We come into this world, naked and helpless. We are cared for and loved, if we are lucky. We are taught the right and good things we need to be taught, if we are lucky.
We walk alone, so as we walk along the roads of our life, we experience many things. Life experiences, that will hopefully, make us stronger and wiser people - kind, generous, understanding, unselfish, forgiving, loving, and that what we do in our lives, we will leave something of value behind when we pass on and our life ends on this road we call life.
We hope that we have somehow made the world a better place, that in some way, we have contributed something good to life, to people - to the world, that we have taken a stand, when need be, that we sacrificed for the greater and common good, that we have fought injustices and tried always to be truthful.
We have all experienced the joys and sorrows of life. We have all had losses and gains. We all have scars in our hearts, from that many things in life that has hurt us, people who have hurt us, and illness that has hurt us.
We all have felt great joy, love, peace, exhalation, satisfaction, and thankfulness.
We all have felt great sorrow, loss and betrayal, physical pain, spiritual pain of the heart and mind, anger, retribution, resentment, and sometimes even hate.
We are human.
And yes, there are those of us who have killed, murdered, stolen, maimed, raped, plundered, lied, used powers at our fingertips to corrupt and destroy, and who think of nothing but our own wants, needs and desires and have no respect, no love, no connection to the gifts of life we have been given.
We are human.
I am a 51-year old woman. A wife, a mother, a grandmother, a sister, a daughter, a cousin, a friend - a human being.
All my life I now realize, I have lived my life as an Indian. I didn't know it. I had no one to teach me the traditions - the language - the culture. So much of that is lost for me forever. Yet, along the journey of my life, all things have led to where I now find myself, and I am trying so very hard to learn my people's ways, to give back something in the memory and honor or my ancestors, and my family......
I am trying so hard.
Today, I sat outside my home, in a very beautiful place - nothing fancy, well, in the ways of an expensive house and perfectly landscaped surroundings. I don't have a fancy or new car - never have. It wasn't important to me. Sure, it's nice to have something as convenient as a car to get around in these modern times, and health is such, that it would be nearly impossible for me to get out as little as I do, or want, from our home, if I didn't have one - but it's not that important to me.
I sat outside and felt the hot August wind. I watched my friends the red squirrels jump back and forth from the large elm pine that leans over so close, and the grays, eating, and then squawking and running back to the safety of the trees, because the dogs are moving about, or our cat is walking by. I listen to them squabble amongst themselves - over who gets to sit at the feeder and who has the most right to be on "that" spot on the tree at that moment.
I listen to the songs of the Mourning Doves, the squawking cries of the Jays......the songbirds - the crickets, as day nears its end and they begin their night songs. I watch the huge trees that surround us, sway in the wind - white birch, maple, oak, so many pines! and smell the pungent smells of the woodland floor in the heat of August. I hear the cracking of twigs and branches in the deep woods behind us, as some four-footed one makes his way through the woods.
I watch the bees and dragonflies and hornets........we talk together - all of us - and only those who have talked in this way, truly understand. I see the ants and how hard they work - and how determined they are and all these things call out a message to me - a lesson.
I remember a small girl, sad and troubled at times, who also felt so very alone, who cried out in sorrow and pain at so many things and who always find peace in the woods along the lands they called the Sippican.......in those deep woods....where cranberry bogs could be found......where the scent of the ocean from Buzzards Bay was close - where the scents, and sounds of all life within it surrounded her and always gave her peace. It was her solace - her sacred place and she walked alone, because it always seemed she walked the road alone.
A little girl - whose roots lay deep in the Virginias' soil.........who remembers the rivers and the mounds..........who remembers the farm and the land with love and happiness and such good memories.......who remembers a very special river called the Williams and something so wonderful that happened to her there and changed her life.........but this was later, long after the little girl was a grown woman and with her Father she returned to the Williams River.....and there lessons came......there knowledge came along the quiet riverbank of the Williams on an early June day.......where water flowed over rocks of all sizes and shapes and where it pooled in a cool and gentle spot, and the hawk flew overhead and called out to her.........she remembers the sky and how blue it was that day - and looking up into sun and blue sky, watched that beautiful hawk circle again and again.
Walking Alone...........voices - a place called out to me........why I didn't know then....but it was far away and unknown to me........but I could not ignore it and I found myself walking in what almost seemed a foreign land - the Sonora desert with all its unique beauty, with life that she had never seen or heard or felt before.
Walking in the desert, dodging cactus - staring in awe at the Saguaro, watching a lone coyote. Marveling at the jack rabbit - the biggest rabbit she had ever seen - and marveling at the little horny toad..........the miracle of watching new life come forth from the earth, with my own eyes, as it broke forth, with strength given to it by the life of water.
Staring off every day to the Catalina’s - which seemed not so far away - and always present - always changing - always giving.
There the reason came for this journey of life - a beautiful baby - my son. Soon it was time to leave the desert and return to the east.
Years spent working on issues, causes, injustices. Fighting politicians, fighting those who in their quest and capture of "power" hurt so many. Trying hard - fighting what I believe to be a good fight, along with many others who also had chosen to walk a road alone.
Times of despair. It is not easy taking an unpopular stand. It is not easy - to stand up for what you believe to be right. Mistakes made, regrets, yet, but always trying to walk this road alone in a good way...to help others, to make this world a better place - to hope, that when I die, that I have done something that has made it a better place, even if for one person, one animal, one precious life.
Tears of sadness and loneliness, misunderstanding. Wanting that acceptance, to be liked by all, to be understood - to be a part of it. But being who you are, walking alone on this road has its price.
The pain of judgments, the pain of having to make hard decisions and not always the best ones. The pain of making mistakes and having to hear those mistakes raised again and again - in a hurtful way, in sometimes a dishonest way and wondering what I have done that is so wrong.
I have come a long way since my journey in life began. Many wonderful things have happened to me.....I am blessed with many who truly love me and respect me. But it hurts me, what those who hurt me sometimes do and while I try to be strong, while I try to understand and know that not all will like me or ever love me, or understand me, there are those times, I feel so sad, so lonely, so wounded, like that little child who was wounded many times long ago.
But then the strong sense of my spirituality raises me up - and I know that this is a new day and that I will continue on, despite what I feel on the sad days.
I am a mixed blood woman. I can't "prove" who I am. Even though I have information, I suspect that with many, nothing would ever change their minds or thoughts about me, or their opinions. That hurts sometimes, to be turned away from who you know are your people too. But it happens. It's life on this lonely road.
I remember the first time I heard a Ceremonial Drum......I nearly fell to my feet - I was so overwhelmed. It was almost surreal. But it felt like home - I had returned.....I had found another piece of who I am........and it all came together - so many things.
I read things like twinkie, and culture vulture and new ager and wannabee. I have been chastised for not knowing the culture and traditions of others, and sometimes, rightfully so......but I am still seeking my own culture - so how can I possibly know yours? I try hard to learn and understand, but I will never know all things.
I hear things about how people like me "dress up" and play Indian. It hurts. Yes, there may be those that do......but there are many more that don't.
My regalia has meaning to me. It's not a costume. It's not something I play.
On another river in New York, my regalia came to me..........and it was made for me and it has great meaning. When I dance at Grand Entry, to me, when I enter that Circle.....that first song is for Creator......who has given us all life. It is with honor and respect and love that I dance.
My regalia - although not the ways of these modern times some believe, means to me, a great deal. The skin of the animal that scarified his life - I wear in honor to all those animals who give to us so we can live. The feathers of the birds, which gift me always, has great meaning to me. The beading work has great meaning to me - that of the crow and raven who reminds me so much of myself at times, noisy - squawking, annoying.......but an intelligent and wise bird....and one who is with me always. The special and things Sacred to me, I wear around my neck in a pouch. The scent of Cedar and Sweetgrass and Sage - and the Sacredness of the Tobacco Offering.
The feeling I have when I dance in that circle, my feet on the earth, the sky above, the beat of the drum, the voices of the women singing.....the laughter of the children, the voices of the people who surround the circle......the many birds who often bless us as they fly above - the Eagle, the Hawk, all the birds that fly around us all, in celebration and honor.
I feel so much of a part of it all, but there is always that lonely road - that lonely walk alone, because where are my people? Where are those who I hope and need to stand beside me?
I have always lived as an Indian.
Despite all these feelings and experiences and wonder at life - I can never say I know what it's like to walk in the footsteps of others, who have suffered more, continue to suffer - and who, have always, in the end, found themselves walking alone.
I think of Sitting Bull. The Beloved Woman of the Cherokee. Gandhi. Mother Theresa. Jesus.
I think of all those slaughtered, hunted down and hated for standing up for what they believed, for their people, for injustices, for what is good and right and with great sacrifice, and what I feel, what I have done, what I know, pales in comparison.
It is a deep pain - the life of an Indian......but it is who I am. But I can't prove it. I don't have a long lineage - I am not to my knowledge, a descendant of someone great and worthy and mighty and well-known. But I am me.
Walking alone.....on this road of life.
I hear words from those who scoff at such things as the beauty of art, which with the modern technology available to us, I am able, to create a small part of that, I hope. Stereotypes....Hollywood Indian.......laughter at these things that I consider beautiful.
I look at the art of Frank Howell, and Denton Lund and so many others and I think, is that stereotyping? is that Hollywood? Or is it simply an honoring of a great and mighty people - through sight that touches us in some way - that will be here for many long years to come, to touch the lives of so many.
I hear the music of Carlos Nakai - Joanne Shenadoah, Gijuminag, Stephen Standing Owl, Hawk Hendries......Chief Dan George.....so many-whose music and words and gift touch me in so many ways. Robert Mirabel, Walela, Douglas Spotted Eagle, Peter Kater, Lawrence Laughing, Mary Youngblood and Alice Gomez. All bring joy - all touch the heart and spirit.....all bring peace and thought and wonder.
I try to give something back. I try to do it in a good way. I hear people who are angry and often rightfully so, about what is being taken from them. They fight against corrupt tribal councils and racism both subtle and not so subtle - they fight stereotypes and misinformation and cultural theft.
We asked to be heard and believed and for justice to come, but sometimes, we do the very same things that are done to us, to others. Why do we do that? Why, I often ask time and again, am I judged by others simply by what someone has told them about me? I've done that too. I'm just as guilty.
But why don't we come to one another and ask? Why don't we question those who always tell us the bad things and so little about the good things?
Is it because it's sometimes easier to go along? It's hard walking alone on a lonely road.
I will always remember the words of a dear friend, an elder, my mentor in life, a teacher - a fighter, a man who has always stood up for what he has believed, and he doesn't care who likes it or not - but he speaks his truth loud and clear - but it's his truth and at least he's honest.
Some folks go along to git along.
It's easier. It's not unpleasant.
I have lived more than half my life. I don't know how many more years lie ahead for me. I try to live one day at a time. It's not always easy to do. But I try.
I think of my Mother who died so young, and who always gave so much to so many. She sacrificed and worked hard all her life - and when help was needed, she was there, it was she they called and she never failed to come.
She didn't die alone.....I was lucky enough to be with her, when she left this life - for the other world, as she and I were together as she gave me life to this world.
But where were all those she gave to I would wonder? When she laid in pain, dying, when she for the first time, showed me, her daughter, that she was not the strongest woman in the world, but a human being - who needed then, more than ever, love, understanding, acceptance, forgiveness and most of all to know that as she left this earth, she left it a better place. I know she did.
She never received any "awards" or recognition. She was never accepted as part of the in-crowd or the group.....she walked alone often, on this road of life - but she mattered - she gave her best and she gave me life.
There is laughter and joy and wonder and love always in my life. But there is sadness and loneliness and regret and hurt......just as there is with you.
I do not pretend to be. I am an Indian. I have always lived my life as an Indian, even though I didn't have a name for it - didn't have something I could call tradition....or my language.....or so much of my culture. I don't have friends in "high" places......but I have friends.
I don't have acceptance and I may never have it from you. But I have acceptance from those who know me.
So, I walk this lonely road and I try my best - and I feel and see all these things.
And when I leave it?
My one hope is that I have left something good behind. That something I did has made a difference.
That someone will feel my heart in the words I write, in the artwork I create......that maybe someone is out there, who has put my words Barren Wind to music, as they said they would, but who I never heard from ever again. I hope you have done that......because even though it may not be known that those are the words from my heart, I'll be happy just hoping that maybe it has touched the hearts of many, many more people.
Maybe I can leave something behind.....something which will be remembered.
Isn't this what we all hope for deep inside?
So, we walk alone........surrounded by so many things - so much beauty, so much pain, so much sorrow - with so many different people.......from all walks of life......who maybe feel this way too.
Alone, naked and helpless we come into this world.
When we leave it? I don't think we will ever be alone again.
Svhyeyi Aga
Cherokee
August 15, 2002
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Journey of a Woman - Walking Alone - Very Touching 
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