Tribal Memory

As I sit by my newly created pools, flume and water fall -- just listening to the tinkling waters of the eversong -- I am drawn to remember other pools -- other magical water kisses in my life.

This is quite special...

faucon
.............................

TRIBAL FAMILY

Many years ago I had an opportunity to do work on an Indian Reservation in Nevada, mostly related to setting up a photo lab in conjunction with their tribal history training. It was a small location, perhaps 90 members eking out a meager existence from withered crops, scrawny cattle and minimum water resources. I shared their community/family embrace for three days. It changed my life.

Several 'anomalies' immediately came to the fore; differences between their attitude toward life, strangers and spirituality from what I had known before. There were no fences -- anywhere. Their language had no pronoun "I", except in secret spiritual rites. Children were raised by the entire community and were identified by 'pet names' taken from nature. I was called 'Wa Nee Poto' -- "one who lives in a horse", since I came in a small motor-home. I camped next to an incredibly beautiful 'Morning Glory' natural hot-spring pool. There I could enjoy a late-night 'dip' and watch the sun rise through fragrant mists and chirp of hidden birds. Ah-yes! I also watched as family groups came down to the pool in the evening, reserved at first, but not wary. I was amazed how the children acted -- absolute obedience! A year old child could be left near the bank clutching a root -- completely safe because it would never leave until told. The baby could swim, I was to learn -- underwater and on its back -- like a fish. I ate and read in silence -- except to whistle as always. They watched, as did I.

On the second day an old man came -- no title or special dress. He feigned interest in my 'horse' and talked of the lack of rain that spring. I had been raised right. I hunkered down and picked up a fistful of dirt -- smelled it -- breathed deeply -- poured it onto the ground, and brushed it smooth with a twig. He told me about the fences -- how they believed that it was allowed to create temporary enclosures in order to protect things within -- new crops, cattle and possibly ill persons. However, nothing was ever fenced out! It was not their land, after all -- nor did they own the animals or plants -- they simply shared an existence and 'brightness'. 'City-folk' often came to picnic there and left trash -- they did not complain. A puma might steal a cow -- they never hunted it. A lightning storm might fire the slope -- they danced in the rain. And in everything, the family stood together, even in speech, as 'we' was their only form of speech. Then the 'chief/shaman?' picked up a pebble from near the pool and placed it on the cleared spot by my feet, Then he took another from his pouch and placed it beside the first. When I looked up he was gone!

The children came then. I taught them games from my youth -- told them stories -- learned a new form of 'tag'. On the last day every able bodied person in the tribe went on a round-up. I could not ride well because of my broken back, and was gifted to watch the children -- and the water gates. Moveable wooden platforms needed to be shifted in order to divert the meager stream into irrigation channels. I was given no instruction -- just followed my instincts -- knowing that I (we?) could make no mistake. I taught the children how to make 'heart baskets'; fragile grass nets that one would place over their heart and then give to another. When it later dried it would be thrown into an evening fire -- this a legacy from my Algonquin ancestry. I took away much more from this 'family'.

They asked and learned nothing of my religion, politics or attitudes about the 'outside' world. This was more than 30 years ago. I could go back today and give them my departing ritual name -- 'No Clee Washa'. A story would be told and I would be accepted -- even if no one of my friends is still alive -- such is the value of verbal tribal history! They build no fences -- base all of their judgments of another on observed actions and kindness. They exclude no one from their lives and fellowship. A friend is not forever -- (no word for that either) -- there is only 'we'. I heard a lot of laughter -- never saw a tear.

A month later I built a fire and sent twenty 'basket prayers' into the night air. The only chant I knew to say was to repeat my tribal name --
'Singing Grass Child'.