Cosmic Connections - Short Stories

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This story is from a local Native News letter, The Susquehanna Valley Native American Eagle

"The Passing Of A Rose"

by

A. Kay Ensing

It's only been a few hours since I left Big Island, Va for the Monacan Powwow, but what happened there
just a few hours earlier touched not only me, but everyone that was able to experience what happened. A jingle dress dancer, Cisawni Rose, dropped her Eagle fan in the circle while dancing. Cisawni lives in Albuquerque, NM but is currently spending the summer with her Grandmother, Nantinki Rose. She is a beautiful girl who knows the importance of her role as a dancer. After being notified by a traditional dancer, Nantinki grabbed several items from her booth and ran toward the circle.

I listened as the MC announced to please stand and remove all head gear and respectfully asked that no
pictures be taken. He then joined three other gentlemen in the circle to perform a pick up ceremony for the eagle
fan. I ran to the top of the hill and stopped. I looked down upon such a scene that I could not have imagined. I saw
Nan in the drum arbor, holding her Grand daughter Cisawni as she sobbed. Cisawni was devastated. She knew what she had done.She knew the consequences.She knew what was about to happen.Many did not.Behind the drum arbor and all around the circle, the dancers and spectators all stood. After the pick up ceremony, the MC informed the public what had just happened. He then turned the microphone over to Nantinki.

She introduced herself and her grand daughter. She then proceeded to announce that because of Cisawni's dropping of the fan, she had no choice but to give away all of her belongings. She began by asking someone to come foward to recieve a beaded purse. She then asked four men to come foward to recieve hat bands. She then asked
for a little girl who was working on her regalia to come foward and take her barrettes. She asked that an elder come foward to recieve her eagle fan and eagle feathers. She then asked that a little girl, about the size of Cisawni's age and size come foward to recieve her regalia. She then asked people to come foward to recieve the money
that had been given to her during the ceremony. I stood on this hilltop watching our baby give away everything she owned to show her devastation. And Cisawni did as she was told, because she knew. She knew before she ever walked into that circle what an honor it was to be a dancer. She knew the responsibility of her feathers and her fan. She knew that she should never let her feathers touch the ground, for that had been told to her all of her life. She knew as soon as the fan fell from her hand what was to happen.

Nan and Cisawni came back up the hill, surrounded by cisawni's 2 sisters and brother, friends and the little girl that came to recieve her regalia. Cisawni pulled off her regalia as we all cried for her. She gave it to the little girl and then they proceeded back down the hill. The little girl and Cisawni were to dance together in the circle, like the passing of the torch. More people gave money, a litle boy gave a hawk fan, jewlrey and many other
gifts came, all again to be given away again.

You see, for such a young woman, she still knew the shame of dropping her eagle fan. Cisawni had earned his fan after much discussion because she is a junior AIM warrior. She has participated in numerous AIM events and demonstrations. She has been identified as a warrior in the struggle to save Mother Earth and to fight with all her might for Native American issues and to work to mend the injustices against Native American people. This fan is over 25 years old and had been carried by both her Mother and Grandmother, and has been in ceremonies too numerous to mention and has been shared by some of our most respected. She knew that anything less than that would be wrong. She taught all of us the humility and pride of what the circle represents.

And she restored for many of us the pride of what our culture represents. This is not a game. It was not a game to Cisawni. She had earned her regalia. She had saved her money to purchase those moccasins, which had just been worn 10 times. She helped make her regalia. Nothing had been just given to her. She knew what that regalia meant. She will not ever dance in this category again. In order to jingle dress, she must wait until she is thirteen
to enter a new category.

Cisawni was devastated, but she taught so many of us with her actions. When her Grandmother walked to her,she asked if she wanted to give her regalia away, and she said yes. Including the moccasins? Nantinki asked, and she nodded yes. Cisawni took out her barrettes to give away, took off her bracelets to give away, took the eagle
feathers out of her hair and took the regalia off her body to give away. That was to show the shame for letting her eagle feathers touch the ground. And to all that recieved her, know that you are blessed and have honored her and
her family by recieving her giveaway.

Before the end of the day, many people had approached Nan and Cisawni, and thanked them for restoring a tradition that many had forgotten. Many people made offers to start her new traditional or fancy dress outfit. Grown men cried openly as did women, children,Native and non Native. It didn't matter. Those that were there were able to witness a tradition of generations. And even for Cisawni, who at the tender age of 9, knew what was happening, so did her 7 year old little sister Monica, who, in her competition danced backwards. She danced that way to honor her sister. She danced to carry her sisters heart and her Mother's heart. She wonfirst this day. Her brother Aron wept openly and shamelessly for his sister. He made sure that he danced with her back to the circle. Our eagle feathers are prized possessions and no matter what age, they are to be taken seriously.

Thank you Ciswani for knowing. And thank you for shareing. Through your devastation, we learned the
courage and pride of a true dancer and the importance of passing the tradition on.Today there are many people who are proud to not only have witnessed this ceremony, but to have been honored by your gift is overwhelming. The Monacan people, several dancers and vendors, knowing and respecting the fact that Cisawni could not
recieve any more this day collected money and gave it to me to hold. After the powwow was over, I was proud to
present $115.00 to Cisawni and Nantinki. They were touched beyond words. They were already making plans for new regalia.

In Parade magazine on June 2, the same day as this
ceremony Senator Ben Nighthorse Campbell was quoted,
"We say a nice home and lots of money are symbols of
success. But to Indians, It is the other way around.
Success is not what you have, It's what you have given away.
The most revered member of the tribe may be the poorest,
because giving away increases your stature."

Looking for Indians

by

Cheryl Savageau

My head filled with tv images of cowboys, warbonnets and renegades,
I ask my father what kind of Indian are we, anyway.
I want to hear Cheyenne, Apache, Sioux words I know from television
but he says instead Abenaki. I think he says Abernathy
like the man in the comic strip and I know that's not Indian.
I follow behind him in the garden trying to step in his exact footprints,
stretching my stride to his. His back is brown in the sun
and sweaty. My skin is brown too, today, deep in midsummer,
but never as brown as his.

I follow behind him like this from May to September
dropping seeds in the ground, watering the tender shoots
tasting the first tomatoes, plunging my arm, as he does,
deep into the mounded earth beneath the purple-flowered plants
to feel for potatoes big enough to eat.

I sit inside the bean teepee and pick the smallest ones
to munch on. He tests the corn for ripeness
with a fingernail, its dried silk the color of my mother's hair.
We watch the winter squash grow hips. This is what we do together
in summer, besides the fishing that fills our plates unfailingly
when money is short.

One night my father brings in a book. See, he says, Abenaki,
and shows me the map here and here and here
he says, all this is Abenaki country.
I remember asking him what did they do
these grandparents and my disappointment
when he said no buffalo roamed the thick New England forest
they hunted deer in winter sometimes moose, but mostly
they were farmers and fishermen.

I didn't want to talk about it. Each night my father
came home from the factory to plant and gather,
to cast the line out over the dark evening pond,
with me, walking behind him, looking for Indians.