From hollywood to Sun Dance,
and just wait til “Standing Rock: The Musical.”
What an honor for my path to have brought me here,
at this most sacred time,
welcomed by the community with open arms,
and invited to join the family on this spiritual holiday,
better not mess up the frybread though.
*******
Enough of this writing about prayer, can’t possibly do it justice anyway, would take some real talent to capture the energy flow of the final day of ceremony, so we’ll just say that it was as spiritually impactful as you could possibly imagine. And now I get the chance to cook for my brothers and sisters who have been through the ringer over the last four days. A much awaited hug with Ben and Charlie, Greg and Carolyn, plus I now get to meet the rest of the crew that’s been out there praying for me. Like Annette, a long time dancer, and a spiritual channeler. She is tuned to a vibration that allows her to be a conduit to the astral realm, pretty heady stuff, I know, but she shared enough that I’m right there with her.
A group of us went to a nearby park to get in the river and maybe even shower a bit, though I do prefer to keep my Unci Maka on my skin, not some kinda dupont poison. Rumor was that there was a dead Horse in the water upstream, that would certainly contaminate the water, unless it was the contaminated water that killed him, but probably just a rumor to keep dirty hippies away.
We’re not scared of death, so we dove in, though we mainly refrained from drinking the water. I was sitting on the sidelines as I conversed with a long lost protector, and as Annette passed by, she complimented the tattoo on my shoulder. It’s a tarantula, my first tattoo, I got it right after I turned eighteen and honestly didn’t have too much of a reason. My best friend was an artist there, so it was more about getting a tattoo from him, which has since represented that particular era of my life, the spider was just the piece of art on the wall that had called out to me.
Iktomi - the Spider, the trickster spirit. She asked what it meant to me and I shared my story, then I realized out loud that maybe I just hadn’t learned what it represented yet, but I bet there was probably some reason that I had felt compelled to take it to the printers. She also felt compelled by it, to share insights into my path, to use her connection to nudge me towards my own. She said that I’ve been carrying the Spider as a protector against weaving a complicated web of misfortune. It’s been keeping me mindful of the relationships I build along my journey, approaching them with caution and intent, not frivolity as I rush to create something that is not sustainable, or which only complicates my existential expedition. That’s pretty spot on so far, only a few loves and never rushed it, no bad blood between us, and a large web of friends has seen more crossovers than circular separation. I’ve still managed to burn a few bridges, but at least until my most recent disappearance into the deep end, I’ve been pretty successful at spinning a network of interconnectedness.
So Iktomi helped me get here, but where’s he taking me? She shared that I have a lot of work ahead, difficult tasks, it’s not going to be easy, but as long as I persevere and stay committed to this path, I will be victorious. I figured as much, about the challenges in front of me, nice to know that I’m on the right track though. And a little daunting as I think about what lies ahead, much better to focus on the now. Or later, back at Sun Dance, where Annette had more message to share.
*******
We were sitting around a protector’s campsite while she was speaking on another’s difficult road. As I often do, I was fiddling with sticks and stuff, peeling back bark and dissecting branches, just a habit of a natural born messer. As she finished one message, she turned to me, “And you, you have such an incredibly strong creative energy. And you’re always trying to figure it all out, to put it all together, but there’s a lot to it, you have to be patient. Don’t worry, you’re going to get there, you’ll find everything, but it’s a long road.”
Holy... Well that just resonated with me pretty big time, and reassured me that this philosophical excavation into who I am, is actually headed somewhere. She also told me, as well as another protector who hardly ever seems to stop, that it was time for a vacation. We needed some downtime. Some rest. Some healing. But, is that not what this is?
This may be a camp out with an official healing capacity, but we were here to work, not just physically, this level of praying takes a lot out of you on many other levels. Just being on the rez is exhausting enough, constantly wrapping my head around the multifaceted oppression experienced within these walls, so just imagine what it feels like to live here. Another dancer, Elaine, is a social worker for the reservation community. Charged with offering counsel to those with little hope for anything better. Dependent on the system for sustenance, unable to leave and forego their minimal rations as they attempt to find work in the supremely racist neighboring cities, and very few jobs available on a reservation with 87% unemployment, where the only ones with the money to capitalize are those who sold out to colonization.
The tribes are divided into 'haves' and 'have-nots,' the nepotism of tribal leadership has ensured a separation of classes, racism is real, even on the rez. And several times I heard the phrase, “like crabs in a bucket,” everyone trapped in the same predicament, fighting for a way out, and when someone finally seems to be getting somewhere, everyone latches onto their momentum and the whole lot of them topple back to the ground floor.
It’s excruciatingly sad, a thoroughly defeated people, resigned to forgetting that they ever knew another way, completely caught up with the depression of alcohol and the impression of inferiority, while they go hungry in what should be an abundant cornucopia of natural nutrition.
So many of them growing up in broken homes, not because of break-up, but because of lock-up. America accounts for 5% of the global population, yet somehow we contain 25% of the world’s incarcerated. And Lakota inmates make up 35% of the prisoners in South Dakota, but only 10% of the general population, a much larger percentage of racists round out the numbers, especially among the law enforcement officers who lie in wait at the reservation border. It’s not safe to leave the reservation, to visit a country built on the genocide of your ancestors, to interact with those who can turn a blind eye to the truth, as they perpetuate the hate in order to pretend they carry no guilt.
We don’t like blacks, even though we brought them here. We don’t like mexicans, even though we stole their economy. We don’t like muslims, even though we funded Al-Qaeda. And we certainly don’t like indians, even if we did move into their neighborhood. Starting to see a pattern here... maybe it’s us. Maybe we are the close-minded hatemongers who are destroying any hope for unity among humankind.
Certainly not all of us, and probably not most who’ve read this far, but even we must acknowledge the unfair shot at a fair existence experienced by every single person of color in this country. The few that have flourished cannot be used as proof of equal opportunity, and more often than not, they’ve had to succumb to the white man’s world to even get that far. A world that has sewn hatred of anything different than the white walls of hollywood. A world which makes it politically correct to assume a bigoted superiority over every other animal on the planet, especially those silly savages. Even among the progressive, it’s still taken as common sense that we have every right to whitewash our colonized way of life over top of another culture’s grave. At least the KKK is honest about their superiority complex.
It’s easy to feel no direct effect of racism when you have your eyes closed to the world around you, when you allow yourself to live in denial as to the true cost of living in excess, and to those who have to pay the price. How much of your household was made in china? Have you ever actually thought about the inside of a sweatshop? How old was the dark skinned kid who picked your Coconut? And how many did he get to eat? How many indigenous americans were murdered under your feet so that you could own this 'property.' And how many will you allow them to continue to murder as you turn a deaf ear to what is simply not your problem? I bet as long as they keep gas prices down, they can keep gassing whomever they want. And everyday that you gas up and mindlessly drive to work, is another day that you could have been enacting real change into a system that you admit is not perfect, yet you vote for it anyway.
What if today’s the day? The day that you do something about it. The turning point of your transition into a new way of life. A life of fighting for what is right. Even if it seems like too great a task, you are empowered by the knowledge that you are not alone in this. And driven by the understanding that it’s better to fight to the end, than to just give up and let the destruction engulf you.
So what if today’s the day? No need to finish reading this mess if you’ve already been inspired to act. And what if today was the only day? What if all of your memories were implants so that you could experience this single day as a human? Are you living it to the fullest? Living in the now? Or what if you were caught in that Groundhog trap, reliving this moment over and over? Would be a pretty dumb movie that cataloged the continuous daily grind at some dead end job, or that followed some meaningless money chase instead of true love, or that sat back and allowed the powers-that-be to run amok without any semblance of resistance.
If this is the only day you get to live, or if you just treat it that way, you’ll clearly see that now is the time. No one wants to watch you plan for retirement, they want to see you live your life to the fullest as you follow your heart into eternity. Live today like it’s your last. Today is a good day to die.
*******
It’s a good day to live too. To soak up the Sun’s energizing vibrations and convert them into an action sequence. The Sun’s on his way down now, but that doesn’t mean we are, I’ve got a new roommate for the night and we’ve got plenty to talk about. Unci Carolyn’s borrowed tent had to leave today, so I invited her to my borrowed tent, where we proceeded to drink some Peyote tea. Yeah.
Peyote - it’s a cactus, grows out of the ground, a gift from Unci Maka, a way to connect to another plane of existence, the spirit world. There are two ways of connection through the Lakota tradition, the Sun Dance way, and the Peyote way, though Peyote was not native to the plains. It was a sacred gift from the Comanches of the desert, who received the knowledge of this medicine during a grandmother’s four day vision quest, as she sacrificed food and water to pray for the healing of her people.
Not sure that I’m ready to calculate the legality of gifting medicine plants, but I’m certain that there’s a healthy way to share these spiritual gifts from the Earth. I was ready to taste it though, at least I thought I was. Unci was quite familiar with the medicine - she’d used it to kick heroin - and was now a spiritual guide for many. It’s not necessarily fun or easy, though I guess none of our ceremonies quite fit that description either. Stuff comes up to confront you and you’re gonna face it, but you leave a Peyote meeting with a new understanding of Wakan Tanka.
We weren’t in ceremony though, just in a tent, and I only had a few gulps. Little tingly maybe, but not much else, a few scattered thoughts as I fell asleep, but what’s new? I will try Peyote again, but I think that the place for this is in ceremony, to take it in a sacred manner, to honor and respect the plant medicine for its amazing ability to connect - to take it in a good way.
*******
I’ve been into psychedelics for a long time, off and on at least, but only recently considered the experience anything close to spiritual. I always preferred acid, though I’m not sure where I’ll land on a laboratory made molecule of spiritual connection, I certainly believe in it though. All the rest of them seem good to go in my book, Psilocybin, Ayahuasca, Peyote, all-natural connecting flights to another realm, but they could certainly be misused. They’re not for party, they’re for prayer. A way to connect on a new level, and perhaps a way to move past genetic blockages of a colonial ancestry. We (white people) are further removed from a harmonious relationship with Unci Maka than those only a few generations into their separation anxiety. It is physically harder for us to connect, keep trying. Psychedelics could help, when taken in a sacred manner, with a prayerful intent. But you must face the work to be done head-on.
I’ve also heard that the medicine is more powerful in the location where it grows. Of course. Obviously. If I think the way I do about eating local, why would I not assume the same about spirit plants? They are going to have more to say and be more inclined to connect you to the inner workings of Unci Maka, if they feel at home, if they are surrounded by their friends, if the ground under your feet is the familiar soil of their path as well.
It’s also customary to prepare your body in a sacred way before you depart, like how Jesus fasted for forty days as he received visions from the spirit world, or how in Ayahuasca’s hometown, it is tradition to purify your body for a month or two before embarking on your world tour. No refined sugar, processed foods, alcohol, deep fried delicacies, caffeine, dairy, red meat or sexual exchange of energy - you’re gonna need to hang onto it for this journey.
Geez, well that was all the fun stuff, but there’s some new things on the menu, including a daily dose of some local medicine plants that will help to connect you to the surrounding landscape’s vibration. So a super clean diet will greatly affect the prayer experience, and I’ve just come off of a stint of my purest menu yet, no wonder I’m starting to see all these intricate implications of our americanized food supply.
All make sense to me, and I will from now on approach any further psychoactive explorations in the most sacred way, with intent, and ceremony, and an understanding that paths of connection converge. Still gonna hope that LSD makes the guest list of ceremony, but not sure which local habitat it would reside in.
*******
I think I might reside in south dakota for a bit, still have a few days of purification before my ride leaves, but I’m already feeling that I’ve got more work to do out this way. Probably could have guessed that earlier, just finished the book and obviously I was ready for the next thing, figured I’d jump in the car with a water protector headed off to some mission or another, but as the cars rolled on, nothing felt like the right move. There were a handful of Rosebuddies on their way out, all on their own trajectories, including one that was trading places with me at Benjamin’s. We’d all been here to experience this sacred ritual together, to help one another along the way, but we were each on our own journey around the Sun Dance tree.
Stuff comes up at Sun Dance, Ben warned me, energies swell, this is not a vacation. I was doing alright so far, though I'm a tad slow on the uptake, but a few of my close sisters were feeling the vibrations as lessons bubbled to the surface. These family members generally take issue with forced gender conformity, and the Lakota tradition has clearly defined gender roles - they mix like frybread oil and uranium water. They felt conflicted over the way they were expected to act because of their gender, they were freakin water protectors, they could do anything a boy could do, and probably better.
There’s stuff like running the sacred kitchen, though Beth let me know right off that she allowed men to cook as well. Or picking Sage, an honor no one would ever complain about. But it was the dress code that was bugging my family. Women wear skirts to ceremony, to sweat lodge, or anywhere around the Sun Dance arbor, and even men wear them as they dance. But several of my sisters had personal aversions to wearing skirts, to being pushed into societal constrictions of who they were allowed to be. They had found so much connection through these Lakota ways, but this one stumbling block was pulling them away from the prayer.
I walked up to a conversation about it, between them, some women who proudly donned the sacred skirt, and a few veteran Sun Dancers. I get it, why can’t this culture of connection recognize that the women are just as powerful as the men? Why box them into outdated ways of thinking? Though I do generally see that native tradition has some type of rooting in-tune with our Earthly equilibrium, even if I don’t quite see the connection at first. And most of the women here are excited to sport the skirt, and to carry out their sacred roles in this ceremony, in this way of life.
Then it got set real straight, for me at least. A passerby caught our conversation and chimed in - The Lakota have had their entire way of life eradicated by colonization, including this ceremony, which was only recently made legal to perform again. They are trying to hold onto whatever pieces of tradition are left of their once harmonious culture, a set of beliefs that they know to connect them to the Great Spirit, rituals given to them as a way to heal Unci Maka, but they also see them fading before their eyes as the walls close in. So how colonized is it to waltz in here and try to mold their ceremony to fit into your own belief system, simply because you don’t understand the power of theirs? I get that too, big time, but I’m a guy, so it’s easy to be down with most things in this patriarchal world.
*******
Sure, our country is a patriarchy, and almost all white males at that, but the guy at the top isn’t really the only element at play, and even if she’d have won more than the popular vote, we’d still be under patriarchal rule. It’s not about your leader, it’s about the entire concept of control systems. The divine feminine energy is all about intuition and compassion, curves and free-flowing structure, a love for all that unites a planet. And the other side is square, it’s just numbers and math and the bottom line, grids and time slots as we clock in, an angular disconnection that breeds war (for profit). The matriarchal power structure looks like a Lakota camp, the sacred fire in the center as it emanates outward among a circular path of governessing. The patriarch prefers a triangle, or maybe the illuminatic pyramid, which can always be followed up the hierarchy to the top-down view of the square man behind the curtain.
Women are sacred. And powerful. The Lakota gender roles are not methods of oppression, they are meant to honor the givers of life and empower them to harness their energies in the most effective ways. We instead suppressed women as second-class citizens, for way longer than the colored folk, like, since the dawn of our current civilization. We felt threatened by their fortitude and their connection with the Earth, so we locked them in the house and treated them as possessions. As objects.
I’ve heard a Lakota elder say that women are more evolved than men, even according to my dad’s book they were created after us, which explains why their Earthly connection is stronger than our own. And their lunar connection. Women participate in a lot of modern sweat lodges, but it is traditionally just for the men, not to be an exclusionary boys club, but because we are the ones who need periodic purification. We lose our way, our humility, our connection. Women, on the other hand, are fully equipped to cleanse themselves with the Moon.
They’ve always been able to hold their own in the real world, so we somehow brainwashed society into hiding them behind cosmetic walls and a widespread concept of female inferiority. We were scared that they would see the cost of men at work, so we kept them pregnant, focused on the family, not allowed to go to school, or learn a trade, or vote for a progressive white man who might actually see them as people and not possessions. They eventually staged a coup, and we had to admit that they deserved just as many civilizational rights as any other human, maybe even more than black people, we’ll at least let them drink our water.
Just because they could now vote between the two white men running for office, don’t think they experienced any more equality than a black man in a snowstorm. We still, even currently, are quick with the assumption of, “Silly girl, why don’t you leave the thinking to the professionals?” An indoctrinated fallacy only supported by our fear of allowing them to become educated - why, they might start getting ideas or something. We pay them less for the same jobs, and any that make it to the top, have generally had to abandon their natural way of planetary compassion as they adopt a for-profit mindset.
The Lakota matriarch decides with her heart, what is truly best for her family, no logical explanation of love necessary. Might be why we included treaty caveats that 3/4 of the tribe’s men were needed for decision making. Much easier to swindle drunk men than a conscious woman. Though it seems that only ten percent of the tribe's adult males even signed the treaty, but that was good enough for us, they don’t know how to count anyway.
The matriarch understands the power of each sex as she nurtures the strength of both, she doesn’t want to downplay our importance just because she feels intimidated by our thick skulls. One indigenous culture had a neat approach for sharing the power, the men were chosen by the women to embark on intertribal negotiations, they were free to decide the tribe’s trajectory, but would have to return and face the music of the females. So if they made a bad call, they were simply replaced the next time. Imagine what progression our culture could have made with a policy like this, the men would still get to puff their chests and act all important, but they would be unable to selfishly enact legislation that traded life for dollars, or that treated any living being as anything other than an equal.
*******
We criticize women for thinking with their emotions, not their calculators. I grew up indoctrinated by this same school of thought, just the way it is, it’s a man’s world and it’s gonna stay that way. Until we destroy it. Square house, square car, square cubicle - square existence. We invented ownership and private property, girls would never go for that, so we just added them to the inventory.
And now it’s mindlessly embraced by the mainstream, becoming a sex object is the surefire way into stardom, and surefire way to perpetuate a mindset of objectification, which only increases the likelihood of young women being taken advantage of in a world of selling sex. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard a man say that they wish they were a woman, just so they could use their body to get whatever they want. Do you? Really? You’d rather feel pressured to show your private side instead of being evaluated on any actual merit? I couldn’t imagine facing every interaction in this 'man’s' world, knowing that the so-called gentle-man across from you, is undressing you with his eyes while he plans his industry standard exploitation of an up-and-coming broken dream.
And all the sex workers across the country, and the exotic dancers - how many do you think feel trapped by the money? They turned to selling a piece of themselves to survive, for food and rent and heat and to take care of their little baby children, and they are someone’s child as well, pushed into the submissive position of compromising their integrity for what are fundamental human rights. And we seem to be ok with this.
Some may not feel overtly forced into this way of life, happily hypnotized by the glitter of dollar bills, able to live a lifestyle more comfortable than they’ve ever known, and now no other work can compete, so I guess this is it. Or it could pay for college, or it could pay for an overdose, and how many teenagers do you think would get up the nerve to take their clothes off and rub their bodies on the laps of slimy old men, if this stupid dollar bill wasn’t in the equation? If every human was automatically guaranteed food, and water, and a warm place to sleep, free to pursue whichever passion was pulling on their heart, free to pour good into the world in all directions as they receive the abundance she will return - how many do you think still choose stripping?
I know it sounds like a fantasy, saving a pretty woman with a worry-free world of abundance, but does it sound anymore ridiculous than a country with far more empty homes than homeless people, who let children starve while they grow Corn for cattle, and who would allow their sacred women to be sexually exploited for a made-up concept of capitalism? The things we allow to take place in this world, in the uncontested name of pursuing money, are downright appalling. Shameful. Money is not a real thing, it cannot replace life, yet we don’t blink an eye at the devastations of humanity, as long as there’s a high enough profit margin of error.
*******
Not all men are created evil, most are just victims of the same system and unaware of their impact, as they merely follow the exceedingly disgusting norms of society. Most could at least admit that it’s a man’s world, but I think most would like to keep it that way, I think they genuinely feel superior because everything about the patriarchal world tells them they are, which only perpetuates the colonial chauvinism.
Proud to be a man. Proud to be white. Proud to be an american. Proud white american men founded this country and wrote the rules to keep themselves in control, and only land owners can vote, so only those who feel ownership over our mother can decide how much we can exploit her. If you are a man, don’t worry, it’s not your fault, you’re just a product of conditioning and circumstance. You are only to blame if you take the knowledge of this biased world and do nothing about it, if you gain perspective on the struggles of woman and still womanize, if you don’t from here on out treat every single female you encounter with the respect you should be showing your mother, not as an object, but as the sacred energy that powers their being.
And I’m no saint. I’m pretty passionate about this one because it hits close to home. I never thought of myself as a womanizer, I’ve generally been pretty open and loving with women, certainly ogled a few, but dad taught me that even he could “look but not touch.” Taught me anti-women jokes too. But he was just a product of a generation with less liberated females to break him free of the brainwashing of his patriarchal mindset. So what’s my excuse?
*******
Purification was winding down, and it was finally time for me to face some deep down stuff. A water protector who I had known at camp, but not as closely as most, brought some things to my attention that actually explained a lot about her unexplained behavior towards me. We had seemed to hit it off at first, but all of a sudden she went cold, though I guess it had been forty below out there. And then it happened again here, we reconnected at first, but then whatever it was, came over her again. She kept it inside until after the ceremony, and then she shared with me what had been on her mind. She felt like I had made unwanted advances towards her back at camp, that I had been a creep.
I was flabbergasted, we had been vibing pretty good, at least I thought so, but even if I’m feeling it, I don’t generally jump to conclusions. I’d openly expressed that I liked her, but still kept it just friendly, and we continued to hang out and get to know each other. So when she dropped out, I was confused.
And now, even more so. Her retelling of the winter’s events was a little different than mine, including a creepy shoulder touch, a bumpy walk down a snowy corridor, and even a stray pelvic thrust. As I look back, I see only innocence. I’m sure I did give a light touch as a colonized symbol of affection after several days of close conversation. And I remember the clumsy walk, side by side between three-foot slippery ice walls, not trying to touch, but inevitable. And I don’t even know about this “pelvic thrust,?