Saturday, March 6, 2010

Thoughts On Summer

Summer, to me, is a time for the beat of drums, the rattle of bells, attuned with Earth's heartbeat.  It's a time to sing, to dance, to heal.  A time to dance prayers for the People.

Five years now the season comes and goes, and I don't go with it.  Before this, I did.  The warm winds came and I followed them, powwow to powwow, rarely home.  Summer was celebration.  A spiritual journey.  Homecoming, to the old ways.

Now I feel lost, and wonder who I really am.  Mixed blood.  Walker between worlds.  Not white, not Native.  There is no place, no religion, only what I feel in my soul to be real.  I moved away from the red path to raise my children, family life traded for a wanderer's life.  The need for money and shelter overriding the spiritual.  Will my children wonder who they are, too?  What have I shown them of who they are?  Not much, yet.  Not enough.

My last year following the wind, my daughter was born.  Before her birth, I felt a spirit walk with me when the drums sang.  Joyous, ecstatic, was this spirit dancing beside me.  This was my daughter, this pure joy and love.

When she was a baby I would hold her and we would dance.  Round the circle, say hello to all the people, welcome to the circle.  Smile for everyone, she'd try to shake their hands.  They loved her, and held up the line, to shake her hand.

Even now she greets everyone as a relative, a friend she hasn't met yet.  Getting through the grocery store takes longer than it must, as she tells everyone hello.  Some don't understand this alien neighborliness and don't know how to take her.  I tell her, "that's all right, they don't have to say anything back, you can still say hi."

At the park, at her doctor's, anywhere there are people, she attunes to the person sitting alone and tries to involve them in her play.  No one is an outsider, looking in, in her world.  Everyone is included.  She is Love, perfect and unscripted.

In our ways, I would ask her aunt to teach her to dance.  Her aunt knows the flashy, fast and fancy shawl dance, and is very good at it.  Little girls love that dance, and many have fluttered around her like little butterflies finding their wings, learning the steps.  Someday it will be my daughter's turn.

My sons, younger than their sister, never have been to a powwow.  But their cradlesongs are powwow songs.  Rhythm is in their soul.  Play any music and they feel it deep.  They're too little yet to know their songs are different.

© Lune Wolfsong, July 2007

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