Elder's Meditation of the Day - January 29
"We grieve more because we have been disconnected from our earth, our first Mother, our spiritual Mother."
--Larry P. Aitken, CHIPPEWA

The morning is windy and cold. This day brings a change from the weather of the past weeks. Temperatures have been very warm -- far above normal.
Heavy rains have visited often with dreary clouds lingering between storms.
This winter is distant from the norm.
The abnormalcy tends to unnerve me.

Mother is covered in drab colors and her skin has been turned to a churned surface of uneven goo.
My heart is a match for the scene that has unfolded around me.
I feel lonely and lost -- far from my old self.

Today brings a welcome change.
As dawn brings a new beginning across the valley. The once darkened sky now reflects hints of brilliance. Through broken patches of dark -- small areas of pink and soft blues begin to show the hues of a new day.

My heart stirs with the warmth of the sun's new rays reaching both Mother and my self.
A cold wind washes over my face and my hair flows back from my face.
Winter's cold but refreshing hand caresses my cheek once more.
A new energy stirs.

My friends come to greet this day with an excitement unheard in weeks. Their loud caws call for all to awake and greet this change.
It is always good to see my old friends.
They soar and dive over the pines in the soft light of dawn -- calling for all to hear.
They float across the small dale and land before me.
With heads of ebony cocked their eyes pierce deeply into my own.
Loneliness leaves my heart.

I stand on a hill across a from a sister mound.
The wind stirs my memories with each significant push against me.
On the hill I look across to stands my childhood home.
My eyes follow a twisting ribbon of black to the very highest ridge. There after much straining the roof line of my home can be seen once more by these tired old eyes.

The wind is ever increasing in strength as the morning sun raises higher in the sky. The cold brings tears to my eyes or is it something else.
Before me there is a dark hole with a mound of wet clay beside.
As I peer into the darkness of the abyss -- my mind wonders across to the other slope of my youth.

I see a small farm with an old frame house sitting at the mound's base. A large Oak shades the household from warm summer days and blocks the strong winds of March.
A small stream meanders by -- a place of child hood wonderment.
Here lazy days were spent fishing, catching snakes, and swimming.

From the base of the home upward to the summit flowed the never ending green waves of wheat and timothy grasses. Deer could be seen here often in all their delicate beauty and patience. Sometimes I would join them there -- just lying in the grass.
The blue sky would be broken by clouds of billowy white drifting bye.
Gentle breezes would make the grasses flow as waves on the ocean gently rocking me to sleep.

Small wood lot of tall pine and hardwoods dotted the ridge. Small bluffs of sandstone defined the side slopes.
Pheasants could be heard cackling from the under brush.

Again the strong cold wind shakes me. I am reminded of why I am here today.
I am reminded the things from my childhood are now gone.
Reality paints a different picture of my homeland this dawn.
The small stream is now hidden -- she is forced to flow through a straight tube of corrugated steel concealed from view. Her once bountiful life is now gone. The gentle banks and greenery have disappeared.

Where the mighty oak stood guarding the old farm house is now a car dealership.
Where the never ending fields of green brought such happiness to my soul -- now is a slope of blacktop -- parking lot for used cars.

The cackles of the pheasant are now replaced with the honking of horns and the noise of the city.
The peaceful silhouettes of the dainty deer are now replaced by newspaper and other trash being blown on the strong cold winds of this day.

My heart again feels a loneliness taking hold as I look into the earthen depression before me.
I offer morning prayers -- as I do the wind cries in my ears and speaks to my heart.
This will soon be the resting place of my last remaining uncle.

I remember him from my youth. He was strong and tall with jet black hair.
Yet-he was gentle. He loved Mother and cared for her.
In the field behind his home he and his wife took great care in preparing a rock garden with many strange plants.

As I grew in age the plants became known to me through my uncle's words.
He spoke of each as a friend and a helper in life.
He would point out the beauty and strength of each.
The energy of grandfather stone shown there as well.

One Fall we walked the small stream. The trees already had shed there canopies of color for winter preparation. The stream bottom was alive with the newly fallen color of her one legged brothers.

The waters were very cold -
My uncle reached into a small eddy and slowly lifted a rock up on edge. The crystal clear water was clouded by the disturbance. I wondered what he was doing.
Then he told me to look -
See, see - he spoke

There in the slowly clearing pool a life could be seen.
At first dimly -- then perfectly.
It was a strange animal
Shaped like salamander with feather extensions coming from its neck
My uncle scooped it up in his large hand being careful not to harm it.
The little one was a warm brown in color

Then he placed it into my hand and had me replace it back in its small pool.
We each have our own place in Creator's plan
Each should be respected

The words seem strange coming from him.
He married into a Euro family in the forties.
It was a time of great prejudice in this area.
He was never accepted -- and more or less shunned when he was allowed to attend their family functions.

He was never bitter though.
His wife loved him deeply and a daughter later as well.

Through it all - I looked to him as a teacher.
He loved Creator and his family with all his heart.
He had great love for Unci Maka
In serious times he taught me that we must remember to laugh as well.
He never lacked for a good joke.

He taught me to remember our ancestors and honor them.
To remember who you are.
He was pleased that I learned some of the old ways and language.
It must never be forgotten for it is who you are -- and from where you came.

As his body is given back to Mother a cold gust rips across my eyes.
I look back to the once beauty of my childhood now obscured by progress on the distant slope.
His and her memories now flood my heart
I am reminded of words spoken through the pipe
love honor and respect

I think on his life's treatment by in-laws - and the treatment of Mother by progress
Tears flow from my heart and well up in my eyes.
Then one of his jokes comes sneaking to mind
A small smile crosses my face.

My uncle still teaches me
I am not to be bitter
What is - is Creator's plan

When all have gone I share the pipe one more time with my uncle
Calmness settles over the land and my spirit.
The words are felt deeply in my heart

As I turn to leave this land of my youth. The breeze carries the sweet smells of home to me once more.
Sweet grass and sage mixed with tobacco lift our prayers one more time.
As I look upward to Creator a large red tail comes to call. Her voice is that of an old friend.
She lands in an old shag bark over from the grave.

First her back is turned
Quickly she spins to face us.
We face each other
our spirits meet

The land has been scarred and disrespected here.
My uncle and family have been disrespected in this land as well
Yet this simple messenger brings a solemn peace to my heart once more.
Creator shows me this land is not forgotten
we, no less, are remembered as well

I stand humbled once more
Heart softened by an Uncle and Mother Hands outstretched and face upwards.
The cold wind melts from me with Creator's soft caress of soft yellow rays.

tunkasila, onsimalaye

written Mid Winter 2006
by ShyHawk

Printed with permission 2/2006