I wish you a Bear-y Christmas

I wasn't going to tell this story, but I feel I should share this good medicine.






Last night as I lay down to sleep, I thought about my Grandmother and how I never really let her go or said goodbye.

I had a long talk with my memories of her, thanked her for many things and then told her it was ok to go, that I would be fine.

All of a sudden, I felt Bear (the Great Bear Spirit) wrap her arms around me gently and kindly. I could see her arms and claws as if they were mine.

She turned me to my memories of Christmas with my Grandmother and all the good times that were had, and all the memories of the Christmas holidays. The family, the presents, the cooking, the great feelings of joy I had as a child at this time of the year. I saw the background of it all as a snowy mountain area with a gigantic Christmas tree of swirling lights.

All these lights were a joyful memory and I felt myself as this tree of joy with all of this life flowing within it.

As I came back to my bedroom, I could still feel Grandmother Bear's arms around me, as I still do now.

Why "Red Eagle"?

I have been asked a few times, "what's with the Red Eagle name?"

I wasn't sure but my latest turn in the road of self discovery has provided me with the answer.

Back when I was told the name, I was also lead to this story:

SHOOTING 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 a young woman who cut loose a 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, the bowsman, 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.

http://www.indianlegend.com/comanche/comanche_002.htm



I've read this story many times and known it was about being true to yourself and not pretending to be someone else to gain fame, recognition, or respect. It wasn't until recently I realized how much it applied to me in the realm of my journey and paths I have walked.

I have tried to embody or basically mimic what I have seen others do and shortcut the journey instead of sitting with my drum and rattle and pray and gain my medicine that way.

I accept the name of Red Eagle with humility and shame for the guilt I have in pretending for reasons other than helping others. It wasn't even helping myself, it was so others would think I was something I'm not.

What I have had to realize is that I am enough just being me and if I would get off my butt and do what I am supposed to do, more than the skills I've copied from others will be gifted to me for the good of All.I know when that happens, I won't care who knows or who doesn't know for that won't be an issue. I just have to stop worrying about how I feel I'm behind in some race I think I am in when there is no finish line and only the journey today. 

I know there is more but I promised I would write this up today, so here it is.

I give great thanks to my spiritual brothers and sisters that have stood beside me in love all these years.

What's in a name?

Nightshade.

I've used that name for nearly twenty years. It was as much a part of me as my own breath. Under that name I've made social kings of paupers, and paupers out of kings. I have hidden myself in the shadows and basked in the light of glory.

Nightshade.

The pen name my book is published under.

When I was at a funeral service, well more properly, a celebration of life, I sat there and a new name was whispered in my ear...

Midnite.

The time that hangs between the cresting moon and crowning sun. The equal and opposite to high noon.

Hanging forever in the twilight between dusk and dawn, darkness and light.

The comparison for what I'm going through and the character Papa Midnite from the 2005 movie Constantine is rather close. Riding that thin line between darkness and light, balanced on a knife's edge with arms stretched deeply into the worlds of both darkness and light, immersed in the duality of pain and pleasure, heaven and hell, healing and destroying.

I have struggled on both sides of that line all my life telling myself that there is no grey area and that it's all either good or bad, light or dark. However, even though I knew better from legend, lore, and experience, it was still something that I refused to understand.

I am nature. Nature is neither good nor evil, it is nature. Nature is the ultimate resident of the twilight state. Nature creates and destroys as nature needs to survive.

You see the wolf kill the rabbit, and the wolf is evil and the rabbit is good. However, if you see the rabbit and it's multitudes destroy a farmer's garden so the farmer and his family have no food, the rabbits are evil. Then the farmer kills and eats the rabbit, now the farmer is evil. No, it is nature and perspective.

Don't judge me if you have a lack of perspective.

I stand at the crossroads, a point in balance and equality, striving to maintain balance.

Tattooed on my chest is the crossroads, within my heart is the medicine wheel, yet another crossroads.

So as I now embark on this new adventure within, expect and accept changes. It's time for me to peel back the layers of the onion (or the parfait) and see what lies at the heart.

Talking with the tree - the tree speaks

Last night I went in my mind to one of the memorable spots in the Seattle area from my 2011 trip. I don't have a great picture of the area but the above illustrates the space and the clear mountain stream I drank from.

Round peg, square hole

I’ll still do a vacation writeup, but this is the post-vacation post.

So I snapped in anger (more like frustration) for the first time in ages last night. It’s been quite a few years since that happened. I regret it happening and it was only words, but words can still hurt. 

I was focusing so hard on trying to regain control of my life and my own personal power that I ended up getting mad at anything that was taking my power of personal choice away. What I should have been focusing on was finding that power and control within myself and then selectively doing things for others in a compassionate manner, but in my own time.  Instead, I saw anything that would be an external force grabbing at me and tearing me into pieces. I guess that’s a part of control as well. Learning when to say no.

I feel I do so much for so many between giving rides, conversation, making sure everyone around me is comfortable, and as a result, it stresses me out. I can see this concern for others comes from my Grandmother, but she did what she did out of love. I still do what I do for the most part out of a sense of duty.

I know there were other factors surrounding this blowup. The feeling of needing to conform to the expected social norms of Tulsa weighed heavily on me. Yes, I know, by the standards of most people reading this, I’m quite the social conformist. What you may not realize is that me wearing certain jewelry, or my hat with its cowrie shells and wolf teeth can cause me a bit of stress to even put on and leave the house wearing here in Tulsa. I know that’s a far cry from rainbow colored  beards or all black clothing, but for someone who would rather conform and be invisible in society to be taking on the mantle that has been placed before me, it’s quite a tough thing.  Even now, for comfort I’ve already taken off my rings and bracelet and am about to take off my necklace. It’s like these things scratch at me as to remind me of another life, another way of living while I’m trying to control my work environment and come up with solutions to issues. I should count myself fortunate for these reminders instead of casting them aside.

My stomach tightens as I overhear other conversations and have to redirect those solutions to achieve the desired result.  Then there’s laughter over reminding someone what their schedule usually is so they call their girlfriend and discover they are supposed to take them to college at lunch when they had made other plans. 

Damn, hard work keeping people out of trouble.

A little chuckle and all is right with the world again.

I don’t know what the answer is here, and perhaps it’s just the vacation hangover. Every time I come back, I try to hold on to that person I was on vacation and it seems every time, I fail. Is it location or the need to get back to work? Or is it the lifestyle I have chosen and the environment where change would be noticed and fear of having to explain that change?

Like the number of licks to get to the middle of a tootsie roll pop, perhaps the world will never know.

Humility

I have always been under the impression that humility meant not having pride in yourself. 

This results in relying on others to tell them how proud they are of you or how great something is that you have done. 

The reality I'm struggling with now is that humility is actually having great pride in yourself, but not needing to advertise that pride. Relying on self to find joy and bliss without needing to have another give these gifts to you. 

I'm not sure how I have had these backwards all these years, but it cuts to the core of many issues including codependency issues. 

Vacation time!

Tomorrow I begin my journey to New Orleans. 

A lot had happened this year including drastic changes to these vacation plans but it's finally here!!!

Time to take Rafiki's spirit to the Big Easy!

Photo by www.ibd-designs.smugmug.com

Third Time's the Charm

Nope, not a post about a relationship, just my new chicken enchilada soup recipe. This was the third time I've made it and I think I hit the jackpot.


I have a large crock pot. If you have a smaller one, use half the enchilada sauce and half the cheese.

2 large cans mild enchilada sauce
1 regular can hot enchilada sauce
1 can Rotel
1 can Campbell's Cream of Chicken Soup
1 can pinto beans (rinsed to get rid of the sudsy stuff)
1 block regular Velveeta cheese
1 supermarket pre-cooked rotisserie chicken.

Empty everything except Velveeta and chicken into crock pot

Use a whisk and carefully mix up everything. If you don't do it this way, the cream of chicken soup will stay as little globs.

Shred all chicken white meat with fork and toss shreds into pot.

Slice Velveeta cheese into quarters, then slice into half inch blocks, stir into pot.

Put crock pot on fast cook 4 hours or low cook 8 hours.

At 2 hours in, take whisk to soup again CAREFULLY! Mix until all smooth. If you splash yourself at this stage, it will be like molten lava, especially the chunks of cheese.

At 3 hours, stir every 15 minutes or it will burn on the sides (yah, skipped that step, but it survived with little damage.)

Toppings:
1 spoonful of sour cream
Shredded Colby jack cheese
White corn tortillas toasted and sliced into strips.

Yay! You have soup!

Makes about 9-12 servings.

 

Set time destination to 1986!

To preface this Dream, I was watching Iron Man 2 last night while doing some work and also on Pawn Stars, someone tried to sell them a jet. The relevance will be come obvious.

So, I was Dreaming and I found myself in a situation, not sure what was going on but I walked into this jet that was big enough for commercial travel, more the size of a stealth fighter, but white and had a few luxury leather seats. Everything was white inside except for the tan leather seats.

I looked down and noticed I had my Iron Man briefcase suit with me since I realized I would be going back before I created the technology, but I wasn't thinking I was Tony Stark, I was just me.

The flight attendants told us we would be going back to 1986 and we had very limited time to talk to our younger selves.

After we jumped back to 1986, it was easy to locate my younger self. I sat down and talked to him (I was 12 in 1986.) What did I say? Well, of course I told him some women to avoid. Cautioned him on a few women to get involved with especially gave him knowledge of the three ex-wives I have. I told him he would just have to use his best judgement at the time. There was one specific event I warned him to avoid at all costs (but I won't go into that here.)

I then checked my watch and realized the time window was close. I tried to locate the ship but it wasn't around. Then I was told that at the proper time, I would fade out of that consciousness and into the consciousness of the "me" that would be back at the time I left. My first alarm went off and I quickly swiped it off, knowing I wasn't fully integrated back into this timeline. When my 2nd alarm went off I woke up and looked around. I felt something important had changed.  Was it external? No, my environment seemed the same. there may be something but I feel something has changed internally.

Obviously my younger self didn't listen when I said to take it easy on the pizza and milkshakes, nothing has changed there. :D




Any responsible blogger wouldn't post about time travel without a nod to the greatest time travel trilogy of the 80's. (Especially since my dream destination was 1986.)

Pipe Dreams

(Not my pipe, similar in concept though)

As I was falling asleep, I thought about the drum that my brother made for me and gifted me as a surprise many years ago. I then thought about the rattle he made for me as a surprise gift this past year. I then saw the pipe he has been called by Spirit to craft for me. A gift and responsibility I did not ask for, but will accept with honor.

I have many concerns about carrying this pipe. As I slipped off to dream I asked for clarity and assistance. The following was the Dream I was given.

I sat in a sweat lodge with a few other people. One man leading it I recognized. I don't think it was this man, but he is one I respect and would know about such things.

I sat cross legged in this sweat lodge. A tough thing for someone a bit claustrophobic to do and with the steam, I started to have an attack. I remembered why I was there and relaxed into my purpose and the pipe I was holding.

"May I please see your pipe?" the leader asked. Hesitantly, I held it out to him and the pipe reassured me that everything would be fine and I was not turning it over to him.

The leader then put the pipe in the coals at the center. I was worried for the stem is a very special wood and crafted by a Cherokee elder stem maker. I again was told not to worry. The pipe and stem took on the char that wood gets after it has been roasted in a fire. Concern held me over the possible loss of this item, I was then consoled by a voice that told me that it could not be destroyed or harmed in any way, and a picture of it flashed into my head of the stem and bowl alive with white light.

I took the pipe by the bowl out of the hot stones and held it for a moment and the char traveled over my body so I was now burnt and charred as the pipe was. A flash of light exploded from the pipe and it was untouched but I became dust and spirit. My spirit floated into the bowl and into the pipe.

I became the pipe as seven Elders passed it around as I sang a song in a language I do not know. As it passed the seventh, I became the smoke drifting up to the Great Spirit. I became a prayer.

I floated up and saw a giant buffalo made of solid clouds standing in the clouds. I knew I was a prayer for rain. The Great Buffalo bowed it's head in respect for the prayer and stomped it's mighty hooves bringing thunder and rain as prayed for. The scene switched and jumped back a moment in time.

I was now the Great Buffalo watching the prayers rise up to the clouds. I bowed my mighty head and stomped my mighty hooves calling in the thunder and the rains. I then became the rains falling down to the land.

As rain, I landed on the plants and then became the plants. I grew and saw a few of my leaves harvested and taken into the sweat lodge where I as the leaves was put into the pipe, lit and smoked to become prayers.

I experienced oneness and the cycle of life and prayer. No, I was oneness and the cycle of life and prayer for the "I" ceased to exist except through consciousness when my body was turned to ash and my spirit became the pipe.

I still have a few concerns, however I am confident that this source of guidance shall not fail me.

Spirit chose to bring the task of pipe building to my Brother, and he is doing it in a sacred manner with materials from the proper sources and the proper respect. Spirit gave him the vision that one should come to my hands and it has taken me almost four years to accept it.

I know this will only be the first of many dreams. (I guess I should hurry up and get my pipe bag sewn together.)

With much respect, Amen.