Wanikiya (Lakota word for Saviour) 2/15/2006 1:08:18 PM
excerpt from Lakota mystical prose written by Dick Williamson PhD In the quiet moments beyond the sacred rim, when the soul whispers its confession and wayatai, the spirit of testimony moves to be heard through beating heart. Then wanikiya sings unto the mountains that all may hear;
Often the swelling of his spirit fills the breast and he is inspired to move slowly among the verdant slopes and often astride a favorite rest on the banks of the Cheyenne. Then he wonders at the azure sky with respectful glimpses and honors those who came before.
The billowed white of distant clouds roll to and fro in changing shapes, then fade from view beyond the slopes and he is left to imagine where they may have gone. while the soft thrumming of water pressed against the stones sing the river's song, he sings with joyful chants of the glory of it all.
Taku eyaya, my heart repeats the words until all that remains is the whispering of reflection. Body and soul lie exposed upon the sacred earth, a fleeting moment cast against the endless fields. Somewhere the old ones stand watching and hold their holy canupa against the sky in honor of the swift waters that thrash the changing shore..
Together these things paint the summer day with the sweet fragrance of the four winds breathing upon the canvas. And all things bespeak the eloquence of the Great Mystery that binds the moment. Blissful moments on waters edge, he grew in spirit as the prairie grass waves beyond the boundaries of the endless land that surrounds him.
Tunkasila lives in the wild prairie blossoms that invade the space the grasses hastened to grow then ease the soul with perfumed breath. With an eager eye he captures the countless petal shapes wrought in vibrant color upon the free Earth and drinks the spiritual essence they embody.
With retraced footsteps Wanikiya leaves them talking to the breeze and takes along with him the moment upon his heart. He pauses to rest upon a stone that inhabits maya, the bluff that watches over the low river bottom. It is here that the Lakota first held the stem of the sacred chanupa and dreamed about better days to come.
I see the brush stroked breast of the prairie grouse rehearsing its dance in anticipation of an amorous passerby. He thrums a self assured refrain as I near his domain. For a moment he appears caught off guard and ends his song abruptly then turns his small body to aid in his retreat should the threat become real.
Then again he yields himself to his song of joy. Flit, flit hither and yon, he fills the summer sky with his swift, sweet melody. And truly does it seem his vigorous freedom lies more in his little spirit than in his wing.
