All I could do was look at him. His words seemed so calm, so assured, but all I heard was that I’d be required to forget everything that had helped me to survive, that I’d be helpless once I entered the lodge. That prospect frightened me badly. But I kept up a brave face as we walked around the fire and offered tobacco to the Grandfathers. We walked around the fire, going from east to west, then got down on our hands and knees to crawl inside the lodge.
“You’re placing yourself on the Earth and crawling into darkness,” Walter said. “The darkness is a symbol of all our doubts and fears. We face them humbly on our hands and knees. It’s a good way. Pride keeps us on our feet a lot of times, thinking we can fight them off. We can’t.”
Walter began to prepare the sacred pipe. We smoked. The pipe felt odd to me, sitting there in the half-darkness, looking towards the open door and the world that looked more inviting right then than it ever had before. I smoked. Deep down I felt proud that I was smoking a ceremonial pipe with other men. But I also felt the creep of fear along my spine.
The Fire Keeper began to bring in the Grandfathers. Walter placed each gently into the pit. Each time, my two friends greeted them—“Ho, Mishomis,” meaning “Hello, Grandfather.” When the proper number of Grandfathers for the first round of the ceremony were present Walter signalled the Fire Keeper to close the door of the lodge.
This was darkness. Pure, utter, and complete. There was no light at all except for the red glow of the Grandfathers. The smoke from the pipe and the burning sweet grass, cedar, and sage burned my eyes and I felt choked and unable to breathe. I was afraid. A part of me recognized this darkness. It was the darkness I had felt inside me all my life. Now, here I was, sitting in its very middle, naked, powerless, and feeling very, very small. I concentrated on the symbol of the womb that my friends had talked about. I was in the womb of my birth mother and I was in the womb of the Great Mother, Mother Earth, and for a moment that thought calmed me. But when Walter and Cliff started to sing, all comfort disappeared.
Then came the first splash of water on the Grandfathers. There was a loud hiss as the water was transformed into steam. The heat in the lodge rose sharply. I could feel it settle over every part of my body like a sheet of fire. More water was splashed onto the rocks and the heat became searing. My lungs felt scalded. Sweat coursed down my face into the corners of my eyes and burned them. My hair felt so dry and brittle that I was afraid it would burst into flame. I brushed sweat from my face and neck onto my hair to wet it down as the heat grew more and more intense—as did the singing and chanting. The prayers continued as more and more water was splashed. The intensity in the lodge was frightening. I found myself beginning to pray. I prayed like I never had before, talking, beseeching, moaning, and crying words I never thought I would say. I asked for things like strength, courage, faith, and outright help from the power of Creation to protect me and see me through. I asked for forgiveness for all the things I suddenly knew were wrong. I asked for help to try and live a different way.
One of my friends had a rattle now and was shaking it in time with his singing. The stream of sweat coursing down my body was like all the tears I had ever wanted to shed. I could feel the grief, anger, fear, jealousy, envy, pride, guilt, and shame seep out of every pore, every ounce of my being, and that’s when the real tears began to follow them down my chest. I heaved great sobbing bunches of them. They coursed down the front of my body in what felt like waves and I felt washed in the great flood of my experiences. I was a little boy. I was a teenager. I was a young man. I was me. And in each I felt the burn of bitterness and shame, smelled the stink of fear, and tasted the rancid breath of loneliness. It felt great to cry and wail. It was a release. Then, when it seemed like the heat and the energy in the lodge could climb no higher, Walter called for the Fire Keeper to open the door.
This was the coming of the Light.
From the darkness, heat, and discomfort, I was instantly transported to a world of light, cool air, and ease. The burdens, so cumbersome in the darkness, were light-ened. I sat there, breathing deeply, drinking the cool air into the very depths of my spirit. All I could think and feel was gratitude. The only thoughts I could hold onto were those concerned with the difficulty of the ceremony, of this ritual journey, and how the light represented the easing of that difficulty. We laughed now as we relaxed in the coolness and light. Walter told a few funny stories about Sweat Lodge ceremonies he’d been to in the past and the laughter felt good. My heart felt alive inside my chest. My mind was clear.
Then the signal was given for the door to be closed and we were thrown into darkness again. Three more times I would be plunged back into darkness to feel the hardship, to release the effects of my history, my choices, my hurts, wounds, scars, secrets, and self-harm. Three more times I would confront myself in all humility. Each time the door closed I was filled with fear. I swore I could see things move in the darkness. I saw faces in the glow of the rocks. I saw the image of a bear, a great black bear, form where the roof of the lodge should have been. It hung there for an instant, then dissolved. During the third round I heard the frantic flapping of the wings of a great bird over and around me. All of it frightened me. By the fourth round I could feel myself sapped of all energy and I had to lie down upon the floor of the lodge and press my face as close as I could to the earth. It felt cooler there. I lay there spent, crying in shallower gasps, my fingers curled into the soft earth. When the door was opened for the fourth and final time and I crawled out of the lodge and back into the world, I felt lessened and enlarged at the same time.
There was a feast afterwards at Walter’s home. Thankful prayers were said. When I offered mine the words didn’t feel as strange and awkward as they had earlier in the day. The food, water and juices tasted more wonderful than anything I had ever had and I could feel my body sing with the acceptance of their goodness. I was tired but energized and when the time came to say “farewell” I did so with a heart brimming with well-being, kinship, and harmony.
I don’t know how long that feeling lasted once I went back into my regular life. I do know that I felt a deep sense of honour over being included. I also felt a touch of pride in myself for completing the entire journey that day. I had endured. I had defeated the urge to quit, and in the process I had heard myself say, in the sweltering darkness of the Sweat Lodge, things I had never thought I would ever say.
“This is healing,” Walter said. “This is spiritual. You learn that the lesson of humility is that when you give away, surrender, you receive in equal or greater measure. You have surrendered yourself and increased yourself on this journey. You have brought the Light into your world.”
An Ojibway child was born in a small village. He was very different from any other baby that had ever been born there. This child, this boy, was born with a face that was twisted and misshapen. His body was bent and crooked and he could not walk or move about like the other children. All the people felt great pity for this child, and even though they honoured him and protected him as they did the others, they never believed the boy would be anything but a burden to them.
But his mother and father loved him very much. When they looked at him they did not see a misshapen body or twisted face. Instead, what they saw was a beautiful baby boy who was a great gift to them. They named him Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming—Light in the Sky. To his parents the boy shone like a great, bright light in the sky of their lives and they adored him.
As he grew, it became apparent that he could not talk like the other children. His throat was twisted like the rest of his body and when he tried to say anything it always came out a throttled croak. When they heard these strange noises coming from the boy some of the people laughed, some of the people cried, and some felt ashamed, but no one except his parents sat down and tried to talk with him. He grew excited when they did. His eyes got large and his crooked arms waved about and he croaked happily.
When the other people heard these sounds they scuttled off quickly to anot
her part of the village. They believed the boy was stupid. They believed his mind was as badly made as his body. But his parents had hope, and they encouraged him to talk even more, and more loudly, too. When he did, the others became even more ashamed and embarrassed.
Light in the Sky knew what he wanted to say. He could feel the words in his body. He could feel them in his heart, could feel them trying to work their way upwards through his lungs to his neck, his throat, his mouth, but his tongue betrayed him. And some of the people laughed, some of the people cried, and some felt ashamed. But no one sat down and tried to talk to him.
As he grew older he was cast out by the other children. They did not try to include him in their games and he contented himself with lurching about on his crutch amongst the trees, watching the magnificent world around him. He wanted very badly to express the joy he felt in the wonders of the world, but he could not. Still, it did not stop him from heading out each day to watch the world and learn even more about its ways. He learned to stand very quietly and respectfully amidst the trees, rivers, and rocks. He learned to feel a part of all of it. Whenever he went out he could feel the words forming in his chest like a great cloud ready to rain blessings on all that he saw. But the words would never come and Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming was sad.
His parents often spoke with the wise woman of the village. They told her of the great love and affection they held for their son. They told her of the dreams they nursed for him and the sadness that came when they realized that he might never achieve them. The old woman was touched deeply by their honest love.
“He speaks a language of his own,” the old woman said. “All of us need to learn how to use our ears again in order to hear it. Someday we will.”
When his parents pressed the old woman for more details, for more reassurance, she smiled and said simply, “Be patient.”
They were patient a long time. In the summer of the year that Light in the Sky was ten, a great drought descended on the land. There was no rain for months. The forest grew dry and the waters grew shallow and warm. Animals and fish were rarely seen and the berries were skimpy and thin. The people worried. With the coming of the winter months they would need great supplies of meat, dried berries, and fish. They prayed and prayed to Gitchee Manitou for the Thunderbirds to bring the rain they so desperately needed.
But none came. Some of the men had travelled by canoe to the furthest reaches of their territory but they returned with nothing. The drought seemed to have withered everything. All around him Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming could see and feel the cloud of worry that spread amongst the people. When he stood amongst the trees he felt a great silence. This silence did not frighten him, though. It seemed to be a pause in the flow of energy he felt there, like the rest that comes between breaths. But he couldn’t tell anyone. The words would not form.
One night, unable to sleep, Light in the Sky crept from his family’s wigwam. It was a clear, hot night and he felt like wading in the shallows to cool his feet. As he hitched his way along the narrow path that led to the lake he thought about the people and the way worry had fallen upon them. It was a huge weight. He could feel its heft in the way people spoke to each other these days. He could see it in the pinched way their faces moved, how forced their smiles were. It saddened him. He wished for a return of the bubbly joy and humour he loved so much about them.
He waded slowly into the water. Above him the moon shone bright and full, throwing deep shadows across the land. He raised his face to it, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer for the people. The water lapped at his ankles and he felt calm, peaceful and unafraid. He kept his eyes closed and imagined that he was the Moon, hanging so full and silent above the Earth. From there he could see everything. He felt like a protective brother watching over his people and the land.
Suddenly, Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming heard a sound. It seemed to come from the Earth itself and rose upwards into the sky like the sudden grey explosion of a heron from the trees. Then it was gone. He opened his eyes and looked about him. All he could see was bush and trees and the Moon upon the water. Across the small lake a huge cliff rose, and he looked over at it. The sound came again. It was high and shrill. Within its piercing trill was a loneliness he recognized, but there was also a note of praise, of jubilation and freedom he recognized, too. It was captivating. He closed his eyes again and raised his face to the Moon as though the very act could summon the sound. It did.
When he heard it, Light in the Sky opened his eyes and looked at the cliff across the lake, for that seemed to be where the sound was coming from. There, high on the cliff raising his snout to the Moon, was Myeengun, the Wolf. He had never seen Myeengun before or heard his call, but he’d heard stories. The Wolf was a very respected animal amongst the people and Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming felt honoured to be standing in the water watching and listening as Myeengun sang his song to the Moon. He thought that the Wolf must be on a journey to find food for his people, too, and when he heard his song again he could sense Myeengun’s desire to provide for his family. He could sense his worry. He could sense his love. He could sense that Myeengun felt the same high regard for his people that Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming felt for his own, so that when Myeengun raised his voice to the Moon again, Light in the Sky raised his voice, too.
“Ow-ooo ooo-ooo-ooo,” said the Wolf.
“Ow-guh-guh-guh,” replied Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming.
Time and time again Myeengun called, and time and time again Light in the Sky tried to imitate the voice. But his throat would not move in the right way. The notes were strangled in his throat. Still, each time Myeengun called, the more desperately he tried to respond. The Wolf’s call was like a prayer and Light in the Sky wanted more than anything in the world to echo that prayer. He wanted his voice to carry his love, compassion, concern, and respect for his people upwards to the Moon, to the universe, to the invisible.
Gradually, slowly, his voice changed. His throat stretched. The desire he felt in his heart began to slide upwards through his lungs to his throat, his tongue, and into his mouth.
“Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo,” said Myeengun.
“Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo,” replied Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming.
There was silence. Then, slowly, Myeengun raised his voice again, and slowly Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming replied. A pause. Silence. And then, again and again and again, Myeengun sang out to the Moon and each time Light in the Sky answered. The boy’s heart was filled with incredible joy. This was an experience he had never imagined. Here was another being who heard him, spoke with him, felt his words and understood him. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming felt like his heart would burst with the sheer joy of it.
Then, as mysteriously as he’d arrived, Myeengun was gone. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming stood in the shallow water and looked upwards at the Moon that still hung fat and silent and watchful over everything. His heart was light and he raised his face to the heavens and called out on his own, “Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo, ow-ooo-ooo-ooo!” Every bit of joy, celebration, praise, love, and honour that he felt welling up inside him went into that call, and when its last note faded off into the air he turned and hitched his way back up the trail to his family’s wigwam and slept.
The people were excited over the appearance of the Wolf. They took it as a good sign and for a few days their hearts were light. But when the drought continued and their bellies continued to feel that deep hunger they sank into worry again. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming watched this happen and was saddened. There was nothing he could say, even though every fibre of his being called out to his people to have hope, to believe that Myeengun did in fact come to bring a message to them, to stay strong within themselves.
Each night he crept out of his wigwam and went to the lake to sing his song to the universe. Each night he thought about his people, his mother and father, his friends, and he put every ounce of care and concern and love for them into his voice. His song was pure. It was a prayer and he felt every word.
The people thought it was Myeengun they heard those nights and they could not
figure out why the Wolf was staying so close to them.
“Maybe to pick our bones when we drop from starvation,” someone said.
“Or maybe he’s crying for us because there is no relief in sight,” said another.
“Or maybe he’s teaching us a mourning song,” said someone else.
Only Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming knew the truth but he could not tell anyone. Every night he went to the lake and sang his prayer song to the universe. Every night he felt the motions of love in his heart and every night he sang that love to the stars. His voice grew stronger.
The drought continued and the people grew tired. Soon there were arguments and shouting around the campfires, and people began to hoard scraps of food rather than share as they were accustomed to. Jealousy and judgement were everywhere. It began to seem as though someone would die from the hunger. Bitterness grew among them.
One night a loud argument erupted. One family that had some food was trying to keep it away from another family going without. Accusations and threats were shouted. A fight started and soon everyone was involved. People were invading other wigwams, tossing things around in attempts to find food they were certain was secreted away somewhere. The entire village was in an uproar and everyone was angry.
Suddenly the people heard a mournful cry raised up among them. It was Myeengun’s voice, but it was coming from Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming. He stood square in the middle of the village with his face raised up to the universe and sang the song of the Wolf. It was pure and strong and loud. Everyone stopped their running about and turned to see this magic.
“Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo,” sang Light in the Sky. “Ow-ow-ow-ooo!”
Slowly everyone walked towards the middle of the village and stood in a big circle around the bent and twisted boy who sang so beautifully in the night. He sang and sang and sang. When he was finished he looked around at the great circle of his people and tears shone on his face. It saddened him so much to see them fight amongst themselves and forget the teachings of sharing and community they lived by. He walked around that circle and took each person’s face in his small crooked hands and looked deeply into every pair of eyes. There was not a single member of that village who did not feel the message that Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming’s eyes carried that night. Not one member of that tribal family was not touched by the depth of the love and concern they felt flowing from that small crooked boy. Every person felt spoken to. Comforted. Loved.
For Joshua Page 11
