Nomo
by Johnny Rustywire
She wore her hair in pigtails, she was sort of small, when you looked
at her some thought she was Chinese. She wouldn't say anything much at
all, just look down and smile. This little Indian girl played alone
and had a few brothers around and one brought home a rabbit, with fur
and plastic button eyes.
Her home on the indian reservation was not real fancy but it was warm
and when she left to walk to school she would put that crazy pink
rabbit in the window to watch her go and he was there when she came
home. She had a hard time at school with the way she talked, and
wondered why when she talked to the children, they would just look at
her.
She tried to talk to them over and over, but they did not understand.
She talked only her native tongue and it took a long while for her to
understand. She had to learn a new way of talking. She fell into
silence at school, finding herself at the back of the room and slowly
with time understood what the other kids said.
She would come home and see that rabbit waiting for her, she called
him "Nomo". I used to see her playing out back on a big rock climbing
to the top and sitting there with her friend Nomo. He had a special
place next to her at the table and slept close by at night to fight
off monsters who hid in the shadows, but somehow they were afraid of
Nomo. When he came they did not show themselves anymore.
As time went on his newness wore off and he became dingy and worn, so
that his bare threads were showing. She would sew him up and drag him
out to play, his long ears were tattered and torn but he was there
everyday for her. He would play with her outside and find himself all
muddy and dirty. She would take a bath and she would wash him up too.
He just seemed to attract the dirt spots and they would not come out.
Then one day her father said, it is time to put that old rabbit away,
he is all torn up and good for nothing. She quietly slipped away and
hid her friend, but he was not yet dry from his bath. A day then two
went by and her father found him by chance as he put her clothes away.
Opening her drawer there he was, Nomo, turned gray and moldy. It is
time to put him away.
When she came home Nomo was gone, her old friend. She went to her bed
and cried and cried. When it came time to go to bed, I happened to
drop by and wondered waht was going on. Her father told me about Nomo,
I said, I know him. He looked at me like I was a child, I said don't
you remember, my friend, that little lamb you raised long ago and then
it was gone and you felt so bad. I could see it in his eyes and in an
instant he knew what it felt like. He said he had to go. I said
goodbye and went on home. As I left I heard some one going through
what looked like the trash can. Some poor soul who had no Christmas.
I thought about her at home alone wondering about her friend and
mentioned it to my wife. She listened and grew quiet, it was Christmas
Eve. I said I had to go out for a little bit, to get gas for the old
wheels, just in case we needed to go somewhere.
I went looking for a store open this late hour and found one by
chance, a walk around the place and up on the shelf way up high was a
little tabbit, shiny and new. What is that rabbit doing way up there?
The clerk said it was left over from Easter, so I said let me have it
and so I took it home and put it away, wrapping it late that night.
My wife went to get some extra pie pans from a couple doors down, and
later she came home and made pies, staying up late...so I went to bed.
There was snow on the ground, a White Christmas, we got up early, just
before first light and I went out to cut some wood. I could see my
neighbor was gathering wood for his fire as well. I went inside and my
wife said let us go over and see our friends for a minute. I thought
it is so early but she would not have it any other way so we went next
door, to the place of Nomo's family.
We went and visited a little bit, since they were up early too. We
left them a pie and came home for our Christmas.
The little girl got up and woe was her Christmas her friend was gone.
She layed there in bed for a while and did not want to get up. She
finally got up with some coaxing from the other kids. She went to the
Christmas tree and the presents were opened up one by one.
There were three brightly wrapped gifts for her and when opened these
were new rabbits, all brothers the night before at that small store.
She looked at them but did not smile. Tears were coming to her eyes,
the thought of Nomo, gone somewhere dark and lonely filled her mind on
this of all days.
Her father made his way to her and took her back to her bed. She
crawled up on it broken hearted. It was a sad day, then he turned to
the window, and lo and behold there was Nomo, all clean and patched.
He told his little girl, you have been a good girl, and Santa left him
just for you. She jumped for joy and ran to the window, his eyes were
shiny buttons, they were there and he had different colored patches,
clean and rough looking but in better shape than before.
At the Christmas table Nomo sat quietly, and watched this family and
Christmas had come early for him, rescued by rough hands once small
that worked through the night stuffing and sewing, bringing him back
to life. Who was this, this little boy now a man. Nomo looked across
the table and could see the father with tired eyes and saw the little
boy from years ago and it was Christmas all over again. So it goes
with kids and stuffed rabbits named Nomo
Johnny Rustywire
Monday, January 4, 2010
first night sun dance
The First Night Sun Dance
A tall tree was found. Y shaped with a strong fork, it looked like a
large 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 moccasins 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 lie
on the outside of the corral.
As nightfall comes there is thunder to the South, blowing wind moves
the yellow colored grass as the group comes together. They go into the
corral in single file, each wearing an apron, and they carry eagle
bone whistles and some leaves for shade. As they go in the headman
places each against the brush wall of the circle shaped corral and
tells them this 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 counseled on how it will go
and to clear their mind for the time ahead.
In the distance of the Sun Dance grounds 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 carrying the drum 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 south side of
the corral placing the large drum in the middle and they begin to
sing. Some of the older women go in and sit 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 moccasins
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 suitcase 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
back and forth to the center pole without water, no food and the sun
beating down...it has been so hot. He stands his brown eyes seeing
that beyond 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 from a long time
ago, others do it for tradition, family or some need they don't have a
clear answer for.
There are 45 of them all together, mostly young men but there are some
gray heads in there sprinkled about. As they begin to dance from the
edge to the center pole you can see that them in there, each ready to
dance and sacrifice thirst and hunger to seek a personal quest, to
test themselves and find some point where they might understand life a
little better, balancing the world they see and those of a higher
power.
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 shade around the corral dances in the wind,
back and forth with each breeze and the rain begins to fall, all the
time the drummers continue to sing and they stand and dance. The rain
covers them and they are all wet. Night falls and this is 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 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 as run each morning to get ready for this test, to eat
those foods that have no salt and other things he was told to eat to
preserve strength and promote endurance.
Those that sing have all danced years before and know the trial of
mind, body and soul will be tested. A lightning filled sky the flashes
and in the distance there stand the remains past Sun Dances, the old
center poles appear white and pale with wind blown scarf remnants tied
to their mast, each pole has it's 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 and then the drums stop and the rain
continues to fall. The dancers retreat to the places they have picked
out for the next three days and some sit and others lay down on a bed
of leaves covered by a soaked white sheet and try to sleep; to dance
again in the morning. The ground is wet and the wind blows cold.
In the midst of the wind, he lies there, his brown skin glistening
from the rain and his own sweat. 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.
The Sundance has begun the first night goes by filled with rain, wind
and lightning. The black sky is filled with lightning flashes and with
this the long night covers them and they wait for the first dawn.
rustywire
A tall tree was found. Y shaped with a strong fork, it looked like a
large 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 moccasins 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 lie
on the outside of the corral.
As nightfall comes there is thunder to the South, blowing wind moves
the yellow colored grass as the group comes together. They go into the
corral in single file, each wearing an apron, and they carry eagle
bone whistles and some leaves for shade. As they go in the headman
places each against the brush wall of the circle shaped corral and
tells them this 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 counseled on how it will go
and to clear their mind for the time ahead.
In the distance of the Sun Dance grounds 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 carrying the drum 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 south side of
the corral placing the large drum in the middle and they begin to
sing. Some of the older women go in and sit 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 moccasins
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 suitcase 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
back and forth to the center pole without water, no food and the sun
beating down...it has been so hot. He stands his brown eyes seeing
that beyond 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 from a long time
ago, others do it for tradition, family or some need they don't have a
clear answer for.
There are 45 of them all together, mostly young men but there are some
gray heads in there sprinkled about. As they begin to dance from the
edge to the center pole you can see that them in there, each ready to
dance and sacrifice thirst and hunger to seek a personal quest, to
test themselves and find some point where they might understand life a
little better, balancing the world they see and those of a higher
power.
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 shade around the corral dances in the wind,
back and forth with each breeze and the rain begins to fall, all the
time the drummers continue to sing and they stand and dance. The rain
covers them and they are all wet. Night falls and this is 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 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 as run each morning to get ready for this test, to eat
those foods that have no salt and other things he was told to eat to
preserve strength and promote endurance.
Those that sing have all danced years before and know the trial of
mind, body and soul will be tested. A lightning filled sky the flashes
and in the distance there stand the remains past Sun Dances, the old
center poles appear white and pale with wind blown scarf remnants tied
to their mast, each pole has it's 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 and then the drums stop and the rain
continues to fall. The dancers retreat to the places they have picked
out for the next three days and some sit and others lay down on a bed
of leaves covered by a soaked white sheet and try to sleep; to dance
again in the morning. The ground is wet and the wind blows cold.
In the midst of the wind, he lies there, his brown skin glistening
from the rain and his own sweat. 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.
The Sundance has begun the first night goes by filled with rain, wind
and lightning. The black sky is filled with lightning flashes and with
this the long night covers them and they wait for the first dawn.
rustywire
looking for indians...
am looking for Indians, those who walked these lands way before I was born. Tell me about their grandfather stories and songs of old. Sing me your song and tell me about your people and their hearts. I want to see you speak of your children and how we live for them.
I am a visitor from lands far off and I have journeyed long to learn about you. I am not looking to become you but I want to hear of your people. I want to hear your songs and I will sing mine, I want to know how you have survived and I will tell you about wind mesas and sand washes...
I want to listen to your chants, the beating of your hearts and the dreams, hopes and places you would like to see, because I can not see
them without your eyes. Whereever you may be from, the valleys and hilltops, mountains and seaways.... call my name in the wind and I will hear you and want to see where have lived, loved, and continue on as a child of this land..... tell me, I wait to hear your voices... rustywire
I am a visitor from lands far off and I have journeyed long to learn about you. I am not looking to become you but I want to hear of your people. I want to hear your songs and I will sing mine, I want to know how you have survived and I will tell you about wind mesas and sand washes...
I want to listen to your chants, the beating of your hearts and the dreams, hopes and places you would like to see, because I can not see
them without your eyes. Whereever you may be from, the valleys and hilltops, mountains and seaways.... call my name in the wind and I will hear you and want to see where have lived, loved, and continue on as a child of this land..... tell me, I wait to hear your voices... rustywire
Toe Jams and Dust In Her Hair
Toe Jams stood at the arbor and watched this Southern Plains Traditional Dancer walk toward him. Her buckskin was white with blue and white cut glass beads, they glistened under the lights, her eagle feather fan was swinging at her side, and she carried a shawl on her other arm. The ringes on her buckskin were long; they nearly dragged on the ground but hung just above it. A small breeze came up whipping up the dust and it swirled around creating a dust cloud and it looked like she was walking on air.
She came to the arbor and saw him standing there, this Singer with the Prairie Island Pontiacs.
She stepped over to him and said. “I was out there thinking on how to dance good…but I kept thinking …how come they call him Toe Jams…so tell me how you got that name”
He said to her; first tell me your name “Dust in Her Hair?”
She laughed and said, Winona Not Afraid, but the call me “Winny”
Toe Jams said ”We all went to Chilocco Boarding School", motioning to the drum group, "Way down in your country, Oklahoma, and we got these tennis shoes, donated PF Flyers from some church people. I used to wear them around and when I walked across the tile floors they made this “squish” “squish” sound like, you know, they sound like your feet are all wet, but they weren’t wet.
You could hear me walking down the hall. One of the dorm aides saw me coming and said, “You better do something about those “toe jams”, after he said that the name stuck and that is what I am called now by everybody. How about you “Dust in Her Hair” where are you from?”
She heard her mother calling to her, “Winny!” They could see her standing by the judge’s stand, her mother said, “They want you to dance again, you and “Bones”. She looked at her best friend “Bones Small Eagle” and they turned to go back out into the dance arena. She turned to wave at him, but he had disappeared into the crowd, his drum group calling him over.
The announcer said, “We have a tie in the Young Women’s Traditional, Southern Plains style, so we have number 341 and 430 that are going to dance off!”, the announcer continued and said, “O.K. Prairie Island Pontiacs from the Windy City, Give Us A Good Contest Song!”
There was a wail’ it was loud and it carried far, and in a flash the drumsticks all came up over their heads and banged down on the drum, They sang a song, an old contest song from years ago. Winny stood there and remembered her father used to sing that song, years ago with his drum group Southern Cross, she knew it well. She turned to start stepping into the song slowly making her moves slow and graceful, putting the eagle fan to her forehead and moving it to the night sky fanning away and remembering the way her father used to sing.
The crowd in honor of the young women dancing traditional stood up and took off their hats as the two young women made their way around the arena, slowly, dancing softly on the hard ground, and their buckskins with long fringes swaying with the steady beat. She could hear him, his high pitched voice, the one they call Toe Jams. “He can sing…sing like the old timers” She had heard his voice just a little bit but knew the sound of his voice, it was a good song.
She concentrated on the dance, moving in the steps of her mother and grandmother. It was a contest song, but also a dance of unity, of remembrance, hope and of honor. Tying in the old and the new, from across the plains they had come and she was ready. She looked to the right and saw her friend “Bones” next to her.
They had practiced together when they were small growing up side by side. Both of them had lost their fathers and they danced together all these years practicing day in and day out over the long winter, and in the fall. Bones came along side her and the two of them danced side by side.
Winny looked at her and Bones smiled and they danced side by side, together in perfect harmony, it was like watching twins moving as one. Bones had decided there would be no clear cut winner and Winny knew it too, and so they danced in perfect step with each other.
She cleared her mind and closed her eyes and they danced as they did when they were children and their fathers sang for them. As they danced around the circle, the sound of other drums groups hitting their drums in recognition of their desire to finish together pounded out, a sign of respect. Dancing exactly alike was something not seen at all from those competing to win.
The shrill of eagle bone whistles came up like a flock of eagles taking flight. It was dusty, and in the distance there was thunder and lightning, a steady rumble coming from the East, then went to the South and then the West. Aho!, the crowd said, and the drum groups, 12 of them all together, they all began to join in and sing and the high voices of women singers from the crowd came in and the pow wow grounds was in a place beyond any contest.
They all knew the song and they sang it together and it was no longer a contest song but an honor song. And so it was on that night long ago. There was no winner it was a tie.
Afterward the drummer Toe Jams and Winny walked over to the stew stands together to have a burger and coke. They walked slowly together and talked the night away, "Two Jams" and “Dust in Her Hair”...
rustywire@yahoo.com
She came to the arbor and saw him standing there, this Singer with the Prairie Island Pontiacs.
She stepped over to him and said. “I was out there thinking on how to dance good…but I kept thinking …how come they call him Toe Jams…so tell me how you got that name”
He said to her; first tell me your name “Dust in Her Hair?”
She laughed and said, Winona Not Afraid, but the call me “Winny”
Toe Jams said ”We all went to Chilocco Boarding School", motioning to the drum group, "Way down in your country, Oklahoma, and we got these tennis shoes, donated PF Flyers from some church people. I used to wear them around and when I walked across the tile floors they made this “squish” “squish” sound like, you know, they sound like your feet are all wet, but they weren’t wet.
You could hear me walking down the hall. One of the dorm aides saw me coming and said, “You better do something about those “toe jams”, after he said that the name stuck and that is what I am called now by everybody. How about you “Dust in Her Hair” where are you from?”
She heard her mother calling to her, “Winny!” They could see her standing by the judge’s stand, her mother said, “They want you to dance again, you and “Bones”. She looked at her best friend “Bones Small Eagle” and they turned to go back out into the dance arena. She turned to wave at him, but he had disappeared into the crowd, his drum group calling him over.
The announcer said, “We have a tie in the Young Women’s Traditional, Southern Plains style, so we have number 341 and 430 that are going to dance off!”, the announcer continued and said, “O.K. Prairie Island Pontiacs from the Windy City, Give Us A Good Contest Song!”
There was a wail’ it was loud and it carried far, and in a flash the drumsticks all came up over their heads and banged down on the drum, They sang a song, an old contest song from years ago. Winny stood there and remembered her father used to sing that song, years ago with his drum group Southern Cross, she knew it well. She turned to start stepping into the song slowly making her moves slow and graceful, putting the eagle fan to her forehead and moving it to the night sky fanning away and remembering the way her father used to sing.
The crowd in honor of the young women dancing traditional stood up and took off their hats as the two young women made their way around the arena, slowly, dancing softly on the hard ground, and their buckskins with long fringes swaying with the steady beat. She could hear him, his high pitched voice, the one they call Toe Jams. “He can sing…sing like the old timers” She had heard his voice just a little bit but knew the sound of his voice, it was a good song.
She concentrated on the dance, moving in the steps of her mother and grandmother. It was a contest song, but also a dance of unity, of remembrance, hope and of honor. Tying in the old and the new, from across the plains they had come and she was ready. She looked to the right and saw her friend “Bones” next to her.
They had practiced together when they were small growing up side by side. Both of them had lost their fathers and they danced together all these years practicing day in and day out over the long winter, and in the fall. Bones came along side her and the two of them danced side by side.
Winny looked at her and Bones smiled and they danced side by side, together in perfect harmony, it was like watching twins moving as one. Bones had decided there would be no clear cut winner and Winny knew it too, and so they danced in perfect step with each other.
She cleared her mind and closed her eyes and they danced as they did when they were children and their fathers sang for them. As they danced around the circle, the sound of other drums groups hitting their drums in recognition of their desire to finish together pounded out, a sign of respect. Dancing exactly alike was something not seen at all from those competing to win.
The shrill of eagle bone whistles came up like a flock of eagles taking flight. It was dusty, and in the distance there was thunder and lightning, a steady rumble coming from the East, then went to the South and then the West. Aho!, the crowd said, and the drum groups, 12 of them all together, they all began to join in and sing and the high voices of women singers from the crowd came in and the pow wow grounds was in a place beyond any contest.
They all knew the song and they sang it together and it was no longer a contest song but an honor song. And so it was on that night long ago. There was no winner it was a tie.
Afterward the drummer Toe Jams and Winny walked over to the stew stands together to have a burger and coke. They walked slowly together and talked the night away, "Two Jams" and “Dust in Her Hair”...
rustywire@yahoo.com
Navajo Girl
Navajo Girl
by Johnny Rustywire
Come with me tonight and I will show you a place where there are Navajo Spaceships, Star Mountain, owls and other things...
Come with me to Star Mountain, an ancient place where a star fell to
earth and smashed into a Mesa that bears the name Tso Sila Butte,(Star
Mountain) a place to make dreams and where they come true.
In the still of the night you can see the owls fly, they were placed there to warn the Twin Heros, Monster Slayer and Child Born for Water, when they came to this site to use the flint to make shields and body armor against fire breathing monsters, Winged Monster Bird (Tse Nahl Ye' He') over by Shiprock.
Near the spot of what is now called Dine College, Tsaile Arizona, where a Navajo Spaceship from ancient days hides in one of the buildings there waiting to take flight.
Tonight when the sky is dark and trees very still and no sound is made I will stand at this place Star Mountain and become, Monster Slayer and I will travel by shooting star to the Milky Way.
There I will meet Navajo Girl from long ago and we will laugh and talk
once more, we will skip from star to star and dance from the song of ages. She will join me tonight from long ago and we will two step until dawn. So if you have nothing to do and want to join take a look at the stars tonight, to what is called the Seven sisters, Pleides by the Greeks, and look closely we will be there.......laughing.
by Johnny Rustywire
Come with me tonight and I will show you a place where there are Navajo Spaceships, Star Mountain, owls and other things...
Come with me to Star Mountain, an ancient place where a star fell to
earth and smashed into a Mesa that bears the name Tso Sila Butte,(Star
Mountain) a place to make dreams and where they come true.
In the still of the night you can see the owls fly, they were placed there to warn the Twin Heros, Monster Slayer and Child Born for Water, when they came to this site to use the flint to make shields and body armor against fire breathing monsters, Winged Monster Bird (Tse Nahl Ye' He') over by Shiprock.
Near the spot of what is now called Dine College, Tsaile Arizona, where a Navajo Spaceship from ancient days hides in one of the buildings there waiting to take flight.
Tonight when the sky is dark and trees very still and no sound is made I will stand at this place Star Mountain and become, Monster Slayer and I will travel by shooting star to the Milky Way.
There I will meet Navajo Girl from long ago and we will laugh and talk
once more, we will skip from star to star and dance from the song of ages. She will join me tonight from long ago and we will two step until dawn. So if you have nothing to do and want to join take a look at the stars tonight, to what is called the Seven sisters, Pleides by the Greeks, and look closely we will be there.......laughing.
eagles and chicken spirits
Eagles and Chicken Spirits
by John Rustywire.
It was a dream and it went like this...One day, when I was 13, my cousin Silas and myself went way up on the mountain where the cliffs were, we found a spot within reach of a tree top and so we were able to crawl up onto the tree. On one of the branches we found an eagle nest, it was big enough we could have layed on it like a bed. We found a small eagle and not knowing any better we took it from there and put it in a gunny sack and went home.
A little ways off from the house we built a big bird cage and put the
eagle in it and hid it in the cedars. We fed it rabbits and soon it got to be so big it outgrew the cage in two weeks. It was all white, down feathers it looked like someone had used a blow dryer on it and it was a puff ball. It started to turn gray and just outgrew the cage.
We realized we could not keep it, because it would tear into us when we reached into the cage. We had to let it go so we took it back to the forest.
I told my father what happened and he was pretty upset about it, then he told us he done the same thing when he was young. He spoke of using a rabbit as bait, to lure an eagle into a trap, where you sit under tree branches and reach up and grab it and wrestle it down. Those eagles are pretty tough, when they lay their claws into you, they can really squeeze you. He related that he had done this to pick a feather from the tail, the long middle feather. This feather is used for ceremonies.
We lived next to my grandparents, their home or house was small, two ooms. My grandpa made it fancy by using those old time fancy tin design square panels about 18 inches by 18 inches and nailed all close together inside the house. When they were young they were in too much of a hurry to put in an inside wall so it was the outside wall nailed to studs and the fancy tin squares nailed all over inside. He said it was like a ceiling he saw in Albuquerque one time and thought it would be good in case he made the place into a trading post. We laughed at the thought because if were to you put a store counter in there it would take up all the space. People would have to pretty skinny to get in there.
Anyway my dad sat us down outside and told us about this feather he got. We followed him to the chicken coup and he got a long chicken feather and brought out a basket, one used for ceremonies and after a while with his back turned to us, he said I will show how to make this feather dance. He told us the eagle feather is special and that medicinemen could make them dance in the basket.
After a while my father put the basket down with the feather in it, and put it a ways a way from us. He looked at us and said, because you took that baby eagle from it's nest you will have the eagle spirit with you to follow you around and you might have bad luck.
He said to show you what I have said is true, the chickens who are friends of the eagle will follow you around from now on and there feather will dance to let you know their chicken spirit is following you. He stepped away from the basket and sure enough after he started to sing a song, the feather stood up and danced. We marvelled at the site and he said, the chicken spirit is going to follow you because the eagles don't fool around with kids like you, they have more serious things to do.
My father walked away and left us there. We looked at the basket and the feather and thought about the chicken spirits following us around...we then left and after a few years asked him how he did it and he would just sit there and laugh....
by John Rustywire.
It was a dream and it went like this...One day, when I was 13, my cousin Silas and myself went way up on the mountain where the cliffs were, we found a spot within reach of a tree top and so we were able to crawl up onto the tree. On one of the branches we found an eagle nest, it was big enough we could have layed on it like a bed. We found a small eagle and not knowing any better we took it from there and put it in a gunny sack and went home.
A little ways off from the house we built a big bird cage and put the
eagle in it and hid it in the cedars. We fed it rabbits and soon it got to be so big it outgrew the cage in two weeks. It was all white, down feathers it looked like someone had used a blow dryer on it and it was a puff ball. It started to turn gray and just outgrew the cage.
We realized we could not keep it, because it would tear into us when we reached into the cage. We had to let it go so we took it back to the forest.
I told my father what happened and he was pretty upset about it, then he told us he done the same thing when he was young. He spoke of using a rabbit as bait, to lure an eagle into a trap, where you sit under tree branches and reach up and grab it and wrestle it down. Those eagles are pretty tough, when they lay their claws into you, they can really squeeze you. He related that he had done this to pick a feather from the tail, the long middle feather. This feather is used for ceremonies.
We lived next to my grandparents, their home or house was small, two ooms. My grandpa made it fancy by using those old time fancy tin design square panels about 18 inches by 18 inches and nailed all close together inside the house. When they were young they were in too much of a hurry to put in an inside wall so it was the outside wall nailed to studs and the fancy tin squares nailed all over inside. He said it was like a ceiling he saw in Albuquerque one time and thought it would be good in case he made the place into a trading post. We laughed at the thought because if were to you put a store counter in there it would take up all the space. People would have to pretty skinny to get in there.
Anyway my dad sat us down outside and told us about this feather he got. We followed him to the chicken coup and he got a long chicken feather and brought out a basket, one used for ceremonies and after a while with his back turned to us, he said I will show how to make this feather dance. He told us the eagle feather is special and that medicinemen could make them dance in the basket.
After a while my father put the basket down with the feather in it, and put it a ways a way from us. He looked at us and said, because you took that baby eagle from it's nest you will have the eagle spirit with you to follow you around and you might have bad luck.
He said to show you what I have said is true, the chickens who are friends of the eagle will follow you around from now on and there feather will dance to let you know their chicken spirit is following you. He stepped away from the basket and sure enough after he started to sing a song, the feather stood up and danced. We marvelled at the site and he said, the chicken spirit is going to follow you because the eagles don't fool around with kids like you, they have more serious things to do.
My father walked away and left us there. We looked at the basket and the feather and thought about the chicken spirits following us around...we then left and after a few years asked him how he did it and he would just sit there and laugh....
Wannabee Indians
One morning I woke up and got dressed and went to school and found that I was sitting in class. The books opened and we talked about Geronimo and his band of twenty or so who fought with the U.S. Cavalry. I found I wanted to be Apache, and being in the fourth grade raised me hand and told my teacher I am related to Geronimo. She smiled at me and said, that is pretty neat.
Her name was Miss Harrigan, she taught me in the third and fourth grades. She was raised in Pittsburgh and thought snow was black because of the steel mills made everything that way. It wasn't until later she learned that snow was white. Sometimes where we are living, or see or what is there appears to be the way things are.
I found myself saying I am an Apache, and after class walking home I
thought she knows my parents, and she knows I am Navajo. But for a minute I was Apache in my heart, because I wanted to be a part of the rag tag band of Indians, who by will power, cleverness and heart evaded the U.S. Cavalry because they wanted to continue to live in their own land. To travel as far as any day could take them, but as a result of the want for freedom found themselves in the deserts, valleys and wastelands taking themselves their children to harsh places.
I find myself at times thinking how it would be to be someone else to
change my life, to take a break but this is not possible.
At times I have wanted to be many things, as a child I had to learn from those who would take the time to teach me. In some ways I was ignorant. One time standing in a line to eat at the buffet in Las Vegas, the Rio, I stood behind a couple of Asian people and asked them to be sociable, Are you Japanese? There was a crowd of people there. The lady turned to me and gave me a browbeating that still smarts when I think about. She told me they were not Japanese, and told me who do you think I am, I would never be Japanese. She commenced a verbal tirade on my stereotypical view of the world, that all "Orientals" were Japs. Both words being politically incorrect. I wanted to find a crack in the wall and crawl into it. I just stood there and waited to eat.
I thought about it, I was asked the question to learn a little about her and her companion. to be interested and maybe to have a little conversation. I got my head taken off. I was wanting to learn, and as an individual first, I can see why people sometimes ask foolish questions, some are offensive. There will always be people who are genuinely ignorant to the point they make judgements based on appearance, color, religion, racial classification. I would hope that I take the time to listen to the same questions that sound ridiculous, and have the patience and wisdom to speak in a way that will tell then a little of what I know, which is not much.
I have at times wanted to be more than I am, but find that I too want to have someone listen to my questions, and tell me a little about where they are from, their views, their life, the background and how they live. I am going to Phoenix with my daughter this week. We are going to look around at bit and I hope that what she sees, and experiences will give her some insight into the lives, people and the stories we all have to learn. Yes, I wanted to be Apache, and at times other things and persons. What would it be like to shed our skin, gender, station and place to see the other through another's eyes and feel what they have felt through their heart. I know it can't be done, but then I still ask stupid questions and sometimes they are the wrong ones. I hope that I can continue to ask and maybe learn something I did not know before....
Her name was Miss Harrigan, she taught me in the third and fourth grades. She was raised in Pittsburgh and thought snow was black because of the steel mills made everything that way. It wasn't until later she learned that snow was white. Sometimes where we are living, or see or what is there appears to be the way things are.
I found myself saying I am an Apache, and after class walking home I
thought she knows my parents, and she knows I am Navajo. But for a minute I was Apache in my heart, because I wanted to be a part of the rag tag band of Indians, who by will power, cleverness and heart evaded the U.S. Cavalry because they wanted to continue to live in their own land. To travel as far as any day could take them, but as a result of the want for freedom found themselves in the deserts, valleys and wastelands taking themselves their children to harsh places.
I find myself at times thinking how it would be to be someone else to
change my life, to take a break but this is not possible.
At times I have wanted to be many things, as a child I had to learn from those who would take the time to teach me. In some ways I was ignorant. One time standing in a line to eat at the buffet in Las Vegas, the Rio, I stood behind a couple of Asian people and asked them to be sociable, Are you Japanese? There was a crowd of people there. The lady turned to me and gave me a browbeating that still smarts when I think about. She told me they were not Japanese, and told me who do you think I am, I would never be Japanese. She commenced a verbal tirade on my stereotypical view of the world, that all "Orientals" were Japs. Both words being politically incorrect. I wanted to find a crack in the wall and crawl into it. I just stood there and waited to eat.
I thought about it, I was asked the question to learn a little about her and her companion. to be interested and maybe to have a little conversation. I got my head taken off. I was wanting to learn, and as an individual first, I can see why people sometimes ask foolish questions, some are offensive. There will always be people who are genuinely ignorant to the point they make judgements based on appearance, color, religion, racial classification. I would hope that I take the time to listen to the same questions that sound ridiculous, and have the patience and wisdom to speak in a way that will tell then a little of what I know, which is not much.
I have at times wanted to be more than I am, but find that I too want to have someone listen to my questions, and tell me a little about where they are from, their views, their life, the background and how they live. I am going to Phoenix with my daughter this week. We are going to look around at bit and I hope that what she sees, and experiences will give her some insight into the lives, people and the stories we all have to learn. Yes, I wanted to be Apache, and at times other things and persons. What would it be like to shed our skin, gender, station and place to see the other through another's eyes and feel what they have felt through their heart. I know it can't be done, but then I still ask stupid questions and sometimes they are the wrong ones. I hope that I can continue to ask and maybe learn something I did not know before....
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