Wisdom gained through adversity is not the only way to learn, but for Reena it could not have happened any other way.
"Indians! They are savages, I tell you! What do they know about anything! They have nothing except dirty hides and hovels to call their own. They should have died out long ago. They do not fit our modern world-- and they don't even know how to pray!" Reena had heard the remarks whispered by some of the girls at her school; she was carrying them like festering slivers in her heart. Nothing could seem to make them go away, not even the truth.
"Father, Mother Earth, Great Ancestors, guide our ways, that we live in harmony in your creation. A-I-E-e-e-e-AH-h" The voice was that of Grandfather, the oldest in the family, leading them in a morning prayer of thanks giving. Reena fidgeted; concentration on prayer was difficult.
She looked around her home. It was not dirty. And it was not a hovel, although she wasn't truly certain of the definition of hovel. Yes, it was crowded, because many in her family had no other place to call home. Grandfather said that if they remembered to give thanks, they would always have what was needed. And it had been true , though she knew there were many things desperately lacking; one of them being a new chain saw.
In her mind's eye she could see the twisted face of hate on the girl who had pushed her away from the group at school. She was a new girl, just moved to their remote village at the lower end of the mountain range. Her father was the newest manager of the small village bank. He boasted he would "put this place on the map!" He was doing it by working his way through the large numbers of overdue loans, most but not all, belonging to Reena's people.
Reena did not know why this girl hated her, called her a savage. Before her arrival at their village school, Reena had laughed and played with all the other kids throughout their school years. None ever spoke about her family, her lineage. She had even fought some of them, especially the bullies who pushed the little kids around during recess. But no one, until now, had ever shown her such anger.
It happened on the very first day of school, just a few months ago. She and her classmates were sitting quietly in their seats while the teacher, Mrs. Johnson, had welcomed them back to school for another year, introducing the new student, Glory Jamison, just moved 'from Town' to their village. Glory was well named. She was tall and pretty, with long brown hair that covered her back, and swirled with golden light when she moved. She was dressed in a beautiful green plaid skirt with a perfectly matched sweater, just like the pictures in her family's Sears catalog. Reena's mother always made their clothing with the pages of the catalog open on her sewing table. Many of Reena's own skirts looked very much like those in the pictures. Reena was certain that Glory's clothing was not made by her mother. She could see the stitching of a brand name tag on the back of the sweater when Glory sat down in her chair, just in front of Reena.
"What are you staring at, you, you-- INDIAN!" Glory had turned around, was glaring at her.
"Nothing. That's a very pretty sweater. Welcome to our village--" Reena's words were cut off abruptly.
"No! I don't want anything to do with the likes of you!" Glory's face twisted with pain. "My mother told me I would find people like you here at this school, but would my father let me stay in Town with my friends? No, he made me come here to this hateful ugly place, but I do NOT have to listen to you yakking at me all the time. And don't stare, either!"
The back of the sweater was not as pretty when Glory turned away from Reena. Things had remained much the same throughout the weeks that followed. There were other Indian girls in the school, but Glory seemed to focus all her hatred on her, Reena. She went out of her way to make loud comments about her ancestry, the way they lived, and most especially, how they prayed.
Reena's life became one of avoidance. For the first time, she didn't want to go to school, and she didn't want to tell her mother the true reason. "I don't feel good today, my stomach hurts," was her usual explanation.
Her mother, distracted by other events in the family, didn't comment. Their old chain saw could cut only a few sticks of wood before it would burp, and the chain would come loose. The men treated it gently, carefully sharpening each link on its chain, oiling and tightening, wiping it clean after each use, but it had been in the family for many years, and was getting too old to cut much more wood. Her father had carefully removed the page with pictures of shiny new chain saws from the Sears catalog, taping it to the refrigerator, where he could see it and dream.
Wood gathering was an important part of her family's life. As soon as the snows began to clear on the mountain ridges near their village, nearly every weekend involved one day of cutting wood. Not only did they heat their house with the wood from the mountains, pine and tamarack, cottonwood and fir, but also it provided their family with a small income. Their neatly piled racks were of prime seasoned wood, cut and chopped into pieces that easily fit into fireplaces and stoves in the village, and even some came from Town to buy. Until their old chain saw had begun to belch with age, their family had made enough money to purchase this small piece of land. She knew her father had hopes of helping to buy more land around them for her brothers and uncles and their families.
"Maybe the new banker will give us enough money to buy a new chain saw now. We can pay it off once we've sold enough winter wood." Her father made the announcement after Grandfather's voice had faded away with the last of his morning prayer. It was what many in the family had been whispering, but no one had dared speak in front of the old man. Reena's father was very brave.
There was silence in the comfortable room, yet the words still seemed to vibrate. Reena peeked at her grandfather's seamed face. He remained speaking with his Ancestors; she could see his lips moving in silent discussion with those he revered more than his own life. Finally, Grandfather opened his eyes; looking at no one person, yet seeing each of them.
As she looked at him, filled with love for his years and his understandings, Reena was certain her secret pain was laid open to his knowing, as plain as the words her father had just spoken. While no word or glance had passed between them, she knew her Grandfather would speak to her this very day.
She didn't know what she could tell him. There was no way to change anything about the way someone else treated her, was there? She had given most of her thoughts to finding a way to resolve the anger shown by Glory, but could think of nothing that would change the fact that she, Reena, was an Indian girl who lived with this wood cutting family in a small house, and an aging chain saw.
Movement in the room interrupted her thoughts; her father had placed his large scarred and worn hands on his knees, palm down, waiting for Grandfather to respond.
Grandfather was communing with the Ancestors even yet, his eyes glazed by visions she had not seen for herself, but she knew were often portents of things to come. This very home had become theirs after one of Grandfather's talks with spirits. When asked about it, he'd said only, "I saw it in the dream."
Reena knew her grandfather could dream while he was wide-awake, with his eyes open. He'd told her that she too, could dream in the same way. "But, how?" she would ask. "How do I do that?" "Be quiet and listen," was his answer, every time she asked.
Apparently he was not listening any longer, for he began to hum a nearly wordless chant of giving love to all that is, was, or ever would be in a low, quiet voice. Pleased at the silent agreement among them, the family joined, humming and chanting the familiar phrases, into what finally became a long harmonious tone, one that surely held strong visions of a shiny new chain saw cutting felled trees into stove lengths.
Lifted up by the family prayer, Reena sought her grandfather, dozing in the sun after their midday meal. Not wishing to disturb his nap, she quietly curled up in a comfortable chair nearby. She thought about going to school on the next morning. Her stomach began to churn, as visions of rejection and pain unreeled themselves in her mind. She groaned to herself, filled with anguish over her problem. It was a small school in a small village. Her inner pain kept her from being the person she had been, before Glory brought shame to her heart. These days she avoided contact with nearly everyone, choosing to walk alone in her agony.
"You are never alone, child." Grandfather had wakened, was sitting straight in his chair and he was looking at her with those eyes that saw everything. "You - Are - Never - Alone," he repeated, speaking each word like an entire sentence.
Listening to his familiar voice repeat the words again, with clear space between the words, she began see they did give a more full meaning to her understanding of the whole phrase. She drifted, finding delight in the fullness of the concepts filling her. She'd never felt anything like this before.
She soared around the word "You" --Ha! That was she, but a different self than she'd ever thought about. This girl, the person spoken to by her grandfather, this Reena shone with a light of purity and innocent truth, steadfast, filled with strength beyond imagining, supported by values, lived without guile. It made her happy. She skipped over to the next word, also its own sentence: "Are."
She circled around the word, not certain what she would see. "Think of Time." Her grandfather's voice nudged her mind into understanding.
"Time, yes, but I-"
"Is the word 'Are' giving you a pointer toward yesterday? into tomorrow? No, it's here, right now, this very day, in these chairs. And," continued her grandfather, "sitting in one of them is a young Indian girl named Reena, who shines in the light of her own beauty."
Her stomach already felt better; she was, in fact, feeling hungry once more.
"Not." Grandfather's voice, continuing the teaching, deepened with shadow. Reena's mind scrabbled around the word, not yet understanding the polarity of Light.
"In this world where we live, there is Light and there is Dark, as well. Seek not the dark, for it will find you, as sure as you are sitting here with me," Grandfather leaned toward her. "Seek instead the Light. Darkness cannot live in the light, Child."
Reena felt a surge of joy spearing through her body on points of light. She thought of going to school once more, and found her inner vision to be filled with love, but most of all, she thought she could understand the pain she'd experienced from Glory.
It was hers, Reena's, only if she accepted it. "Not!" she shouted happily, "--Not!"
Grandfather smiled, patting her hand with his gnarled fingers. "Yes, young Reena, 'Not' your pain, but hers." He closed his eyes, intoning the last word of his prayer for Reena.
"Alone."
He opened his eyes, silent now, but sending his vision to her on wings of ancestors. There they were, so many of them, all filled with purpose, many riding tough mountain ponies. All had eyes filled with vision. All moved as one.
"But they are many", Reena exclaimed. "There are so many of them, they fill the sky... yet, they move with one purpose. They move as though they are one."
"There are many grains of earth in a mountain. There are many trees in a forest. Yet, only one mountain, one forest."
"You __ Are __ Not __ Alone__."
"You __ Are __ Not __ Alone__."
Reena's lilting voice joined Grandfather's chant, until it turned into a song of her heart. She would call it Reena's song.
A falling leaf From a tree
In the forest On the mountain.
A lonely girl In a new place
Needs one friend And to know-
She is not alone.
But Reena's own song was simple:
Love.
Balance.
Love.
Be what you are.
Published April 2002 by Judith Leigh Bailey
‘derwriter’
All rights reserved.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
The drug called "The Shari" has been used for vision quests over many years. But, when all the rivers start drying up, the tribe must send a young hunter named Tomás on a much more important trip through the Amazon.
