I was using Facebook for this, but it has become apparent that social media isn't the right forum for this type of writing.
My Facebook profile will now be used only for social networking, events, etc. and not for critical things in my private life.
So, I've been using the Nightshade moniker for over a decade now, but what's this "Red Eagle" business about?
The name Red Eagle came to me one night when learning about the Sacred Pipe. In fact, I had a vision of an old Indian man holding a pipe. Soon after, I was reading a book on the care and use of the Sacred Pipe and there was an Indian named Red Eagle that was a pipe carrier. They looked surprisingly similar.
I researched the name Red Eagle and came upon a legend that warns of people disguising themselves as something else. It took me a few years to realize that I have been hiding out as someone else for social acceptance and that I needed to strip off my false skin (so to speak) and be myself.
The story reminds us that social acceptance is a farce, and our true selves are what needs to be accepted.
At least that's my take on the story.
For your reading enjoyment, the Shooting of Red Eagle:
Shooting of the Red Eagle
A MAN in buckskins sat upon the top of a little hillock. The
setting sun shone bright upon a strong bow in his hand. His face
was turned toward the round camp ground at the foot of the hill.
He had walked a long journey hither. He was waiting for the
chieftain's men to spy him.
Soon four strong men ran forth from the center wigwam toward
the hillock, where sat the man with the long bow.
"He is the avenger come to shoot the red eagle," cried the
runners to each other as they bent forward swinging their elbows
together.
They reached the side of the stranger, but he did not heed
them. Proud and silent he gazed upon the cone-shaped wigwams
beneath him. Spreading a handsomely decorated buffalo robe before
the man, two of the warriors lifted him by each shoulder and placed
him gently on it. Then the four men took, each, a corner of the
blanket and carried the stranger, with long proud steps, toward the
chieftain's teepee.
Ready to greet the stranger, the tall chieftain stood at the
entrance way. "How, you are the avenger with the magic arrow!"
said he, extending to him a smooth soft hand.
"How, great chieftain!" replied the man, holding long the
chieftain's hand. Entering the teepee, the chieftain motioned the
young man to the right side of the doorway, while he sat down
opposite him with a center fire burning between them. Wordless,
like a bashful Indian maid, the avenger ate in silence the food set
before him on the ground in front of his crossed shins. When he
had finished his meal he handed the empty bowl to the chieftain's
wife, saying, "Mother-in-law, here is your dish!"
"Han, my son!" answered the woman, taking the bowl.
With the magic arrow in his quiver the stranger felt not in
the least too presuming in addressing the woman as his mother-
in-law.
Complaining of fatigue, he covered his face with his blanket
and soon within the chieftain's teepee he lay fast asleep.
"The young man is not handsome after all!" whispered the woman
in her husband's ear.
"Ah, but after he has killed the red eagle he will seem
handsome enough!" answered the chieftain.
That night the star men in their burial procession in the sky
reached the low northern horizon, before the center fires within
the teepees had flickered out. The ringing laughter which had
floated up through the smoke lapels was now hushed, and only the
distant howling of wolves broke the quiet of the village. But the
lull between midnight and dawn was short indeed. Very early the
oval-shaped door-flaps were thrust aside and many brown faces
peered out of the wigwams toward the top of the highest bluff.
Now the sun rose up out of the east. The red painted avenger
stood ready within the camp ground for the flying of the red eagle.
He appeared, that terrible bird! He hovered over the round village
as if he could pounce down upon it and devour the whole tribe.
When the first arrow shot up into the sky the anxious watchers
thrust a hand quickly over their half-uttered "hinnu!" The second
and the third arrows flew upward but missed by a wide space the red
eagle soaring with lazy indifference over the little man with the
long bow. All his arrows he spent in vain. "Ah! my blanket
brushed my elbow and shifted the course of my arrow!" said the
stranger as the people gathered around him.
During this happening, a woman on horseback halted her pony at
the chieftain's teepee. It was no other than the young woman who
cut loose the tree-bound captive!
While she told the story the chieftain listened with downcast
face. "I passed him on my way. He is near!" she ended.
Indignant at the bold impostor, the wrathful eyes of the
chieftain snapped fire like red cinders in the night time. His
lips were closed. At length to the woman he said: "How, you have
done me a good deed." Then with quick decision he gave command to
a fleet horseman to meet the avenger. "Clothe him in these my best
buckskins," said he, pointing to a bundle within the wigwam.
In the meanwhile strong men seized Iktomi and dragged him by
his long hair to the hilltop. There upon a mock-pillared grave
they bound him hand and feet. Grown-ups and children sneered and
hooted at Iktomi's disgrace. For a half-day he lay there, the
laughing-stock of the people. Upon the arrival of the real
avenger, Iktomi was released and chased away beyond the outer
limits of the camp ground.
On the following morning at daybreak, peeped the people out of
half-open door-flaps.
There again in the midst of the large camp ground was a man in
beaded buckskins. In his hand was a strong bow and red-tipped
arrow. Again the big red eagle appeared on the edge of the bluff.
He plumed his feathers and flapped his huge wings.
The young man crouched low to the ground. He placed the arrow
on the bow, drawing a poisoned flint for the eagle.
The bird rose into the air. He moved his outspread wings one,
two, three times and lo! the eagle tumbled from the great height
and fell heavily to the earth. An arrow stuck in his breast! He
was dead!
So quick was the hand of the avenger, so sure his sight, that
no one had seen the arrow fly from his long bent bow.
In awe and amazement the village was dumb. And when the
avenger, plucking a red eagle feather, placed it in his black hair,
a loud shout of the people went up to the sky. Then hither and
thither ran singing men and women making a great feast for the
avenger.
Thus he won the beautiful Indian princess who never tired of
telling to her children the story of the big red eagle.
So I will attempt to maintain this blog and if you have a comment to make, make it. If not, then just read or don't. This is for me, and others that care about me.
