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from the chapter
The Pueblo |
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The
Delaware hunter raised eyes saddened by the flood of memories. He
suddenly knew he needed to cleanse his spirit of the pain and invoke the
strength of the One Above. He needed to give himself a vision for
battle.
He shrugged
off his blanket, shed his clothes, and stepped naked onto the ice of the
creek. He thought of how the little stream wended its way through the
pueblo to join the Rio Grande on its long journey to the salty sea and
the morning sun. From the sea the One Above would take this water back
into the sky and return it to the earth, sweet again. Perhaps the water
would return to this very land, perhaps to the sacred, snow-capped
mountain of the pueblo. A circle of life. He stepped into the knee-high
coursing stream and stood for some time, his feet and legs growing numb
from the icey water. "Perhaps," En-di-ond thought, "in
another life I will cleanse my spirit in this same water again." He
made himself fall to his knees, then pitched forward full-length into
the frigid water.
The shock
and ache were greater than the pain in his heart. His head immersed, he
anchored himself to the rocky bottom until he desperately needed to
breathe. He raised up to take several gasping breaths, then plunged in
again. Feeling began to leave his hands and arms and legs. His diaphragm
pumped fruitlessly for air as he fought the urge to raise his head. He
felt himself become one with the water. A pleasant warmth began to
gather close around his heart, which seemed to shrink smaller and
smaller and yet grew warmer as he felt himself slipping away in the
bubbles that escaped his nose. His spirit was leaving his body. He was
enveloped by peace and well-being. In a dreamlike way he suddenly
realized why his people always left a place for a dead person's spirit
to escape the grave.
He pushed
himself to his knees with a mighty effort, gasping for air, water
pouring from his head and shoulders, giddy from his ordeal. Recovering
for a few moments, still tingling, he scooped a mouthful of water and
awkwardly regained his feet. He held the mouthful of water to warm it
with his spirit. He stumbled to his clothes to fetch a pinch of tobacco
from his pouch, shaking so violently that he spilled much of the pouch,
but he succeeded in squirting water from his mouth and making a tobacco
offering for each of the four winds, and a final, impromptu offering for
the One Above.
Shivering,
his teeth chattering, he rubbed himself so vigorously with his blanket
that his legs and arms would later feel raw, but his heart no longer
ached as he donned his clothes, his chilled muscles making his movements
awkward and jerky. Then he stood wrapped in his blanket until the
shivering subsided. Yes, he had to fight, but not just to avenge Red
Willows' death or for anger at his people's fate. He had to fight for
the living, for Nicholas and for Sun Runner and for Tomasito and all
those who befriended him in the pueblo. He had to fight for those who
had gone before and kept this place near the sacred mountain for him to
enjoy.
He sensed
movement and looked up to see the ghostly shape of a white owl glide
overhead. He watched it flap and glide, flap and glide up the course of
the stream until it disappeared in the darkness. So effortless. So pure.
He took a deep, shivery breath of the crisp night air, knowing that in
the owl he had just seen something holy.
Oh, how he
loved this land! So vast, so rich with game, its people rooted like
trees. I want this place to be here, forever, he thought. I want to
enjoy this land until I’m old. And then I want to come back as an
eagle or a cloud and enjoy it again and again. That is what I truly
want. This land is what I fight for. |
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