Native American culture & teachings through a modern lens

Month: March, 2015

In the Time of the Eaglets’ Cry

My late Nalí asdzann would prepare for a new school year, a ceremony or chapter meeting with gusto. She dove into things. I never knew her to announce her fear. When it came to how to start something new, or even what to do next she would simply do. Always reminding me “don’t just talk about it, do it,” when I shared a new idea with her.

Lately, I have been thinking about what advice she would have for me at this point in my life. What words she’d share and I am not sure she’d have any. Though this lack of advice shouldn’t be taken as abandonment but actually a reflection of all that she has already given me.

I return to the memory of my Kinaaldá ceremonies and think about the people that gathered around me. I remember the wisdom shared with me and how much love I felt. I can recall what it felt like to be in the Hogan surrounded by so many of my elders – most of whom have since past away now. It was these pillars of strength who I believed prayed my life into existence. It is them who have created a life so beautiful I could not imagine the wonder, magic and blessings.

It is the time of the “eaglets’ cry” or Wóózhch’įįd (March), a time of year which symbolizes the start of spring. While a cry usually is a mark of pain we must remember the pain fades and what is left is the opportunity for harmony to be found as the beauty pours into the mold that the pain initially created. There was a point during my ceremony where I felt as though my arms would fall off as I ground the corn for my cake. It was hard work and at several moments I felt as though I was going to quit. But each time an aunt or my mom would share a story or would tell a joke. Then I would be fixated on its ending or the punch line I would forget my arms hurt. Before I realized it, I finished grinding all fifty pounds and we were ready to mix the cake.

I think of my Kinaaldá and I remember the smells, tastes, the laughter which would roared from the Hogan. In each scene I have of my late Nalí adszaan, she was always smiling. It was one of the best memories I have of her. So far in my life this ceremony has been the most precious gift my family has given me. In hard times it is easy to forget what a foundation the Kinaaldá has provided. In moments of doubt and darkness I try to visualize the Hogan, the faces that surrounded me and how much I must trust my life has already been prayed for…it is now up to me to just DO.

 

Shíkeyáh as Medicine

Sunday morning I said goodbye to my family after a delicious breakfast prepared by my mom. We ate and laughed as a late winter snow fell outside. My heart swells at all the scenes we took in together and remember the prayers we said for each other and ourselves before I left.

I know I carry these scenes and prayers with me until the next visit. Returning to Diné Bikeyáh (Navajoland) each time as though on a pilgrimage. Each trip is filled with such anticipation of being able to unload the angst and chaos of the city. Born in the vastness of a place which makes you feel like it belongs all to you while simultaneously allowing you to feel small enough to question your being, I recognize how much I am a part of the land and it is a part of me.

Though it means so much for me to be home, I forget how fast times passes when I am away. A recovering perfectionist, I want to not miss anything. I want to always be home and am often heartbroken at missing the simple things – the first snowfall, ceremonies of family friends or even the stories my Grandma tells in between her cup of coffee and dinner. While I can beat myself up for the moments missed I have to remember the faith and practices instilled in me.

Diné Bikeyáh is my medicine. Not just the place, my parents’ home, but the land. I crave the calm of the land as soon as I depart. While away in the desert I find echoes of home on my hikes, while on runs at dawn, each outing sustaining my spirit. It is the land which soothes me, makes me stronger, knows my weaknesses and strengths.

While driving with my Mom as the rain, snow and rain fell, we were graced by a family of gorgeous glowing blue birds. They fluttered by us sharing the same vistas of the Lukachukai Mountains as we made our trek. A moment of fleeting perfection that didn’t have to last long as it provided more than enough serenity. This recent trip was so much about self-care and focusing on restoring my balance. Traveling from the stillness to clamor I humbly look forward to my return to Shíkeyáh (my land).