SUN DANCE (1990)

When my husband, Bob, and I visited Rosebud Reservation in South Dakota, home to the Sicangu Lakota Oyate,* we were invited to a Sun Dance with Edna Little Elk, known to all as Unci (grandmother), Alice Four Bears and Tate (Unci's young granddaughter). The Sun Dance was to be held in Kyle, on the Pine Ridge Reservation, home to the Oglala Lakota Oyate.* We drove for two hours on some crude, winding hills and dirt roads. It was cold and windy, with low heavy clouds in the sky. 

    Unci and Alice Four Bears were to be the honored guests at the Sun Dance. as Lakota elders. The Sun Dance would held be in honor of tribal members, Joe Eagle Elk and Stanley Red Bird.* We were shown to a tipi with a central fire, a preparation place for the women dancers. Facing west, both Unci and Alice offered flesh to consecrate the Sacred Tree at the center of the Sun Dance with their tribal blood. They sat holding the Sacred Pipe, while medicine man Sam Wounded Head performed the ceremony. The women held out their arms as he took a small bit of flesh from each and wrapped it in a cloth to place at the center of the Sun Dance circle. We were all offered the pipe.

     Bob and I were asked to gather sage out on prairie, which we did and then returned to the tipi to wait for the dancers. When they arrived, they went into the sweat lodge first for purification. All of dancers entered at the east of the Sun Dance circle. Some had pipes, and sage wreaths, bracelets and anklets. Women wore shawls around their shoulders. They then all turned together to face in each direction. The drums and singing began. It felt like the drums were the heartbeat of the community, as all danced around the Sacred Tree, holding up their hands to the tree at the mention of "Wakan Tanka," the Creator of all that is.

     At the end of this day's Sun Dance, Unci received the pipe, lit it and passed it around to all who watched and prayed for the dancers. It was all very moving--the reverence and meaning of this event. I will never forget the honor and gift of that day especially, and all the other people we had met on the trip to Rosebud and Pine Ridge Reservations.





The Badlands  - Pine Ridge

     I could not stop thinking then, and from time to time even now, how Native Americans all over the country had once lived in harmony with Creation, as we had witnessed at that Sun Dance, and then were invaded by the Europeans, who violated and fragmented their cultures, including their means of survival: the buffalo; kidnapped children to send them to far away schools to "civilize" them. And they censored everything held sacred, including the Lakota language. Many treaties were made to ameliorate the damage. Most were broken to accomplish the goal of "Manifest Destiny" claiming all the land from the East to the West Coasts.

    During our visits to South Dakota, we met many people, both White and Native, involved in initiatives to preserve the language and aspects of Lakota culture, as is the case across the country. Ron Goodman* a poet and teacher from Virginia, worked with others in this effort. Sadly, we also saw many Lakota with tormented faces in the towns rife with illness, addiction, crime and poverty. It was heartbreaking!

     Fortunately, history has left us many photos and the words of Native Americans from the period during and after contact with the Europeans. The photos of faces--beautiful, noble and strong as their culture once was--aware of their ancestors and the spiritual nature of life with connection to all of creation, represented in daily rituals and in ceremonies such as the Sun Dance.

     The Lakota have a saying: Mitakuye Oyasin (All My Relations)
"relations" meaning everything and everyone in creation.

     Chief Seattle, of the Squamish tribe, gave a speech before the Medicine Creek Treaty in 1854. By then, Native American lives and ways had already changed and they knew what was still to come. (See his entire speech at:
https://suquamish.nsn.us/home/about-us/chief-seattle-speech/

      Here is an excerpt :
     "There was a time when our people covered the land as the waves of a wind-ruffled sea cover its shell-paved floor, but that time long since passed away with the greatness of tribes that are now but a mournful memory.... And when the last Red Man shall have perished, and the memory of my tribe shall have become a myth among the White Men, these shores will swarm with the invisible dead of my tribe, and when your children’s children think themselves alone in the field, the store, the shop, upon the highway, or in the silence of the pathless woods, they will not be alone. In all the earth there is no place dedicated to solitude. At night when the streets of your cities and villages are silent and you think them deserted, they will throng with the returning hosts that once filled them and still love this beautiful land. The White Man will never be alone...."

     Let him be just and deal kindly with my people, for the dead are not powerless. Dead, did I say? There is no death, only a change of worlds...."





Chief Seattle of the Squamish people



* NOTES:

1. The Lakota have 7 bands or sub-tribes: the Sicungu of Rosebud and the Oglala of Pine Ridge (where Wounded Knee took place) are two of them. "Oyate" means "people."

2. Stanley Red Bird was the source for Ron Goodman's book Star Knowledge (availalbe on Amazon), which documents how the heavens were a source of seasonal, practical and cultural ways of life for the Lakota. See Sandra's blog on Ron Goodman at: https://cosmicseanotes.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-friend-poet-ron-goodman.html

3. It is worthwhile to note the documented current attempts to erase this history and other events that have taken place as if they never happened, includng individual contributions of Native Americans, Blacks, women and others. These historic happenings may be interpreted as blame and accusation, which make some people 'uncomfortable." However, isn't truth more important than pretending these things never happened? Some Americans see such events (and there are many across the world, then and now) as our reminders of what can happen when there is intent to wield power over others by any means. We, who live in this age, are not responsible for such things, but, as part of humanity, we must accept that atrocities have occurred and can happen again if we are not aware, vigilant and active in attempting to ensure they never do.

On The Death My Uncle

A figure squat and dark

You melted hearts with  your smile

Childlike and sad

You said goodbye to your parents.

Now, your children 

In the "solemnest of industries”

Grieve and disbelieve

Struggling to accept your mysterious disappearance.

Within them, they will carry you

While she broods

Trying to reconcile

Years of frying peppers and watching pigeons

With the promise of loneliness

The birds oblivious

Roost, take flight, encircle their sanctuary

With no tears to disturb their iridescent coats

They return to peck in blessed ignorance 

About the yard

Where once in crimson and lime

The roses of our youth grew the summer long

Worm and thorn hide from our eye

And frost on the way

                                        1980

ROME

In Rome

I saw no Coliseum or cats

No hand of God drawn by the Maestro

In the Sistine Chapel

I saw only the cracked ceiling of the stanza

Whereupon I traced out my destiny

With fear and regret

The space was all filled by morning

And you—restless

Over your vino or cappuccino

Wondering where to draw a line

to or from me

You’ve drawn a circle instead

me on the outside

Lifetimes ago

I drew myself there too

On the ceiling before I left Rome

Without seeing the Coliseum or the Sistine Chapel

What is at the top of the Spanish Steps? 

                                                            (Rome 1972)

                                    

                  And again

               into a dark passage

               all night silver bright

               the moon shone

               moving across the sky 

               toward morning

               may this dark passage

               take me 

               like a lunar pilgrimage

               into light

Beyond

words and images

Beyond

Experience and memory

Beyond

stories we tell ourselves

Beyond

here and now 

Beyond

time and space

THERE is

there I was

there I am

there I will be

WE

We

who create 

 observe, are shown 

hear the call 

may answer in our narrow lives

with boundless imagination

fertile ground of co-creation

We 

sorrowful live 

endure the intractable

the unwrought, the unspoken

all that is asked of us

We

Strive to perfect

what we've brought

what we've received

what we will leave

 

to light the way 

through the labyrinth

of this thin veil

WHAT MATTERS?

I have always been interested in world religions, what they teach and what I may find to be essential, common tenets across the spectrum. Of course, everyone must find his/her own way in faith and matters of spirituality (or not). I am not a Buddhist, or a scholar in world religions and am not evangelizing for Buddhism here. However, I wanted to share what I have found of value in its Noble Eightfold Path, which can foster a more conscious way of living, and may even support other religious faiths, if one so chooses.

    The Eightfold Path was thought to be revealed in the first sermon of the founder of Buddhism, Siddhartha Gautama (563 to 483 B.C), known as the Buddha, who achieved “enlightenment” after meditating for 49 days under a Bodhi tree. Buddha did not claim to be a god, and is not considered a god to his followers. He was a teacher who shared his experience and insights and a way to achieve enlightenment.

    For me, the eight tenets of this path embody ideals to aspire to in order to be more mindful of how we live and how we relate to other human beings. The following is a paraphrased/simplified description of each. *

1. Right Understanding: The realization of the true nature of reality, embodied in the Four Noble Truths: The truth of suffering, the truth of the cause of suffering, the truth of the end of suffering, and the truth of the path that leads to the end of suffering.
2. Right Resolve: Cultivates wholesome and ethical intentions, including renouncing harmful or violent actions, developing goodwill and compassion toward all beings, and non-attachment.
3. Right Speech: Being aware of what, how and why you are apeaking, and to whom. Abstaining from lying, divisive speech, abusive speech, and idle chatter, causing discord or harm through your speech.
4. Right Action (Conduct): Causing no injury, bodily or otherwise harm to others, not taking what is not given, no excessive material desires. It aims to promote peaceful, honorable, and moral conduct.
5. Right Livelihood: Earning a living that is ethical and doesn't harm others or oneself, engaging in compassionate activities to make a living in a way that creates happiness, wisdom, and well-being, while relieving suffering.
6. Right Effort: Guarding the “sense-doors,” restraint of the sense faculties to rid oneself of unwholesome thoughts, words and actions, and, ultimately, to perfect a good and wholesome state of being.
7. Right Mindfulness: Guarding/watching over the mind for thoughts that take over or dominate. The weaker they become, the stronger wholesome states of mind become. Avoid distractions or being absent minded, rather being conscious of what one is thinking, saying and doing.
8. Right Concentration: The centering of consciousness, evenly and rightly on a single object (meditative state).
         * (https://en.winkipedia.org/wiki/Noble_Eightfold_Path#)

    These are questions I had when I first looked into the Eightfold Path:
1. What would it mean to be aware of and follow each one of these tenets, for me and for others? 2. What would it mean for me and for others if we do not follow them? These, and other questions may be pondered from time to time to “check in” if one is being true to these ideals. So that all this isn’t too abstract, I share an example of checking in for Right Speech, which to me implies written communication as well.

• What is the purpose of my speaking?
• Is it necessary or helpful that I say/write it?
• Will its purpose be understood?
• Am I too impulsive in what, how and why I am communicating?
• How can I speak in the most essential, concise and clear way and not just for small talk, gossip, digressing, or rambling?
• Do I need to say everything I am thinking? (usually not)
• Is there an element in my communication of “one-upmanship,”or a subtle unhelpful, sarcastic tone?
• Am I speaking just to prove I am right about something, rather than speaking objectively with facts and logic, and/or noting that it is subjective (my experience and opinion only).

        These questions may seem excessive or obsessive; however, for one following Buddhism, they are no different from other ways people attempt to adhere to their faiths. I have been drawn to the Eightfold Path, see its value, but, no doubt, fall short and “forget to remember” to regularly check in, but there is always “try and try again!”

        Buddhists may have much to say about my calling the Eightfold Path “ideals” or cherry-picking this aspect of Buddhism, as there is a much greater understanding to be grasped and followed if one were to consider oneself a Buddhist, though the Eightfold Path is central to any of its branches, and is common sense for every day life, or a lifetime, no matter if one has a spiritual path or not. 

To me, it is what matters.

Handpainted Tongka by Tibetan refugee

SWING OF THE SEA: a work in progress

                                            I

                                SWING OF THE SEA

I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,/Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;/Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,/Were we only white birds, my   beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea! ("White Birds" -W.B. Yeats)

A heart broken may open with empathy for others and for oneself. Or, under the weight of pain, a heart may close until it does not feel pain—or pleasure. Hope recedes in the humbled heart, abiding—in the dark, eclipsing the heart’s deepest longing. And yet, a gift of grace (who knows how or from where?) in quiet advent comes to illuminate what is, rather than what is wished for.

                                             ****

       Celia lies restless in the dead of night, her husband warm next to her, but she is cold to the bone, and the house quiet as a grave. She tells herself, “Count your blessings. Things could be worse, so count them and be grateful. Oh, if only they could. She cannot remember how it feels to feel good with a hopeful heart. In her despair, she wishes to disappear, or alternatively to flee to a place where “few lilies blow…out of the swing of the sea.” She once thought a place like that existed—somewhere. Celia conjures up, as she has countless times—that lucid dream on a rainy day long ago in Boston. 

        

        She ducks into a cafe and takes a window table with a single white lily in a red glass vase. In a moment, she feels an intense warmth overtaking her senses, like a rising tide. She inhales the flower’s perfume, the aroma of espresso, delights in the fanciful arrangement of delicate fruit and cream pastries, hears the sound of falling rain. Across the way she notices a brownstone—a lamp lit at the window. In the rapture of it all, she imagines she will leave the cafe, cross the street to her true home and while away the afternoon gazing through her very own window on the world, raindrops gathering on the glass pane—alone and at peace.

        Just then, a petite woman who looks both young and old is before her blocking the view. “Bon jour, Madam,” Celia hears as a song and marks her enigmatic smile as she places a cafe au lait Celia had intended to order on the table. “Anything else you desire, Madam?”

“No...no, nothing, nothing at all," as the mood evaporates like a fading dream. She picks up the pink paper bill left on the table and thinks, a small amount come due for a castle in the air. So strange is the experience that, after reluctantly leaving the cafe, she wondered if the light across the way went out, and the once-warm cafe is now only a cold, empty store front. 

Remembering the experience brings back the feeling of concentric circles of longing emerging from her center, drawing her toward the peace felt on a drizzly day of daydreams—a misty memory to lie awake with—again on this night.

Is it truly my heart’s desire to dwell in a timeless room, in a Brighton brownstone, in the city of Boston, in the state of Massachusetts, on the North American continent, on planet Earth, in the Milky Way—one of billions of galaxies in an infinite universe?  Have I lost all hope or just struggling with letting go of a false hope? They say, "The truth will set you free.”

        She turns over, fluffs her pillow and pulls the covers up to her chin, as she drifts off into the few hours left before dawn, imagining angels circling above. She doesn’t believe in angels. She doesn't believe she is one of the lucky ones who can.

                                                  ****

How does one let go of a dream, an illusion, the pain of loss or betrayal, at last to grasp that nothing is ours to let go of? A letting go would seem to bring release, but bittersweet—the “comfort” of truth gradually awakening consciousness, its waves crashing over the heart. 

    Consciousness is thus: We do not know what we do not know—until we do. Then, the truth may set us free to see the reality--but also to endure it.

ON THIS MORNING

Painting by Robert Louis Williams, Jr.

On this morning 

awakened to

salt sea air

crow’s call

gull’s cry

trees’ breezy dance

A balm of soul calm

In sense symphony

Of sea, sky and meadow

Amidst human chaos—

On this morning

TWILIGHT

Twilight

Sounds of thoughts

Images like holographs

Memories flourish

Faces, feelings

Fade into longing

Regretting, forgetting

Go to the window

Look to the heavens 

Sun, moon, fixed stars

Rise and set, wax and wane

And you—here

Only a moment in millennia

Go to your door

Step over the threshold

Hear leaves rustling in the wind

See birds on the wing

Still—longing to stay 

But it is twilight.