“When the light’s returning, even though this is the darkest hour”
*******
I was definitely feeling connected. Eating and drinking super clean, but I still spent many hours each day in the concrete kitchen, tethered to the unnatural vibration of the laptop. Hardly wore shoes, got plenty of Sun, Saged and prayed every morning at least, but what really had me there, was the constant ritual at the inipi. A daily multivitamin of connection. A guaranteed four hour window into the heart of Unci Maka. And into my own heart.
We never let the fire go out. A nice sized stump would be enough to keep her smoldering, until we arrived the next day to breathe her back to life. A pinch of Tobacco as we shared whatever was on our heart with the flame. No matter what anyone’s workday had entailed, this was their chance to break free from the cages of colonization. A pristine lakeside landscape, completely uncluttered by convenience. You had no choice but to hear the music around you, and we were there to combine our voices, one unified prayer vibration, blasting out of the lodge as we contribute our harmony to the great cosmic jam. We purify ourselves in the inipi, the darkened hot womb of Unci Maka, the caves of creation, and we emerge reborn and humbled. Reminded that we are not our ego, but a conduit of universal energy, and at our strongest when we act as one.
Benjamin always poured, but the rest of us would take turns pulling stones, today was my day. First I’d grab a shovelful of coals and use Cedar to smudge myself, the altar, the drum, and the chanupa. After the pipe filling song, I’d use a pitchfork to dig out the glowing rocks, heavy rocks, and carried each to the inipi door. Every once in a while, there would be a rainstorm rolling through just as we were ready to head in.
With a way of life disconnected from weather.com, surrounded by natural cycles and the understanding that we won’t understand them, knowing that our prayers are as capable of affecting the world around us as they are the clouds in our own hearts, well, it only made sense to assume that the onset of downpour was our sign to begin. No joke, several times the bottom dropped out right as we went in, super soaker, and then it let up as quickly as it had surfaced, during the last song of the fourth door.
The rain brings great cleansing. It brings healing. Washes away suffering as it brings new life. We pray for the rain. Wopila tanka. The key to the Rain Dance is to feel the rain, to believe in your heart that it is already raining, a manifestation of imagination. And then there’s that time I summoned the Thunder Beings.
The Wakinyan Oyate, the Thunder Nation, or Thunder People, they bring both destructive and constructive energy. If you see a Thunderbird in your dream, a medicine man may tap you to become a Heyoka, an important ceremonial role in the tribe, one who does things backwards but achieves the same results. They balance the flows of energy, the yin to the rest of the tribe's yang.
I was singing a heyoka Thunder Being song on the edge of the dock one day, no clouds above, just a few way down the valley from us. I started singing, lightening started hitting way off in the distance, I kept going, the storm kept coming. It was creeping up, Ben made me stop, and by the time we shut the door, it was right on top of us. Sure, there was already a storm, and it was probably coming right up the valley, regardless of our intentions, but that didn’t make the lodge any less intense. Especially considering that Benjamin’s been hit by lightening three times, somewhat of an electromagnet, and he’s sitting across from you in a fiery inferno. A grandma would later tell me, “That Benjamin, he sure is a power pack.” Sure is.
*******
Ben had been a Sun Dancer for over twenty years, cultivating a direct connection of spiritual nourishment, but he was also on a path of Vipassna meditation, the way of the Buddha. He worked it into his daily routine, but also participated in extended group meditation, ten day sits. A week and a half of getting inside his head, or out of it. He focuses on his breath, the actual point where spirit enters and exits his body, less about conforming to the 'right way,' and more about observing and being aware of its quality. The attention to detail of this fundamental essence of life, of the revitalizing flow of universal energy within, with a clear intent of experiencing every breath, you are left no choice but to be fully invested in the now. And then all you have to do is not think about anything else.
Simple, right? Except that we all have baggage, even if we’ve stowed it away in the long term compartment. Things come up, whether you like it or not, a bit like truly praying from a selfless heart. You may be lost in thought about some mundane task on the farm, then you catch yourself, and you acknowledge the thought as you return your focus to your breath. But once you get with the low flow of radio silence, that’s when the heavy stuff starts to hit you.
I haven't gotten there with meditation yet, but I think I’ve experienced the same with prayer, and psychedelics, and I believe it to be the fundamental mechanics of going on the hill, hembleciya, vision quest. Sounds scary. And uncomfortable. Facing deep regrets about the pain you’ve caused. Being honest with your heart as you look past the rationalizations of your ego. Things may come up that you had no idea were still weighing on you, it’s only scary if you fight it, if you’re unwilling to tear down walls, if you insist on denying the truth within. This is why you’re here. In this space. Not some new age astral journey, at least not until you unload the cargo hold. You’re here to work on yourself, to unpack issues that are holding back the inner light of your being
Your selfless self. Unlocking the chains of an ego-driven road trip, as you admit to yourself the vibrational hold you’ve allowed it to maintain, while dissolving the illusions of justification that attempt to nullify the negative energy you’ve created in the world. In another’s life. I may not actively carry guilt for something from my past, a logical retelling of events may reveal that my actions and words were called for, but if I’ve caused pain or sadness to my brother or sister – a reflection of me, crafted by the same light – then just how high and mighty could I possibly be in the situation?
I know now the power of love, the strength of the dominant vibration of the universe, and I’ve seen first hand it’s ability to spread and heal and inspire. So how honest could I be without acknowledging that any negative energy I’ve allowed to occur in my wake, has the potential to spread, and damage the vibrations of those I love, and most certainly myself. You have to be aware of this energy before you can begin to convert it into the overpowering vibration of love. Self love. Unconditional love.
You don’t heal by convincing your brain that you were right all along, you find forgiveness by humbling your heart and seeking genuine compassion. Understand that you are God, and they are God, and we are all part of the same, which means that you are also experiencing the light of life through their perspective at the same time. Our ego keeps us separated from the collective journey, which allows us to experience a supremely diverse web of life, but it also makes it possible to forget why we are here. Love.
I don’t even have to dig into my past, I’m causing pain right now. To the ones I love the most. To the ones who love me unconditionally. As I lock myself away to write about healing, I’m spreading hurt among my family. I’ve disconnected from society, which is the only world they know. I’ve gone off the deep end. I used to be the life of the party, now I’m the name you don’t mention because it dampens the celebration. I can’t go back. I can visit, but there’s no way I can reenter the matrix.
And my self-driven rationalizations have me convinced that I’m right. That I’m doing what I must. That standing up for my planet is the most important thing I could be doing – at all costs. Even if that cost is a confused family in constant worry, while I’ve disappeared into the dangers of a domestic warzone. Confused... and angry. Choosing a life of adventure over our lifelong relationships, leaving them to explain the impossible, “Where’s Uncle Deeg?” How can I feel ok about my path, when I know my mom cries for me in her sleep?
But I also know that I can’t. I woke up, which gave me the ability to see the destruction all around me, and also the gift of anxiety. I physically can’t be amidst the chaos of ignorance, this world of contriviality, without risking the chance of an episode. And I certainly can’t be around more than a few consumers without freaking the eff out. It’s PTSD, but I feel bad calling it that when I know how deeply it has affected others, so I just label it anxiety. I don’t feel it at the farm, or at other camps, here I’m connected, and surrounded by kindred spirits. I haven’t disappeared from the face of the Earth, I’ve disappeared to it.
But that first step into civilization and I feel it, a simultaneous throttle on my connection to the planet, and the culture shock of reentering a world of disconnectedness. And it just builds. How can I expect anyone to understand, when I can’t even talk about it without getting upset? They want to understand. They want me to be safe and happy and for me to do what feels right, but they also want me in their life. They want me to feel the love that should be keeping me around, even through the bars of the cage. A prison they can’t even see, and even if they do, a content family life can overpower the urge to try to escape it. But all I can do is cynically preach revolution, and those that aren’t ready to hear it, they’re just not gonna understand.
*******
I’d never experienced anxiety, or a panic attack, until I did. During a brief visit to asheville before heading to the farm, it hit me. I’d been surviving the rural carolina life, surrounded by those that didn’t get it and relying on prayer to get me through. Then, on my first trip to A-Town, I saw the endless amounts of energy consumed with alcohol fueled denial. A progressive community lost in the illusions of progress. I saw who I was last year. Then I had a moment.
I bumped into a friend, and after a second of them processing my surprise guest appearance, I felt this incredible wave of gratitude pass through them. He had visited camp with his band, outspoken supporters of the movement, and he held sacred the sacrifices of the water protectors. He scooped me up in a big hug, genuinely grateful for my commitment to the cause, and reaffirmed my drastic decision to adopt a new way of life. It was the first time that I’d crossed paths with someone who truly backed me up, who agreed that this was important work, and vital to our continued existence on this planet. I left this brief interaction and immediately began tearing up as waves of emotion began rolling over me. I had to find a seat in the bushes and ride it out. Conveniently, I was with a friend who has a history of anxiety, so they understood without understanding, and knew how to comfort while giving the space to let it pass.
It was a panic attack fraught with positive emotions. A corroboration that I wasn’t going crazy, and that my new life’s work wasn’t in vain. Tangible evidence that people are waking up. That we’re going to do this. After a barrage of naysaying pundits belittling the naive dream of a better world, this moment overwhelmed me with the relief of being reminded of what I already knew. We will be victorious. We’re gonna win this thing. No doubt in my mind. Or heart. It’s hard to hang on to faith, when all you hear are the gears turning in the mindless mainframe of mayhem, but as we continue along this path of inspiring, the waking up of our bothers will only inspire us further.
It’s tough to be where I’m at right now, in this headspace of realizations and lessons of self-discovery, and not get frustrated by those that aren’t there yet. I want others to learn from my mistakes, and my successes, but I also know that I can’t tell someone how to feel. I have to remember the incredible chain of events that even led me to be called to Standing Rock, a far cry from the systematic farming of my family. And then we experienced the unspeakable, which explains why it took me so many words to try to describe it, and through this multifaceted journey of intense introspection, we all evolved.
We’re at the front of this thing. We are the leaders of a global awakening, but we have to understand that we are each on our own path. After knowing all that I’ve been through, and to be just now getting to this place of awareness, it seems ridiculous to think that everyone else can catch up just because I say so. Patience. They will get here eventually, we all will, and I happen to know that the waking up process is accelerating exponentially. I’m a part of it. I’ve already inspired others to inspire, and as the web of change spreads out like the energy of the Wakinyan, we’ll reach the tipping point where love will topple the walls of fear.
We’ll never stop growing though. Learning. Discovering. Evolving. As our brothers and sisters embark on the inward journey that will eventually bring them to somewhere near where we’re at, with our current understanding of the universe and connection to it through our Mother Earth, we’ll also be continuing down this infinite road to truth. Each understanding only opens a door to a new level of not understanding, and every time I think I have it all figured out, I realize that I’m just getting started. “The journey to the spirit world is a long one my friend.” So even after the conception of a conscious collective, we’re still gonna be looking back from a higher perspective, and yearning to bring everyone else with us.
So I can’t get frustrated. But I will. So I just have to remind myself how grateful I am to get to be one of the lucky ones, and the honor I feel to be able to carry this responsibility. It’s no burden, it’s a blessing, and the caveat is that as my guides continue to pull me through the darkness, I must exercise patience as I help my family to their own epiphanies. My human family. The two-legged nation. We are all related.
But even that internal monologue of self-motivation, isn’t enough to ease the pain of knowing the pain I’ve caused along the way. So I pray. I honestly approach the inner demons that constrict my transformation. I don’t run away from the truth of who I am, I run towards it. I face myself head on and commit to transmuting this internal grief into outward love. And inward love. Love and compassion for your own healing, is the first step to sharing it with others. I know that the more I break down the constructs of my ego, the more creative power I have to build a better world.
It’s hard work though. Certainly enticing to compartmentalize and move on. But after experiencing a transformation amid my quest for humility, I know that it is so worth it. Bring it on. I’m grateful for the continuous humbling of the lodge, keeping my heart open while I strive to walk in prayer. I anticipate my turn on the hill, knowing that it will be powerful, and painful, so the least I can do for myself is get a head start on healing. And as for meditation, eh, that’s just some california hippie mumbo jumbo.
*******
Benjamin had been connected through the Sun Dance way for a long time, the same Red Road that I’m just starting my journey along, and then he got into meditation. He could feel his connection to the same source, a new pathway to the understanding of oneness, just another way to build that same fire. Then, as he independently exercised his spiritual muscles, the two separate neural highways merged. He could now tap into both at the same time. The routes of enlightenment had crossed paths, which only makes sense, once you realize that they’re all going to the same place anyway.
This greatly deepened my understanding of the stairway to heaven. I already knew that it doesn’t matter how you pray, as long as it’s from the heart. All pathways are valid, got it. I only knew one way, the only one that ever felt right, the only path that ever resonated with me, the Sun Dance way of life. This is how I pray. This is how I live. It has provided me great gifts of wisdom, so obviously this is the road for me. I knew that all ways could lead me there if I opened myself to them, but I also assumed that I couldn’t transfer credits, figured I had to pick a major and stick with it. Now I can see that the complex roadmap to the universe, is as webbed and infinite as the contagious spread of universal love. I can feel the connection that I do, yet still open my heart to an alternative route, which just makes my GPS that much more effective as I face the unknowns ahead.
Makes me wonder if one could experience the entire atlas, the ultimate scenic route down the path of self-discovery. Also makes me think about how incredible a world full of acceptance would be. An understanding of differences and a genuine desire to understand them, because as you continue your own exploration, every experience only deepens your own connection to source. Sounds much more beautiful than a world full of fear and persecution and racism and close-minded hatred of anything outside of america’s comfort zone.
*******
I honestly couldn’t imagine a place more comfortable. Laying on the dock, tingling from the vibrations of connection, fresh out of the oven and impurities washed away by our precious mni wiconi. It was something else. You got out-there for sure. And the close bond of our brotherhood made it all the more powerful, probably why the Beaver was trying to join the gang.
The small six-person lodge was surrounded by wildlife. If the farm was man’s attempt to create Eden, this habitat was God’s success. We saw Deer every day. After a few weeks of ceremony, they’d be waiting for us when we came out, chilling in the field as they checked out our vibes. There might be a Mouse taking refuge in the centrally heated stone pit of yesterday’s lodge, and one time a rescued Turtle walked in the front door and vanished. I went in looking, pretty immediately, but I guess he left through the back and took off running, unless...
Sometimes there’d be an Eagle, circling the lodge’s skyward push of positive energy, reminding us to persevere as we walk in a good way. Or maybe just picking up some lunch from the lakeside diner. But for real though, the Eagle is there to carry our prayers to the Creator. I pray every morning with a Wanbli Wiyaka, an Eagle Feather, a great honor to have bestowed upon you, and generally only after times of great transformation. And super illegal for me to be in possession of.
You have to be a tribal card carrying member to carry the remains of this endangered species, and for good reason. The Wanbli Oyate, the Eagle Nation, used to be as prolific as the rest of the pre-colonial symbiotic partners of our great Turtle Island. Then we showed up and hatched a plan of a free market that puts a price on another’s life, gotta crack some eggs to make an omelet, which empowered the poaching of our most sacred allies. Yep, def sounds like us, breaking bird law, but they were already going bald anyway, weren’t they?
*******
There was a tropical Pawpaw grove invading the creekside, berries everywhere, a Dogbane patch for making rope, and of course the customary appearance of the occasional poisonous Snake. We pulled the tarp off the woodpile and there she was, a big beautiful Copperhead sitting right on top. Dinnertime.
JK, I wasn’t quite there yet, prob still a little butthurt about the last one, plus, I’m not too keen on killing such a spiritual animal when we already have everything we need. They’re connected to the Wakinyan, and I knew I’d be seeing more of them after I’d laid my brother to rest. Part of the Snake’s medicine is that of transmutation, to take in the poisons of negative energy, and convert them into a positive influence upon the world. Probably a pretty good medicine to have following me around. They’re also here to remind us to be mindful, to be present in the moment, pay attention to life, otherwise a Snake might jump out and bite you.
We caught and bagged her, quite a scene as we jumped around in a frantic frenzy, and then released her a few miles down the road. Definitely better than the slaughterhouse, though it doesn’t seem too friendly to disorient and drop her off on the side of the road either. Also don’t want a barefoot bite mark to stop our never ending sweat.
Benjamin had been bitten before, no anti-venom available, so he just had to ride it out. He was pretty sick for a few days, and as he recovered, he also developed a new respect for spatial awareness. And he certainly didn’t go on a spiteful rampage to avenge his own misstep. He was starting to get a little annoyed with the Beaver though.
*******
He almost scared me off the dock. I was standing at the edge with a rod, when all of a sudden the platform started rumbling. Bunch of commotion, and then this big ol’ Beaver shot out into the crystal clear water in a stunning display of flat tailed flashery. No, I mean I was actually stunned. He’d been hanging out for a while, we’d see the occasional felled tree, and eventually we found his lodge not too far from ours. Ben was worried about him taking out the trees around the inipi, he’d already gnawed on one, so we peed on it to mark our territory.
Not an entitled posting of private property, but a sign for the community to see that we were actively holding space on the land. If you are existing in a place with a relationship to the Earth, then it will naturally accommodate your comfort at the ground level. No need to mow the grass of a yard that you live on, it will gladly lay down and provide plenty of room for activities. No use for a machete to keep a trail blazed by force, as long as they're actually used, natural pathways are maintained far more efficiently than any four lane. The Earth wants to be lived on, and as long as we live on her, she is the most gracious host. It's only once we attempt to subdue her systems in a scheme to control more than we could ever enjoy, that she suddenly becomes a force of reclamation worthy of the destruction of our egos.
I, of course, was just trying to learn all I could from the most industrious of the Animal Nation. Chapa, the Beaver Spirit, the busiest of our brothers, and our spiritual guides of building and preparation. Natural proof that the logging industry must not be that bad after all, though I’d still like to dig a little deeper into this dam thing.
Fact – Beavers cut down trees to build their homes. Well, ok then, now we know that there is no fundamental policy against harvesting a living organism to provide shelter. I’m still kinda doubting I’ll come out on the side of the devastating clearcutters, but where exactly is the greywater area in-between? They don’t take more than they need, what would they even do with an extra log, roll it down stairs? And how do they choose who lives and dies, besides of course the log-istically obvious choice of easy to chew softwoods?
You also have to examine the impact of the dam itself. America is certainly the largest damnation in the world, and now this voluptuous vermin has validated the clogging of our arteries, so we’re good now, right? We felt empowered enough to build massive dams, so large that the concrete in the center is literally still not done curing. Dams built to exploit the natural flow of energy in the name of turning a profit. Dams which caused devastating floods and dislocated countless species, including many tribes of our own. Dams that inhibit aquatic migration and disrupt sediment flow, which leads to stalewater and riverbed erosion. But at least the invasive species benefit greatly from our species’ invasion.
Those Beavers though, their homes slow the flow and cause flooding too, but that only creates new riverways and wetlands for the rest of the circle to bloom. In fact, the interwoven ecology of the Beaver, proves to be one of the most biodiverse habitats there is, especially when it comes to birds and bugs. Yum. So he must be doing something right. Scale and impermanence are probably a factor, as well as the lack of any monetary motivation. Three traits common to the indigenous logging industry of tipi manufacturing.
I know the health benefits of a tipi way of life, and I’ve confirmed my suspicion that native pole harvesting is rooted in natural order, so now I’m feeling pretty good about it all. As with any plant that we collect, we pray first. We offer Unci Maka a pinch of Tobacco and thank her for this gift of life, and we give a big wopila tanka to the trees who will provide us protection. We would never clearcut a forest, we select our material in a manner conducive to a flourishing ecosystem. We are a part of that ecosystem. So, sure, leveling the environment to produce dollar bills is obviously not gonna jive with my worldview, but what about building a lincoln log cabin?
I grew up on fifty acres of woods, and I knew it well, between firewood and the sawmill, I saw the forest as the ultimate in chore security. We didn’t come close to clearcutting, a lot of our lumber had even come from hurricane damage, so we were arguably doing a good deed. We were also a family of five with more outbuildings than people. And we were hoarders, packrats, a symptom of living inside a world based on scarcity, but we took it to a new level. Not only did we have enough junk that we had to build something to store it in, and not only did we need so many buildings that we operated our own sawmill, but we were so efficient that we used the sawmill to build buildings to house our 1/32 size replicas of tiny little sawmills. Circle of something, alright.
All that construction didn’t seem too destructive at the time, except maybe to my teenage slack cycle, but what if every family of five occupied this much square footage and skinned it with the bodies of our fallen brothers? Might start to add up, just like the calculators at the banks, who finance the transformation of nature into a housing crisis. If you’re joining my class action suit against agriculture, then it’s easy to see the same cogs of capitalism spinning away. Monoculture on a megaflora scale, destroying a vibrant ecosystem to ship the goods across the globe to the highest bidder. But forget money (believe me, I’d love to), what if I was out in the big bad scary wilderness all alone? I can build a shelter, can’t I?
Small scale of course, a humble way of life leaves no choice, plus I already gave away everything I owned. Small in relative terms, I could live in a fung-shuied tipi that leaves no permanent ground scars, and I’d only have to cut twelve younger trees, which leaves the rest of the forest to flourish. Or there’s the cabin of the patriarchal squares, which will take the sacrifice of over fifty specimens of mother’s maturation. Plus, not only is a circular design better for internal energy flow, it’s also preferred by the wind and the water and every other force of nature driving through the neighborhood.
But forget the energy moving around it, or the extra energy going into it, could it really be all that bad? It’s gotta be way better than the standard constructs of consumerism. Indeed. They’re far more energy efficient, the logs soak up the sun and retain warmth, yet also keep the place cool in the summer. Far less emissions released during the fabrication process. Wool can be used instead of fiberglass between the logs, though I’m not too sure how the sheep feel about it. And you can use mortar to hold it all together, instead of the more common petroleum-based alternative. Sounds pretty solid, way sturdier against a market collapse than that house of cards in the suburbs. I’m still not quite sure how I feel about it all, but I do know two things for sure: A tree farm is not a forest, and I’ve never seen an animal build a square house.
*******
And then there’s the plants we harvest for prayer. Not for food or shelter, the most easily justifiable of sacrifices, but for our sacred ceremony of connecting to the same universal life energy that used to pulse through the veins of our Plant Nation brothers. Obviously I’m not giving up on prayer, so I seek understanding of my relationship with these living beings, and try to exercise humility as I yearn to live in a good way.
We take Dakota Sage into the lodge, ceremonial Sage, different from the White Sage of the california hippie. It grows wild all over the plains, and because of the respectful and prayerful way that it is collected, it continues to bloom as a prolific member of our living landscape. We smudge the lodge and ourselves with the purifying smoke of Cedar,