson from exceptional patients is the importance of accepting that what we want may not be what we get. None of the exceptional patients I studied were obsessed with the goal of being cured. They kept perspective. Learning how to nurture the desire to be well and to accept the lack of guarantee is a meditation unto itself. One interpretation is that the plans of the Universe may differ from ours. What we want may not be possible. Nevertheless, we must continue wanting, for the strength of our desire fuels the birth of miracles. When desire becomes obsessive the goal moves further away. Obsession communicates that the goal is hard or impossible. Easy desire is a phrase for contemplation.

We must want something in order to take action. Yet if we want it so desperately that our goal becomes an obsession, the possibility of “failure” cannot be explored and embraced. Simultaneously wanting and not wanting is a true dialectic, a necessary paradox. How do we practice wanting to be well with passionate commitment and simultaneous nonattachment? What does it mean to be nonattached? What does it mean to want to be well, but not to want it too much? My collection of patients mastered this dialectic, either deliberately or accidentally.

Our spirituality provides us with tools to master this dialectic. Native American tradition teaches that you cannot succeed if you do not ask. Jesus echoed this when he said, “Ask and ye shall receive.” Through ceremony we empower the single voice by aligning it with the multitude. We create a spiritual laser. We add the power of spirit to the message sent. Tradition teaches that the spirits come when the songs are sung. Nevertheless, we cannot make the Divine want what we want. While we must ask, there are no guarantees that we will receive. We must ask for what we want, and at the same time let go of it. We must take the attitude described in the Lord’s Prayer in the line “Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”

I teach patients how to perform ceremonies in this spirit. We perform ceremonies with the entire family. Eventually we expand to larger groups of friends as we continue to explore how to align our will with that of the Divine.

3. Focus on the present.

The patients who find miracles are largely present-focused, not dwelling excessively in the past or the future. Stress and anxiety are lessened when we remain focused in the present. Worry is about the future; bitterness and resentment come from the past. Emotions in the present are limited to the basic collection of anger, sadness, love, and joy. These are the primary emotions that are easiest to express.

In staying focused on the present, patients who healed avoided the trap of being caught in despair and anguish over the past or obsessing about the future. Thich Nhat Hahn says, “We don’t think of the past or the future or anything. We just focus our attention on the [present], and on the community around us.”

All spiritual traditions offer techniques to narrow our focus to the present. Thich Nhat Hahn and Buddhism call this focus “mindfulness meditation.” Christianity calls it contemplative prayer. Buddhism emphasizes mindfulness throughout its meditative practices, as does Native American spirituality in the vision quest (hanblecheya).

Mindfulness meditation represents a way to teach all patients how to focus in the present. It bridges spiritual traditions. I use mindfulness exercises, including walking meditation. I typically focus on becoming aware of my breathing to start the meditation. Observing the breath puts our focus on the present moment in which we live. Paying attention to our current body sensations brings us back from thought about past suffering and pain. Observing what thoughts come and go through the mind helps us stop worrying about what calamity might happen tomorrow.

4. The importance of community.

Modern medicine lacks an understanding of the importance of community, though my patients who found miracles were all nurtured by community. People thrive in community, like the desert blossoming after the rain. I help patients find a community of people who also believe in the possibility of healing. The community members can learn from and support each other, despite having different illnesses or problems. Having a community nurtures hope in times of despair.

Being part of a community allows us to participate in a collective energy that can sustain us — much more than one can generate alone. A nurturing community waters the seeds of hope and compassion in every one of us.

Within a community we can be touched, physically or emotionally, by other human beings and by spiritual forces. When this happens, as quickly as a fever breaking we feel the baggage leaving our souls. Being accessible to the touch of others makes us available for healing. The gentle brush of a hand can wipe our psychic slates clean.

Community also teaches us awareness of the interconnectedness, the unity, of all of life. What affects us affects the plants. What hurts the animals hurts the humans and vice versa. When we grasp the unity of all things we realize our incredible connection with the world around us and discover that action at any level affects every other level. Scientists call this systems theory; Navajos call it common sense. It explains why family therapy can help heal cancer — removal of suffering on any level affects every other level. This is why chemotherapy alone may not be successful; killing on one level does not heal on other levels. Having grasped unity, the possibilities for our therapies enlarge tremendously.

When we learn about the interconnectedness of everything, we realize that the rugged individualism — so valued in Western society — is counterproductive to solving problems and reducing suffering. Ceremony with the whole family is important. The ceremonies I do with patients’ families comfort us all. Sometimes the most important ceremony is a good-bye ceremony, which is used when treatment clearly isn’t working. Everyone needs to say good-bye to the dying, to tell the person how much he or she means to them, well before the person dies.

When treatment is uncertain we need to involve the individual’s whole community. In these cases I do a talking circle with the community to help me discover how to treat. Usually people’s friends and family know what they need much better than a doctor, anyway.

5. Transcending Blame

People who heal have gotten over the idea of blaming themselves for their illness. They have gotten past finding fault in themselves or others, knowing that blame is counterproductive to creating hope and healing. Similarly, they have forgiven themselves and let go of bitterness and resentment.

Our ancestors also made mistakes. They have been clumsy. They have acted in ways that were the opposite of love and understanding. They have used religion to fight wars, to support violence, or to support racism. Fathers and mothers have made mistakes; grandparents and other ancestors have made mistakes. We have to know how to forgive, how to go back to our parents, so that we can go together on a journey of discovery to find the beauty of our roots. In forgiving our past we also forgive ourselves. We abandon the path of blame and self-blame.

Important to the work I do is exploring our ancestors and the legacies they have given us — good and bad. We learn ways of coping and living that are conducive to illness without our even realizing what has been passed on to us. By appreciating our place in a long line of ancestors we realize that blame must be spread so widely that it becomes a useless concept.

The Native American perspective is simple: When you are sick you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you have been heading in this direction for too long. Therefore you need to turn around; you need a new direction. You need to find a different location physical, emotional, relational. All aspects of your life are suspect as contributing to your illness. We examine them all, searching for what we can change. It is impossible to look at our lives unless self-blame and guilt have been overcome.

Understanding the conditions that allowed a problem to develop and thrive is important. Some of these conditions can be changed. The quest for intellectual understanding can divert us into the pursuit of self-blame. Blame is eliminated through an emotional understanding of how little actual control we have over our lives, through understanding that much of who we are and how we react is created by others. Our ancestors gave us genes for temperament and the expression of emotions.

Through the stories passed down in our families, our ancestors continue to teach us who we are and to give us values, meaning, and purpose. This represents a psychological genetics. These lessons are reinforced by culture, and through our participation as “cells” in the body called Earth.

Blame quickly becomes meaningless when we reflect on our interrelationships with all other beings (mitakuye oyasin in Lakota). Stories and guided imagery practices are important in facilitating this process, which goes against the modern cultural training of North America and Europe.

6. The importance of the spiritual dimension.

Native American philosophy teaches that all healing is first spiritual healing. Whatever else we do — including herbs, diet, radiation, surgery, bodywork, or medications — we need to humbly ask for help from the spiritual realm. People with a spiritual practice do better with any illness than those lacking religious beliefs; we must make ourselves available to the Divine for healing. Spirit is a necessary link in the chain that creates healing and miracles. Spirit cannot be ignored, whether it is to give our pain back to the earth or to accept healing from the earth, angels, or God.

If all healing is fundamentally spiritual, then we must make ourselves available to God or to the spiritual realm to be healed. In medieval times the touch of an angel restored health. It still does today. Ceremony and ritual provide the means for making ourselves available.

Each spiritual path offers a means for coming closer to God. Native Americans use the sweat lodge, the vision quest, and the sun dance. Christians fast and meditate. Islamics make the pilgrimage to Mecca. Sufis dance until they drop. However we choose to do it, we must access this spark that ignites the fire of healing.

7. Profound change.

Profound change means that you must become a different person in some fundamental, recognizable, important way. The extreme version of this is the Cherokee practice of giving the desperate patient a new name, which means a new identity, since name is identity. In this practice the person immediately has a new family, a new role in the community, and new friends, while his old identity is given a funeral.

Treatment fails without a profound change. Hope also thrives in such changes. We must become a different person to family, friends, coworkers, and the self. In some palpable way, we must be reborn before we can heal.

Source: Innerself

by Lousie Baker: I threw on my thin, strappy dress, grabbed the sage offering and a pile of firewood, and stepped out into the unknown…

As I entered the grounds, it was obvious that I had no idea what was going on. I placed the wood on a pile and went to stand by everyone else, unaware that they were starting the ceremony with private prayers. Someone quietly told me to go and wait elsewhere. My eyes were trying to absorb all of the information they could about the upcoming sacred ceremony.

WHAT IS A SWEAT LODGE?

I had never heard of a sweat lodge before a good friend invited me to one happening nearby. So if you’re like me, here’s some brief information about what sweat lodges are. If you already know about sweats and are just curious about my story, scroll down to the next section where it continues.

In Native American traditions, sweat lodges have been used for centuries as a way to purify the body and soul and to deepen spiritual connection. Prior to the sweat, some Indians choose to meditate or fast in order to receive greater guidance. A sweat lodge is a place of prayer, a place to give thanks and a place to seek wisdom.

The sweat lodge itself is simply a small, domed, heated structure. They are typically constructed using branches covered with blankets, or more traditionally animal skins. There are three ways to heat a sweat lodge; using heated stones, directly using fire chambers, or a more complex system similar to a sauna.

The sweat lodge structure is seen by some Native tribes as representing the womb of the earth, the darkness symbolises human ignorance, the heated stones are the coming of life, and the steam is the activation of the universe’s creative force.

Sweats usually happen before and after other major Native American festivals like Sun Dance, and they can be used alone when needed.

Sweat lodges were originally given to men because women already had their time to purify during their moon cycle. Now, women may also take part in the sweat lodge ceremonies, although many tribes don’t allow women to take part during their moon cycle.

–Information about sweat lodges is taken from here, and here —

MY SWEAT LODGE EXPERIENCE.

BEFORE THE SWEAT LODGE:

Jacob and I discussed whether we wanted to go to the sweat. He did but I was more sceptical. Being claustrophobic, the idea of sitting in a small, hot, pitch black hut seemed daunting. Before I knew it though, we were pulling up outside a small patch of land on which I could see the bare (tree) bones of the lodge structure.

More people began to arrive, and with each new person, my heart rate increased. Thoughts of being trapped in an overpacked hut filled my mind. I decided to explain to the sweat leader, Hua, that I was claustrophobic. She told me how to get her attention during the ceremony and how to leave. It was arranged for me to enter behind Hua so I would be by the door. We were promptly informed about the attire that should be worn and went to change into more “modest” clothing – something I realised I own very little of.

We were told to give anything we wanted to be blessed during the ceremony to the firekeepers (they tend the fire and place the stones inside the lodge) who would place it on the altar. I handed over my favourite necklace and Jacob his Native American flute.

More prayers were conducted outside of the lodge. We were waiting in anticipation as the elders entered. Just before it was my turn to crawl into the hut, a woman approached me with support and guidance. She said she would sit by me and hold my hand if needed. I felt great comfort in this and began my entry into the “womb.”

INSIDE THE SWEAT LODGE:

On entering the lodge, I was told to bow and say “to all my relations.” It is traditional to crawl clockwise to your spot. Placing my blankets down I tried to get comfortable. I was apprehensive but the lady next to me told me there were breaks between each of the 4 rounds.

The fire keepers passed the stones in. They were placed using antlers into the centre and offered sweet grass and cedar. Hua, using a hollowed out horn, tipped water onto the stones to get rid of any ash. Then the door was closed and the round began.

ROUND ONE:

Darkness consumed all of my senses. My hands became invisible as did the rest of my surroundings. Hua poured more water onto the stones and a wave of heat hit me. My heart pounded in my head. I was internally screaming to get the hell out of there. Every cell in my body told me to escape. Breathing heavily I grabbed for the lady’s hand next to me. I calmed my breath and tried to take each second as it came.

Out of the darkness came singing. We then took turns saying our prayers. After the heat from the first cup of water had passed, I thought the worst was over. To my surprise, more water was poured onto the stones after each person had finished talking. This continual heat ignited fresh fear and I had to remember Hua’s words about embracing it. I focused on what everyone was saying to help distract me from my overwhelming fear. It felt connecting and loving to be hearing people in such a vulnerable way, and the darkness made it feel anonymous.

My eyes eventually became accustomed to the darkness. Noticing slight gaps of light I placed my hand on the cooler ground near them to keep me grounded. Soon it was my turn to speak. With nothing really planned I was surprised at how naturally the words came out.

A few more people spoke before the door was opened. Light and air filled the lodge. I had done it. The first round was complete and it wasn’t that bad. Hua asked if I was ok to continue and to my amazement I was.

The light allowed me to re-ground myself. More stones were added to the centre, along with more sweetgrass and cedar offerings. Then darkness.

ROUND TWO:

A second prayer round began, so I knew roughly what to expect. Halfway through, the lodge was very hot so Hua asked for the door to be opened slightly. This made it enjoyable and I could have sat there all day. It was light enough to see everyone clearly and the heat was like a pleasant, hot summers day.  Once the round ended more rocks were added along with more cedar and sweetgrass offerings. Then back to the darkness.

ROUND THREE:

After being in the light for so long, this new darkness was intimidating. Using the same techniques as before I managed to more easily calm my mind. This was a song round and typically didn’t last long. The purpose of this round was joy and remembering that life is meant to be enjoyed. Four people sang different Native songs which brought a sense of light-heartedness after the intensity of the previous rounds. After the final song, the door was opened. As before, more rocks were added. However, this time, Hua called in the firekeepers and gave offerings to the stones for them, this included numerous herbs and sacred plants which smelt divine. The firekeepers left and shut us back into the darkness for the last time.

ROUND FOUR:

Hua said the round was going to be hot and fast as she tipped the whole bucket of water over the stones. We all prayed out loud together. She was right, the round was hot and fast as before I knew it the door was being opened and the ceremony closed.

Hua left first, followed by the other elders and then myself.

AFTER THE LODGE:

I couldn’t believe I had done it as I was sure I would leave after the first round. I definitely felt a sense of cleansing and openness. We all enjoyed food and chatted for a while before going our separate ways. Everyone seemed calmer as we communicated and laughed. There was a sense of community.

During the drive home (well to the place we were parking for the rest of the day), I was incredibly tired and experienced an unquenchable thirst. After drinking several bottles of water the thirst didn’t go. I did feel clearer, more content, confident and cleaner though (especially after a shower!). I thought I was never going to feel hydrated again as I lay down to sleep after what seemed like a dream.

IS A SWEAT LODGE FOR YOU?

I don’t think it is a simple yes or no question. If you want to experience another culture, deepen your spiritual connection or cleanse your body of toxins then I would recommend a sweat lodge.

If you decide that you do want to take part in a sweat you need to prepare. Find a sweat that you want to attend. Sweats should never charge you for taking part, but they may ask for donations towards the wood and for offerings like sage. Read about the practices of the lodge you are attending because they can vary. Ring ahead to ask any questions.

It might not be advisable to take part in a sweat if you feel like being in extreme heat would not be beneficial for your health. Be aware that you will be in the lodge for anywhere between 2-5 hours. If you don’t feel like your body can handle that then either speak to your medical professional or consult the elders running the lodge.

If run properly lodges are safe places. Make the elders aware of any medical or mental concerns so they can adapt the lodge for you. You can always get the attention of the elder and leave the lodge if you start to feel unwell. During my sweat, in the break between two of the rounds, they gave us water and salt to keep us hydrated and to replenish some of the minerals that we lost.

If you decide to take part in a sweat lodge, enjoy it, be respectful and expect to feel a deep sense of love and connection to yourself and the earth.

Source: Route Of The Soul

Seven Principles of Distraction…

The Quest for Power

Native Americans – Coyote One

Native Americans – Coyote Two

Native Americans – Coyote Three

Native Americans – Coyote Four

Native Americans – Coyote Five

Native Americans – Coyote Six

Native Americans – Coyote Seven

by Caitlin Yoshiko Kandil: Germaine Omish-Lucero’s ancestors were taken from their homes and forced to build California’s Mission San Luis Rey de Francia—a mission in what is now Oceanside, California—about 200 years ago…

There, they were exposed to diseases such as measles, to which they had no immunity.

Thousands died—and there is no escaping this tragic piece of California history.

Yet Omish-Lucero, her children, and the children in her tribe stand. Despite inequities that continue to this day, the Rincon Band of Luiseno Indians, to which she belongs, has endured.

As a new tragedy—the coronavirus pandemic—grips the globe, what can we learn from indigenous leaders like Omish-Lucero about resilience?

“Every day it’s a battle,” says Omish-Lucero, who serves on the advisory boards of the Strong Hearted Native Women’s Coalition and the California Health Report. “It’s not something that is history. It’s not something that is in the past. It’s current events. This happens every single day.”

Omish-Lucero explains that for tribal people the fight is continuous. “We’ve been fighting it since contact (with colonialists), and we’ll continue with it, and our babies and grandbabies and great-grandbabies will continue the fight.

“And that is part of the resiliency.”

Practice Collectivism

Arcenio Lopez, executive director of the Mixteco/Indigena Community Organizing Project in Ventura County, says the indigenous ethic of collective living can be instructive during the pandemic. This means rejecting selfishness, individualism, and caring only for oneself.

“People in this culture say, ‘my family,’ and they’re only thinking about their parents and their children,” says Lopez. “But for us, ‘our family’ is anyone who is part of our communities.”

Sarai Ramos, a community worker for the Binational Center for the Development of the Oaxacan Indigenous Communities, a social services organization in the Central Valley, agrees.

“When we talk about indigenous models, it’s a symbiotic relationship where people learn from each other and share resources, versus the profit motive,” Ramos says.

This means sharing food and other necessities — instead of hoarding — and checking in on others to make sure they have what they need.

“We are known for being a resilient people,” Ramos says. “We’ve found ways that we’re all moving forward with each other as a community.”

Stay Connected

Staying connected to family and community has long been a source of indigenous resilience, explains Daniel Dickerson, an associate research psychiatrist with UCLA’s Integrated Substance Abuse Programs who is Inupiaq, which means a member of northern Alaska’s native people. Repeated forced relocations have taught native peoples the dangers of disconnection, he says.

Now, when many people are physically separated from their families, friends and communities, Dickerson says it’s important to find new ways to stay in touch by phone or social media.

“This communal approach is what sustains people,” he continues. “And the opposite — being isolated or feeling left out, not being connected with your community or ethnic or racial support groups — leads more towards feeling disconnected, isolated and being more prone toward depression and substance abuse.”

Protect the Vulnerable

A key practice for many indigenous communities, according to Lopez, is to care for its most vulnerable members, particularly the elderly.

“The elders are very important for our families,” he says. “They’re the people we learn from and where we get our wisdom.”

Since older people are especially susceptible to the coronavirus, the pandemic offers the chance to live out these values, whether it’s calling parents, grandparents, and neighbors on the phone; getting groceries for them; or making sure they have all the supplies they need, Lopez says.

“Right now it’s an opportunity to bring this way of living (with respect for our elders). And get connected and make a stronger bond among ourselves.”

Find Goodness, No Matter How Small — And Share It

In difficult times, Ramos says she sees many indigenous people focus on the things they can control—and the things that bring them joy, however small they may be.

Some of those things include activities such as gardening, writing, or performing music. Or simply spending time with family—even if virtually. During the pandemic, some in her community have even written songs about coronavirus and shared them with others as a way of providing information on how to stay safe while offering a message of hope.

“I think they find any little ray of goodness, and the first thing they want to do is make sure they share it with others who are struggling,” Ramos says. “It’s getting us through it.”

Tap In To Tradition

Many indigenous people look to traditional practices in difficult times, Dickerson says, whether it’s prayer and spirituality, or drumming and singing.

“This experience helps build your own cultural identity, builds your self-esteem, and strengthens your connections with other Native people,” he says.

“And all of this contributes to resilience.”

Others can look to their own ethnic, religious, or cultural traditions for similar benefits, Dickerson adds.

Take the Long View

For many indigenous people, resilience means persistence and doing whatever is needed to survive, explains Omish-Lucero, who assists tribes in creating resolutions to identify, mediate, and reduce crimes covered under the Violence Against Women Act.

Some struggles are long-lasting and may take generations to win.

But Omish-Lucero is intent on passing down her ancestors’—and her own—resiliency. She believes that if her children know the story of their past, it can serve as a roadmap to their future.

“Our original name for the Luiseno people,” she tells them, “is Payomkawichum, meaning ‘People of the West.”

Source: Blue Zones

by Nicole Horseherder: I’m Diné and live on Black Mesa in the Navajo Nation. Traditionally, our people were sheepherders and moved with the sheep to a new location when the seasons changed…

When I was growing up in the 1980s, almost all the families had settled down to live in one place year-round. My grandmother was an exception. She was in her eighties but still really fit and taking care of the herd the way she was taught—bringing in the ram from the pasture in the late fall and taking him out in the early winter. The sheep spent the winter along the canyon cliffs so they would be sheltered from the wind and cold. In the summertime, my grandma would take them to high pastures.

My mom was an academic counselor in Tuba City, and I lived with her in town while I was in high school. But on weekends, I would drive an hour back to Black Mesa to be with my grandmother and the sheep. We lived in the traditional stacked-log homes that my grandfather had built at each location. There was no plumbing or electricity. My grandma would take the sheep to the windmill, which tapped shallow aquifers. We also got water from community wells or a spring.

But in 1998, when I returned as an adult to build my own home at Black Mesa, some of these places didn’t have water anymore. In the late 1960s, the Peabody Coal Company started mining coal here. It operated two mines, Kayenta and Black Mesa. Kayenta supplied the nearby Navajo Generating Station, and Black Mesa supplied the Mohave Generating Station. The mining took billions of gallons of groundwater, using it to deliver coal to the power plant in the form of slurry. The water table dropped, and contaminants in the water increased.

Usually when a coal mine comes in, the people living nearby move out and are compensated. But here on the Navajo reservation, people continued to live in the coal-mining areas. Traditionally, our people live in matrilineal clan communities. In any one area, you have extended families all together, so you’d have to move a whole clan. But it’s not like outside the reservation, where people can pick up and go somewhere else—they are bound to the place where they live, and every corner of the nation is being used, and no one wants to move off grazing land. So a couple of thousand people live near the coal-mining operations and have been breathing coal dust 24 hours a day, seven days a week. They have to deal with the air pollution and exposure to toxics like mercury, selenium, arsenic, and lead.

Discovering that changed my life path. I had planned to teach at a local community college. Instead, I used my training to stop the mining by writing and community organizing under the elders’ direction. In 2001, we formed an environmental group called Tó Nizhóní Ání (Beautiful Water Speaks). I serve as its executive director. We were able to shut down the Black Mesa mine and its slurry pipeline in 2005. The Kayenta mine still uses groundwater for its operations, but now it and the Navajo Generating Station are going to shut down, so we are focusing on what comes next.

I’ve submitted legislation to the tribal council that would rescind our energy policy and start exploring a transition to 100 percent renewable energy. In the future, I hope to see the Navajo Nation get off the electricity grid and use solar for individual or residential use as well as at a commercial scale. That’s the way we need to start doing things, since it will take away our dependence on utilities.

What needs to be front and center for the energy policy is Diné fundamental law. This says that law is given by creation and emphasizes how to live on the lands we were given, how to be stewards of the land, and how to live in balance with the environment. This law was established long before we got colonial law, long before settlers came to this land and established laws for us. We have to use it to guide us into the future—we should have been using it all along. It will provide clear guidelines on how companies should do business with us and sustainability practices they must follow.

It’s now time for us to bring about economic prosperity on our own terms.

Source: Sierra Club

by Dr. Alberto Villoldo: The prophecies of the ancient Americas speak about a period of great transformation, and foretell of new humans appearing on the planet…

persons of wisdom and power who live free of fear and abide in their eternal nature, accepting stewardship for all creation.

Based on initiatory practices of the shamans of the Andes and the Amazon, the Munay-Ki are ten rites of initiation to become a person of wisdom and power. They are energetic transmissions that heal the wounds of the past – the genetic and karmic inheritance we are born with. They transform and upgrade the luminous energy field and re-inform our DNA, enabling us to grow a new body that ages, heals, and dies differently.

The rites of the Munay-Ki are: The Healer’s Rite, The Bands of Power, The Harmony Rite, The Seer’s Rite, The Daykeeper’s Rite, The Wisdomkeeper’s Rite, The Earthkeeper’s Rite, The Starkeeper’s Rite, The Creator Rite and the Womb Rite.

These rites were first given to ancient teachers by angelic beings, and now are passed on from teacher to student in the form of seeds. Once these seeds are gifted to you by another, it is up to you to grow them into fruit-bearing trees. The traditional fire ceremony—sometimes in the form of plain white candles—is used to grow your rites once received. As you receive and gift these rites, you will sense the presence of the lineage with you—the luminous ones who work from the spirit world.

These rites are not only stages of initiation, but possible steps for the evolution of humanity. As nations fight for bits of territory and battle over land, we must find the wisdom to create peace among all peoples. As our space telescopes show us images of a vast and immeasurable Universe, we must find a human story that is inclusive of the stars. And as our ability to destroy the world increases, we are called to step up to the task of assuming stewardship for all creation.

In essence, the rites are about stewardship. They are not ego-awards or recognition of any kind of achievement, nor do they make anyone special. On the contrary, they make one uniquely unimportant. Only then, from a position of no-ego, can we truly be of service.

In the Quechua language, “Munay” means universal love. “Ki” is from the Japanese word for energy. Together, these words mean energy of love. After you go through the nine rites of the Munay-Ki, you can begin to dream the world into being – the world that we want our children’s children to inherit.

Source: The Four Winds

by (Native American Roots): Many religious traditions, but not all, put forth an explanation about what happens after death…

There are many religious traditions which claim there is an afterlife of some type, that death is not the end but is a transition. In some cultures the afterlife is seen as being similar to life, while in others there are several afterlife possibilities based on a person’s actions in this life.

It should be pointed out that in the several hundred distinct American Indian languages, there was no single world which could be translated as “religion.” This does not mean, as many Christian missionaries have assumed, that Indians did not have religion. Rather, it shows that religion was not a separate category of life but was closely integrated with the culture.

At the beginning of the European invasion, there was not a single Native American religion, but rather there were 500 religions. What this means is that it is difficult, if not impossible, to make broad generalizations about traditional American Indian beliefs about death.

One of the other problems or concerns in writing about Indian religions in general, and about traditional Indian concepts of death in particular, is that many of those who recorded these concepts did so through a Christian frame of reference. Many of the books written about Indian religions by non-Indians are really not about traditional religions, but are filtered through Christianity and Christian concepts. Concerning beliefs regarding an afterlife among Plains Indians, Sioux physician Charles Eastman writes:  “The idea of a ‘happy hunting-ground’ is modern and probably borrowed, or invented by the white man.”

For many American Indian cultures, the focus of religion, particularly the ceremonies, was on maintaining harmony with the world. The focus was on living in harmony today, not on death. For many Indians there was an awareness of death and a vague concept of something happening after death, but this was not dogmatic. They felt that they would find out when they die and in the meantime this is something they have no way of knowing anything about and therefore they should not waste time thinking about it.

While the Christian missionaries were fully convinced that all religions must have some concept of heaven and hell, some form of judgment after death, these were alien concepts to most American Indian cultures. The missionaries took this as additional evidence that Indians did not have religion. In their classic 1911 ethnography, The Omaha Tribe, Alice Fletcher and Francis LaFlesche report:  “There does not seem to have been any conception among the Omaha of supernatural rewards or punishments after death.”

Among many of the Indian nations in Massachusetts there was the idea that after death, the soul would go on a journey to the southwest. Eventually, the soul would arrive at a village where it would be welcomed by the ancestors. In a similar fashion, the Narragansett in Rhode Island viewed death as a transition between two worlds: at the time of death, the soul would leave the body and join the souls of relatives and friends in the world of the dead which lay somewhere to the southwest.

Among some of the tribes, such as the Beothuk and the Narragansett, it was felt that communication between the living and the dead was possible. Among the Narragansett, the souls of the dead were able to pass back and forth between the world of the dead and that of the living. The dead could carry messages and warnings to the living. Among the Caddo on the Southern Plains, the living could send messages to their deceased relatives by passing their hands over the body of someone recently deceased, from feet to head, and then over their own body. In this way messages could be sent via the deceased to other dead relatives.

One common theme found in many of the Indian cultures in North America is the idea of reincarnation. The idea that life and death are part of an ongoing cycle is found among many tribes. Sioux writer Charles Eastman reports:  “Many of the Indians believed that one may be born more than once, and there were some who claimed to have full knowledge of a former incarnation.”

In the Northwest Coast area, Gitxsan writer Shirley Muldon reports:  “We believe in reincarnation of people and animals. We believe that the dead can visit this world and that the living can enter the past. We believe that memory survives from generation to generation. Our elders remember the past because they have lived it.”

Among the Lenni Lenape, female elders would carefully examine babies, looking for signs of who the child had been in an earlier life. These signs included keeping the body relaxed and the hands unclenched and reacting favorably to places and things associated with the dead relative. Writing in 1817 about one Lenni Lenape man, Christian missionary John Heckewelder reported:  “He asserted very strange things, of his own supernatural knowledge, which he had obtained not only at the time of his initiation, but at other times, even before he was born. He said he knew that he had lived through two generations; that he had died twice and was born a third time, to live out the then present race, after which he was to die and never more to come to this country again.”

Reincarnation was often viewed as something that happened not just to humans, but to animals as well. Thus, a hunter would thank the animal that had just been harvested so that the soul of the animal would be reborn as an animal with good feelings toward the hunter and would therefore allow its physical form to be harvested again.

In many Indian cultures throughout North America, the names of the deceased were not, and in many cases are not, spoken. The deceased may be spoken about, but in an indirect way that does not use their name. Among the Navajo, the name of the deceased was traditionally not mentioned for one year following death. After this year, the name of the deceased was rarely mentioned.

The possibility of naming a place after a dead person was unthinkable and would have negative consequences for the soul of the deceased.

Source: Native American Roots

by Heinde Brandes: The Spiros were once “the single most powerful group ever to exist” in North America. This groundbreaking new exhibit in Oklahoma shares their story…

Shell cups carved with mythical beings. Large effigy pipes. Beaded baskets. These are among the archaeologically significant objects excavated from the Spiro Mounds. Often overlooked, this Native American site in the midwestern U.S. is among the greatest sources of Mississippian Native American artifacts ever discovered.

Located on the Oklahoma and Arkansas border, the Spiro Mounds were part of a city complex populated from 800 to 1450 A.D. At its peak, it supported a population of some 10,000 people. The Mississippian political, trade, and religious confederation incorporated more than 60 different tribes and stretched from the Gulf Coast of Florida to the Great Lakes and from the Rockies to the Virginia coast.

The Spiro population, along with other Mississippian groups across eastern North America, was once equal to the Aztecs and Incas, yet despite its size and sophisticated trade society, its legacy is not well understood.

A groundbreaking exhibition aims to change this. Unveiled in February and running through May 9, “Spiro and the Art of the Mississippian World,” at Oklahoma City’s National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum, is the largest presentation on the Spiro Mounds ever undertaken by any museum.

The exhibition helps document “the single most powerful group ever to exist” in the U.S., according to Dennis Peterson, executive director of the Spiro Mounds Archeological Center.

“The people who lived [in Spiro] came to control what we call the Mississippian culture. So pretty much all the United States except for the far northeast and the far northwest, Spiro either had trade with, communication with or direct control over for over 350 years with almost no use of violent warfare,” he says.

The Spiro archeological discoveries give important insight into the culture of the ancient Mississippian people.

A treasure trove of culture

“What truly makes Spiro so unique is that not only is it the most object-laden mound ever discovered in North America, but it also included objects from around the known world [in North America],” says Eric Singleton, a National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum curator who spearheaded the new exhibit.

“There is copper from Lake Superior, engraved shell cups from the Florida Keys, beads from the Sea of Cortez, items from the Valley of Mexico, and those are just a few of the items,” continues Singleton. “They invited people from around the known world to bring their holy objects to Spiro to be ritualistically acted upon.”

As the lead curator, Singleton chose artifacts representing the different nations and ritual importance. Embossed copper plates, wooden sculptures, thousands of pearls and beads, large effigy pipes, and elaborately engraved shell jewelry and cups are among the thousands of items recovered from Spiro.

In addition to the original historical artifacts, the exhibition also features artwork from contemporary Native American artists whose heritage stems from the Spiro people. “The most important aspect of this is working with contemporary artists and really showing cultural continuation and the resiliency of community,” says Singleton.

Chase Kahwinhut Earles, a contemporary and traditional pottery maker and member of the Caddo people, is one 12 artists from 16 different tribes featured in the exhibit.

“With some of my pieces, I try to educate people about the culture of the mound builders. The Spiro people are brothers and sisters to the Caddo. You can see a lot of the Caddo influence and designs within Spiro,” Earles says. “For example, [one of my works] is actually a Spiro engraved piece, but it looks new with the design elements that I put on it.”

The mysteries of mounds

The Spiro created highly developed agricultural communities in the Midwest and Southeast that included large earthen platforms and burial mounds. Traditionally, leaders would build their homes on top of the previous chief’s, meaning the higher the mound, the more prestigious the current leader was.

The Craig Mound—the second-largest one and the only burial mound at Spiro—housed the remains of important leaders along with clothing, fur, baskets, and other items to help ease their transition to the afterworld, says Peterson.

The site of the Spiro Mounds was abandoned by its population in the 1500s. Historians point to an extended drought and political infighting as contributing factors. The site remained mostly untouched until the 1930s, when treasure hunters got wind of antiquities buried in the earth. What followed was one of the largest and longest episodes of looting in North America.