waiting for dawn

A tree was found with a strong fork, it looked
like a large y as it stood there. A group of
young men, some not so young watched as one of
them shot the tree and then it was cut down. They
had gathered to prepare for the next four days,
and it was their time to work on the corral to be
used by them. The limbs were cut off but it stood
sixty feet tall still and was hauled down the
mountain.

There is this place on a high plain as you go up
to it you can see the old campsites, small shade
houses from years past falling to the ground and
in the middle of these there are scattered over a
large area similar trees with the distinct y
shape, some with colored ribbons from years
past threadbare blowing in the breeze.


A post hole is dug and the tree placed in the
middle of these old camp sites, the men either
walk without shoes or wear mocassins on their
feet, they place the center pole solidly into the
ground. One of them is near 70, his gray hair wet
from his sweat, others are younger and they help
place posts around it leaving an opening to the
East.


The corral is now 70 feet across and slowly it
begins to take the shape of a wagon wheel with
long posts running from the center pole to the
edge of circle. Near dusk the last of the poles is
placed.


Later that evening the group seeks out young
trees with bushy limbs to lay on the outside of
it.


As nightfall comes there is thunder to the South,
blowing wind moves the yellow colored grass as the
group comes together. They go in single file, with
what looks like skirts, and they carry eagle bone
whistles and some leaves for shade...


As they go in the headman there tells them where
they will sit for the next three days. Each hopes
they don't get the North side where the sun
touches you throughout the day. As they sit they
are counselled on how it will go and to clear
their mind for the time ahead.


In the distance there are campfires a long ways
away from the corral as family members walk to
the edge of the corral and listen as two large
drums are taken in and from somewhere emerge the
singers carrying drum sticks.


Who is that anyway...isn't it the cashier at the
gas station where we stopped this afternoon, and
then there is the oil field gager we saw
yesterday...and then there is the day care
worker...without saying a word they go in and sit
on the southside of the corral and begin to sing.


Some of the older women go in and sing near them,
they cannot cross a certain point where a fire
will be built each night.


Slowly the song comes, it is deep, with a slow
driving beat of the drum....it is the Sun Dance
song...each man stands and with him his family
and close friends stand in his support outside
the corral stand as a matter of respect for him.


He stands there, with a pale orange skirt that
hangs from his waist to his feet. The mocassins
were given to him by a cousin and the eagle bone
whistle provided by his grandfather with other
things needed in an old battered small metal
suitecase used by each of his uncles when they
danced just like this years ago.


It is his first time...what will it be like...to
dance for three days to the centerpole...without
water, no food and the sun beating down...it has
been so hot.


He stands his brown eyes seeing that beyong the
shade of the corral in the firelight his family
stands there for him and his uncles. It is a
lonely journey in a way and it is one that each
dancer has decided to make, some by a dream that
came one night, others who renew certain promises
made to them from a long time ago.


As they begin to dance from the edge to the center
pole you can see that the thirty or so in there
are ready to dance and sacrifice thirst and
hunger to seek a personal quest, to test
themselves and find some answers to questions on
their minds...


The thunder has come closer and with it the wind
picks up and the breeze is strong whipping
branches and the songs go on. As the dancers move
the thought comes to mind and if it rains it is
said it will go hard on the dancers because it
will dry them out.


Slowly the wind blows and the rain begins to
fall, all the time the drummers continue to sing,
it is night and the first night.


The dancers move back and forth to the center
pole and rain falls on them, it is a hard
rain...covering every part of them. It rains and
rains...for an two hours maybe more and those
dancers continue to dance back and forth
listening to the sound of the drum.


He moves like he is gliding, he was run each
morning to get ready for ths this test, to eat
those foods that have no salt and other things he
was told to eat to preserve the strength.


Those that sing have done this and looking about
the lightning filled sky the flashes show the old
center poles that each have their own story to
tell, and these men have been there before...just
like him dancing....


The song is strong and carries a certain
sound...one of timelessness and measured
step.....the yellow grass drinks up the rain
which as been gone for so long.


Soaked and wet they dance on and as it gets
later...the drums stop and the rain continues to
fall. The dancers retreat to the place they have
picked out for the next three days and some sit
and others lay down on a bead of leaves covered
by a wet sheet and try to sleep, to dance again
in the morning. The ground is wet and they are
cold.


What is he is thinking, that I have to put the
cold out of my mind and let it go...I can do this
and sleep till daylight...in the morning before
sunrise we will stand together with each other
and greet the Dawn...so it have been done each
year in this place by those who have danced
before...by my people...the tie continues...I am
one of them and they are me....


This Sundance begins...the first nite goes by filled with rain,
wind and lightning and so they wait for the first
dawn.....