Grass Dance

By Ben Boomer

Every summer growing up I would tuck my pants into my socks and prepare myself for battle. The enemy at the time was Russian Thistle that grew relentlessly in the meadow that spread 40 acres in front of the house. They loved to grow where the soil has been disturbed. The ranch was a few thousand acres on the Navajo reservation, and was tended by my mother’s family. My parents raised me there along with some Aunts, Uncles and cousins. My dad was a farm boy from California descended from German/European stock. This created the perfect life to explore some differences, some similarities, and to ultimately begin to discover harmony between cultures and eras.

My mother’s clan, the Dibe Lizhini (Black Sheep) were adopted into the the Dine people by the Salt clan several generations ago after fleeing the Spaniards from Zia Pueblo, or so the story goes. Long story short the family lives on a ranch with cattle and sheep at the base of the Chuska mountains. My grandmother’s house sits at the edge of one meadow, with my uncles houses and barns clustered nearby. My father, being an artist and never totally comfortable living in grandma’s house, endeavored to build a beautiful double hogan in the next valley over the hill. The meadows there would be plowed and sowed with alfalfa for winter hay, but otherwise left alone. He built near the majestic red rock cliffs, a little way from the stock pond where Herons and other migratory birds nested. Every year he would host an art show and sometimes a couple hundred people would show up and park near the house, in the meadow, where all the thistle loved to grow. My job was to destroy all thistle.

Some people look at the vibrant purple blooms of the thistle and see the beauty and color of life, but if you have to walk through them you are introduced to their thorny, slightly toxic prickles. If you have the opportunity to dig in and around them you discovery they play host to vast legions of tiny biting black ants. The black ant bite isn’t terribly painful, at least for the first 50. I would often take it as a game, wielding a wooden sword, socks over pants, long sleeve shirt and gloves in balmy June. I would dance through the thistle, severing purple heads as Conan of the meadow. This frolick never lasted, because like the Hydra, a severed thistle head will sprout two. The only way to truly rid the yard of them was with a shovel. My father’s haunting refrain “Pop the tap root” reverberated through my stuffy head. I developed a severe allergy to the thorny demons early on, and would shovel and hoe my way through a haze of snot and tears until there was enough clearing for several dozen cars, and people to park, camp and mill about for the annual art show. Even childhoods that are a wealth of character building must come to an end.

I moved on to college and adulthood, and had many opportunities to reflect on this and other childhood experiences. I began to take note of the very different cultural attitudes toward lawn care, landscape, and even garbage. It came into beautiful clarity recently when I saw a photo on the interwebs of a Navajo friends family gathering around their suburban backyard pool. The pool itself was immaculate, and the children were filled with that first day of summer break unbridled joy as they leapt into the deep end. There were other beings present also in full bloom of the early desert summer. Weeds, or at least that’s what most people call them. They were special, they were untouched, unpoisoned and majestic in their own right. You might call the family lazy (they certainly are not) but I saw something else. My mother had a saying growing up, ‘If it wasn’t perfect it wouldn’t be’ and this is what I saw in those weeds. I remembered being on the Amazon river and tossing my banana leaf food wrapper guiltlessly over the side of the ferry. I remembered the old hogan in the old meadow where a relative had died before I was born. In Dine tradition the family abandoned it, leaving it to the elements to take back to the earth, it wasn’t built of anything that didn’t belong. I realized what looks like trash, or an unkempt yard is really just echos of an older attitude toward the earth, and stuff. Trash and weeds are foreign concepts, and the mess you see on the reservations is the result of a square peg being hammered into a round hole. The native culture is slowly learning how to fit some of the old ways in with the new. Times are changing for us all, even character building childhoods must come to an end.

I found victory over those purple helmeted demons eventually. My cousin-in-law is a world champion grass dancer. These are the first guys out at a Pow Wow, and their dance tramples down the grass for the other dancers to shine. I think this is where his magic comes from, but he would laugh at that idea.  Aside from the couple acres around my father’s house, there are another 40 acres of meadow/alfalfa field that used to be flooded long ago by the annual rains. One year my Grass Dancer cousin was able to divert enough water to fully flood the meadow without sowing any alfalfa, and everyone thought it was a terrible waste of water and resource, but the alfalfa had become too hard to manage with all the weeds.. The next year as spring came the meadow was transported back to a much earlier time. There was only a lonely handful of thistle remaining and I swelled with inner triumph when I saw it. The meadow was a green ocean alive with waves of various greens talking to me about harmony with the dance the wind provides them. So I honor the lesson of those weeds, and realize that trying to be Conan of the meadow isn’t always the best course to victory. Sometimes you have to let the weeds grow, and jump into the deep end with a big ol’ smile. Sometimes you have to remember that if it wasn’t perfect it wouldn’t be. It can take a little work to let go of the idea we have a lot to change. When we settle back into our true nature we can let things be as they will while we wait for spring dance of the grass.

Joy is to be Respected and Savored

By CSEE Board President Ben Boomer

The steady rhythm of my heart beating as a metronome to an ancient song, sung in a language I don’t speak, but with a meaning that would heal my spirit. I sat in darkness both physical and metaphoric as my mind would begin to struggle with understanding, only to be willed into relaxation with an intentional breath. Follow the water was a mantra my mind used to carve canyons effortless and relentless. Neither forced, nor aimless, I became accustomed to the strength of flow. Realizing the old streams and rivers no longer fed gardens I wanted to tend, I began to plant new ones along the rivers edge in a place that felt safe, in soil that felt rich, under a steady bright sky. I realize this song has been sung before, for a lifetime, for generations. These are the lessons the plants always offer, and the sky always illuminates and the ground supports and nourishes to be remembered so it is never forgotten. Over and over I am given gifts, twined into my body, woven into my being, layer upon layer, again and again interrupted by flights of unbridled joy, and humbled by sorrow deep and dark only to return to the flowing rhythm with the taste of tears as a reminder that

joy must be respected and savored.

Each time like a sprout from the ground I emerge from darkness reaching and growing to the light, absorbing the light, and churning and mixing it with all that I am. The days move past, the plants move through me, the air and the smoke move through me, the sunlight moves through me, the sounds move through me. The ceremony is finished.

This is the ‘healing’. That singular noun I had been waiting for, this will slay my pain, my suffering, and end my isolation. This will rally the universe in my favor after all my bargaining, and wishing. This is what I tell myself as pain creeps back into my existence, into my every day. My resolve weakens, my body stumbles, the pain grows and consumes. It consumes my remembering, and my joy in an ugly slow gulp. My failure is complete. I was supposed to get better, the pain was going to be gone. I was supposed to continue all my old dreams, achieve my old goals and be whole again. Confusion, despair, desperation and darkness. I give up. It is all meaningless. There is no magic, no healing power, nothing will ever make me better. So I have nothing. I lay there useless, immobile, starving, and still with agony burning white hot. Agony burning away sleep, burning away thought, and burning away all my dreams. Nothing left of myself, just an essence, just an idea, just a memory, just a seed. A seed that knows nothing but a memory of light, and a promise of life. That light would shine as I closed my eyes. That light would shine as I became still. It would shine as I drifted to sleep, and drifted to wakefulness. One day became many, and water became blood, food became muscle. The light would shine and I would grow. I would remember the song and I would grow.

The metronome beat of the song was no longer the rhythm of my heart, but the rhythm of my days. This was my ‘healing’, my active verb that I had been waiting for. My pain and my suffering will always be a part of me like burned bark on a lighting tree. My healing, like my pain is something that is a part of me, something that is what I am and what I am becoming. It was never final, never an event or miracle, but a seed that had to be nurtured and grown. Each sunrise an opportunity for me to be the one to answer my prayers. Each sunset an opportunity to hold the light inside until the dawn. Healing doesn’t always make the pain go away, but it can be the growth around the gnarled, and burned and scarred. Growth to embrace the light, not in spite of, but with and because of all the suffering. Until it’s time for another song to be sung.

Sage Advice

By Ben Boomer

My step son is 13 and he loves it when I Sage the house at night before bed. I had given him his own Abalone shell and a white Sage bundle a few months ago, but he just kept it on his book shelf unused. Just last week, when I intended to begin our nightly ritual, I found I had burnt the last of my Sage the night before. So, I told him it was his turn to Sage the house when he made his request again, as he does every day. He complained he didn’t know how. He is in a very scholarly frame of mind these days, and has serious questions and doubts about anything magical or mystical. He does know that the way I Sage the house is somehow special, and makes him feel good, so he wanted to understand why. I decided to tell him by engaging his knowledge of science as a way to convey part of the meaning without diving off into a magical explanation.

“Here we are on this ball called Earth floating in space around a giant fusion energy reaction so massive it holds us in its gravity well. The Earth itself is so massive it holds us to its surface. Here we interact between the Earth and the sun. In a simplified, but very true way, the Earth provides all the materials for everything you see around, and the sun provides the energy. Everything on the Earth interacts with the sun in some way, and in this way has a quality I will call ‘being’. Many things just are, like rocks or dirt, and they do not have to learn how to be, they just are. As beings become more complex they interact in very specific ways. At a certain point that complexity takes on a life, like flowers, or trees, or fish. The way science explains it is that beings on this planet have evolved more and more complex ways to be for a very long time. Transforming over time from plants to fish to animals and eventually into people. All life is finding a way to be on this planet. You are 13, and it is very obvious to you that you are in the process of learning how to be a person, a son, a brother and eventually a man. This can be very difficult at times, and as we walk around learning we can get confused, or forgetful, or distracted. People are a little complicated, and life takes some time to understand, but fortunately we are not alone on the planet trying to figure it out by ourselves. Plants draw energy directly from the sun, and nutrients from the Earth and transform those things into life. They are alive and they have learned how to be here a long long time ago. If we observe them and interact with them they can teach us by example how to live and be on the planet. People have known about this for a long time also, and have found which plants are good at teaching us different ways to be on the planet.

The Sage is one of those plants that we have learned is good at reminding us to be strong, and pure, and protected. When we walk around the world sometimes we pick up on other people’s crummy feelings or some situation that makes us feel bad. We carry that home in our minds or gut feelings, and it shows up in a neglected room, or forgotten dishes, maybe a nightmare, or the corner of the closet you never think about. Sometimes we push the feeling down deep inside and forget why we feel bad at all. Trying to constantly remember how to be at ease with your brain is sometimes impossible, especially if you are tired or don’t feel like it. This is where the plants and rituals can be very powerful in changing the way you show up, the way you feel, think and be. This is how they can change your life. So there is no magic, and nothing mystical at all.

When you take the Sage in your hand remember all this about the plant, how ancient and powerful it must be to have survived all this time. Now, make some fire with a lighter. The fire is like the sun in that it transforms material and releases energy. When you put the fire to the Sage, all that was left of the Sage’s being will release into the air. That’s not magic, that’s combustion. Notice it smells good, and clean, and fresh, yet old. It lingers, it is strong and subtle. Notice all these things and remember it. It is reminding you how to be. It is a plant that learned to protect itself from all the world had to throw at it. Ancient people learned to use the smoke to remember to be pure, and clean, and protected. We use the smoke to remind not only us, but all the things in the house and around us. We want to cover them in this being. We cover them with the smoke, we push the smoke around and into everything we want to take on this being of clean, of pure, and protected. You carry the smoking Sage around the house and make sure to see the smoke touching all the things around you, paying special attention to people and animals to make sure they have been cleaned off. Get it into the corners, and closets, and all the places that get forgotten. Send it out to the roof and yard, and as you practice you can send it out to all the places in your life where you work and live. So when life gets complicated, or messy, or we feel distracted or forgetful about our purpose here we can burn the Sage to remind ourselves and everything around us to be pure clean and protected and anything else beneficial you can think of. All the things I am telling you are given strength by your ability to think, to feel, and to remember how powerful and special it is to be here in this place. So use that ability and the smoke to clear your mind, spirit, and space of anything that is distracting, or confusing or negative. Do this over and over again and you will build a stronger connection. It is like building a muscle, or learning math. At first it may not make sense, but then it becomes part of your nature, part of your being. You don’t have to believe in magic to learn from plants and have rituals be a powerful part of your life. Keep your skepticism, and questions for as long as they serve you, but keep in mind you don’t want to keep them any longer than that.”

He did a great job Saging the house after that.

The Circle People and the Square People

By Ben Boomer

In the mid-nineties I traveled to Zacatecas Mexico with Hopi artist and Architect Dennis Numkena. He was working on a museum exhibition that explored the relationship of the Hopi to the Mayans through his paintings. I was there to help him settle a studio space in Zacatecas, and then travel the ancient architecture of Mexico. It was a grand adventure filled with danger and revelation.  There were many jokes about a Navajo and a Hopi traveling together, as there is some historic rivalry between the tribes. Neither of us bought into that narrative. We were amigos. Dennis moved beyond this world in 2010, but he left us with many great memories and stories. This is one he told me that had been passed down in his Hopi family.

His great grandfather told of stories from previous generations. The stories told of trading parties traveling to the south and the land of the howling hairy men. While traveling, Dennis deduced this story referring to the Yucatan Peninsula and Guatemala. These parties would bring monkeys and parrots back to the Hopi mesas. He talked of colorful feather plumes, and tales of ancient cities.  Dennis would note the architectural similarity, or the similarity of certain words or beliefs. This was not a scientific journey, but one where he wanted to feel the ambiance and energy of place, and space, and people. Official histories were ignored based on the knowledge that tall tales were often fed to outsiders from the Hopi. He assumed the Mayans would do the same. Much of the interpretations of art and ceremony he felt were laughable. He trusted art and architecture and personal family stories. Dennis felt there was a clear relationship between Hopi and Mayan cultures.  

While sipping a cold beer in the still and humid jungle air Dennis told me the story of the Square people and the Circle people. This story was in response to the accepted scientific narrative that Native Americans migrated across the Bering Straits then spread through North and South America. This was, according to legend, only part of the story. He went on to tell me that there were an ancient people called the Circle people, and they followed the hoop of life. They understood the world followed a circular pattern of birth, life and death. They followed the season, and the moon, and the herds. They traveled across the land and ice bridge of the Bering Straits. Moving with the herds each season.  They consist of the people who live in circle structures like Igloos, Tipis, and Hogans. They unlocked secrets of continual renewal and harmony.

Across the oceans were another people called the Square people. They learned about the stars, and time, and mathematics. They used these skills to build boats and follow the stars across the vast oceans to South America where they settled and began to migrate north. They built square homes like pueblos and pyramids.  Using logic and math they built huge empires with complex trade routes, agriculture, architecture and communications. They unlocked secrets of space and time as they continued this migration into North America. The square people and the circle people finally met in the lands of modern-day Arizona as the Hopi and the Navajo. The language is nearly as different as any language can be, and there are distinct differences in lifestyle. Each is assured in their own way that this sacred place between the sacred mountains will be a sanctuary as humanity emerges into the next world.

Ever since Dennis told me this story it changed my perceptions of the truth, and I ceased accepting scientific theory as fact regarding the origins or beliefs of ancient and modern indigenous peoples. These truths are better served straight from the horses mouth, as the saying goes. Since his revelation nearly 20 years ago science has since discovered evidence that challenges the single migratory event theory that was once accepted as fact. This is only a small example of the power of preservation, and empowerment of native voices. There are many approaches to the truth, and great inspiration can come from the hidden corners of the world, or from your own dinner table. Water your own trees, listen to your grandparent, and the elders of your community, and empower those smaller voices of the world to do the same.

Ghaajj Navajo New Year

By Ben Boomer

Long ago in the high desert plateau of what is now the southwestern United States, there was a tribe of people who gathered together in the cradle of four sacred mountains. They were known to the ancient Anasazi and pueblo people as “Field People” or ‘Na-bay-ho’ according to Navajo historian Wally Brown. The Navajo of the time planted crops in a spiral pattern, and you were taught as a child that you were part of this continuing pattern of growth, like the plants in a spiral. There are many generations that come after you. It was this teaching that made the name ‘Na-bay-ho’ that evolved into ‘Navajo’. We, of course, refer to ourselves as the Diné (The People).

These spiral crops were harvested at the end of summer, and preparations were begun for winter. The New Year for the Diné begins at the new moon in the month of Ghąąji’ or October. Ghąąji’ translates to “Back to back” or “The joining of seasons”. It is where the snowy white of winter joins the golden yellow of summer. This is the time of harvest and preparation. This time is where insects, and reptiles, bears, and even plants and trees seek safety and protection in the blanket of mother earth. It was also a time to hunt young animals for meat and older ones for skin and tools. Medicinal herbs, edible wild plants and roots and nuts were also gathered and stored. It is a time to cultivate the great abundance of the year and prepare to settle in for the long cold nights of winter. The winter is a time to rest, renew, teach, learn, reflect and pray. In this way, we know it is time for the nine-night nightway chants, and for the shoe game as well as many sacred games, stories and teachings.

This time of quiet is marked by stories, ceremony and games that last through the cold winter and is marked at an end in Atsá Biyáázh (baby Eagles) or February. The cry of the Eagle wakes the Sky that in turn gives thunder to awaken the Earth, the plants and the animals. The wind, the soil, the water and the sun also awaken, and all begin to dance together to create life.

This is the time to recognize the renewal of life and bless ourselves and the world around us. It is a time to stretch our bodies, and dance. It is the time to embrace our bodies and the body of the world around us. This is how the cycle of life and renewal move through time. We have learned as humans to recognize this time in different ways. Each culture has a powerful lesson to give about life and the nature of reality. Learning from these rich traditions is one way to expand our awareness and relationship to our environment in time and space and the cycles of life, death and renewal.

Happy October!

Cacophony of Chaos

By Ben Boomer, CSEE Board President

Coyote plays a big part in Navajo culture, and was very much a part of my childhood.  Those coyotes are an hilarious and tricky bunch with their howling cackling cacophony waiting just out of sight for any opportunity for shenanigans. Opportunities abound for the trickster as they wait for the time to have a bit of fun, waiting for us to be arrogant, or impatient, or just sleepy enough for them to slip in. Coyote stories are more than entertainment, and serve to warn and teach us about the unknown, and sometimes chaotic elements of nature and existence. I look around the world now, and wonder how Coyote is working his magic and I am reminded of a very old story about Coyote and The Giant. It goes something like this:

Coyote was feeling terrific as he strutted down the road, and decided to admire his new tuft of yellow hair in a nearby stream and have a sweat bath. As he came over a hill he happened across a mighty giant who was known to terrorize all the land, creatures, and people.

“Heya cousin!” Coyote said “ You are looking so giant and fierce, like the biggest giant. The best giant. You are not as great as you were the last time I saw you. You seem slow and sickly. Sad. How about a sweat bath to rid yourself of the bad and terrible things?”

“Do I need a sweat bath? What kind of bad and terrible things?” The Giant said as he pondered his fat belly and greasy hands.

“Just wait and see, follow me, or I’ll just make myself fabulous without you!” Coyote yelled as he trotted off.

Coyote stayed well out of range of the Giant’s club while he scouted an ideal spot for a sweat bath next to a stream.

“You build the sweat lodge while I gather wood and herbs for the fire and bitter tea” Coyote said.

“Ok” The Giant said in his slow dumb way. “ WIll this help me chase down those delicious humans? I love to eat the little precious ones and I don’t like bitter tea!”

“You are getting slow, and smelly. Very sad. If you sweat like me and drink the bitter tea you will be fast, so fast. I am the fastest creature around, ask anyone, I out run all the other animals, so fast, so agile, the best, believe me, you will be great, so great!” Coyote chortled.

Once the two were in the sweat house, Coyote secured the door blocking the light and sound of the outside. In the darkness of the sweat house it began to get very hot, and The Giant began to complain asking to go outside.

“We will go outside in a while, first you have to drink this bitter tea. It is very bitter let me warn you, the most bitter tea” Coyote said as he drank.

Coyote lept out as the Giant drank and complained. He fashioned some bowls from some tree bark.

“I feel sick to my stomach, and dizzy from this bitter tea” whined The Giant.

“It is time for you to purge all the bad and terrible things, close your eyes and use this bowl I made for you so you can see all the sickness you got rid of!” Coyote said as he laid out the bowls.

With eyes closed they both purged loudly. Coyote kept his eyes open and saw that the contents of the Giant’s stomach were clean. He quickly switched it with his own parasite infested, toxic, vile bowl of puke.

“Such a mess! Look cousin at all the bad and horrible things infesting you! No wonder you are so slow, let’s go back in for more cleansing!” Coyote said as he snickered quietly to himself.

As The Giant finished heaving, Coyote took the opportunity to sneak a deer leg into the dark sweat lodge. “Now you are ready for me to perform my true magic! Come feel how muscular and healthy my leg is!” Coyote said as he offered the deer leg in the darkness. The Giant felt it. Coyote then took a rock and bashed the deer leg until it gave a loud snap. Coyote howled in pretend pain and had The Giant feel the broken leg. Coyote began to spit on his leg and chant. “Be strong leg,  be the strongest, stronger than the rest, be the best leg!” he spit and chanted, spit and chanted!

He then offered The Giant his own perfectly healthy leg and The Giant said, ”That is amazing, what powerful magic! Is this really your secret?”

Coyote replied “Of course, believe me, ask anyone, I am powerful, so magic and filled with power! Let me show you, but it will hurt a little at first!”

Coyote then took the Giant’s legs and began smashing them with the club. He smashed, and bashed, and battered until he heard several loud snaps followed by the agonizing scream of The Giant.

“You have broken them! My legs!” The Giant howled.

“Start spitting, and don’t stop spitting on them until they are healed, spit and spit some more, you can’t spit too much believe me!” The Coyote sang out as he fled the sweat lodge into the night.

Coyote sat on the hillside listening to The Giant scream and spit knowing that The Giant would be lucky to walk again, and would never be able to outrun even the smallest human.

The power and mystery of the trickster is that you never know when his foolish antics are causing more trouble, or when that trouble does some good. Best to be a little wary and have a lot of respect. Trickster is there to show all the flaws, push the boundaries, and create opportunities that never existed before. This happens in a foolish funny way, but also in an unpredictable terrifying way. If you are quiet and listen hard all those Coyote brothers are cackling away in the night, just out of sight, waiting.

Shamanism: Approaching Indigenous Wisdom with Care and Respect

by Ben Boomer

Shamanism has grown in popularity as an idea and practice in the modern world. Shamanism is defined by the recognition of a common wisdom based on ancient or indigenous spiritual traditions. This broad definition has some advantages and disadvantages that are worth exploring. I am speaking from the perspective of a North American tribal member because I am of the Diné people. I was raised on the Navajo reservation in the American southwest with a mixed cultural background. My mother is Diné (Navajo), and my father is from California of European descent. My childhood was spent on a ranch with sheep, cattle, traditional ceremony and the occasional trip to California for Christmas.

Many Native Americans I know hear the word ‘shamanism’ and take an immediate skeptical stance. Several people I know embrace shamanism with a rich, authentic, and rewarding spiritual life. There is a long history of cultural appropriation and abuse among indigenous peoples that leaves several issues to be sorted out. The issues that wound the indigenous cultural personality range from minor to significant. For example, there are the much publicized conflicts over the names of sports teams like the Redskins, or the gaudy feather costumes of runway models. These are easy to recognize aspects of a much deeper trend that impacts how people and cultures are identified. I am not personally offended by the name of a football team, but become concerned when I recognize the slow erosion of my culture’s significance within the awareness of the dominant social consciousness.

It isn’t as simple as pride in myself or pride in my ancestors, but more of a recognition of the wisdom contained within the teachings of my culture. As I layer mistakes, lessons, and years on top of one another I get better at reflecting in greater depth the wisdom and significance of not only the Diné traditions, but also the traditions of many indigenous peoples. There is a perspective held by many Native Americans that this wisdom has such depth and breadth that you have to grow up with it in order for those teachings to truly resonate in your life experience. I agree to the extent that I may never understand being Diné like my grandmother did, but this does not diminish the value it has in my life. Being Diné is simply who I am.

Because I live my life and nurture my family within the context of the dominant western culture it is important that I have significant points of reference within western culture that allow me to weave the wisdom of the past with present reality. It is the erosion in any capacity of these points of reference that get many indigenous people frustrated and angry, because it interferes with our capacity to preserve the lifeline of cultural wisdom, and maintain a healthy interaction with society as a whole.

There are more significant issues to be considered beyond sport teams, and lingerie, and this brings us to the realm of spirituality. At the core of a culture are the ideas and practices surrounding its spiritual and philosophical understanding of the world. Language, food, art, song, and dance are a few key elements that hold a cultural system together. My mother was forbidden from speaking the Diné language as she attended government funded boarding school on the Navajo reservation. The pressure to convert to one form of Christianity or another has been underway since first contact with Europeans, and has largely been successful. The diet, family structure, and living habits of the Diné have undergone great changes in the past four generations. All of this has left many traumatic imprints on the Diné identity. Despite this, much of the culture and spiritual tradition has survived.

The idea of change and renewal is central to Diné philosophy, and this has contributed to its survival. Not all indigenous spiritual traditions share this fortune and many have disappeared. Those that do survive have done so with much effort and sacrifice. This is one of the key reasons why there can be a guarded and proprietary attitude surrounding indigenous culture in North America, and beyond. There is a kinship among different tribes that has grown from this shared struggle. There is a recognition of many shared values, but also a respect for some very clear differences. This understanding has evolved over generations of people sharing and comparing ideas and traditions for mutual survival in the context of western culture. At the core of this cooperation has grown a recognition of shared spiritual principles and several spiritual practices are now shared by many tribes in North America. This is where there is some commonality with the idea of shamanism.

Shamanism recognizes that many cultures share similar ideas and practices grown out of what is termed a perennial wisdom. Many shamanic practitioners recognize the value and wisdom of these practices. I have wondered what it would be like to never have grown up with my background of culture and tradition, but still recognize the beauty and wisdom in the world around me. I would realize that the study of shamanic practices would seem to bring me closer to an understanding of that truth. I would want to embrace it, and to absorb as much knowledge and wisdom as I could in order to bring me as close as possible to a full understanding.

That level of enthusiasm makes it easy to see the common thread that ties many ancient beliefs together, but also makes it easy to overlook the qualities that make each culture unique. There is a haste and material preoccupation inherent in western culture that drives many people to reject it in search of a slower more natural wisdom. This drive brings many to explore shamanism. There are several examples of people bringing the haste and preoccupation to shamanism instead of escaping it. Fraud, delusion, greed and exploitation have plagued the shamanic community from its inception. This is why many indigenous people react with wary caution to the mention of “shamanism.” It is really a natural response to those who may practice “taking” wisdom from a culture, and it happens enough to create a protective attitude. Ideas of monetizing, commodifying, marketing and trading these spiritual practices gets rejected out of hand by Natives because they are all clear markers of western thought and culture.

I have come to understand that this rejection out of hand is a mistake. It is true that shamanism as a word carries with it the legacy of those who have abused it, but it also has brought attention to ideas and principles that are vital to the survival of our species. There are very good reasons that drove the tribal people of North America to preserve their traditions. Many indigenous people recognize that these traditions share a common resonance with the world, and with life as it is lived. The ceremony and practice of these traditions brings a wealth of practical knowledge to the way we live life, and honor our surroundings. We recognize that we would not have survived if it were not for these teachings. There is also a recognition that many of the world’s ills would be healed by the application of that wisdom. Native Americans are not alone in this recognition by any means. There is a struggle worldwide to preserve not only our physical environment, but also our mental and spiritual environment.

Shamanism has a great capacity to contribute to this collective effort simply due to the nature of its popularity and perspective on common threads of wisdom. It is not by divining what practice can be collected, or gem of wisdom recorded, but reaching into our own experience and offering forth what resonates, what contributes. In this way a spirit of cooperation and understanding will be fostered. This is the foundation of a true exchange. The knowledge passed from one culture to another can be received with reciprocity. There is no need to abandon our personal culture or past experience and co-opt the identity of another. By way of example, the value is lost if you try to perform an authentic Diné sweat lodge ceremony when you are not Diné , but there is tremendous value in learning to sweat with a Diné . By intentionally fostering reciprocity, and with a great deal of humility, patience, dedication and effort a real level of understanding can take place. From this place it is possible to foster new traditions for ourselves and community.

I have learned this by interacting and observing many shamanic practitioners, and concluding that there are at least two distinct approaches. One approach is to collect and commodify spiritual practices and pass them along as “authentic indigenous teachings.” Without the appropriate cultural background, and lacking reciprocity and humility, these practices only offer a veneer of wisdom, and lack a depth of understanding. In the end they only serve to diminish the spiritual practice in the larger context of the world, and in many cases damage the culture they derive from. The other approach is marked by the active participation of the originating culture. There is an obvious reciprocity that doesn’t just involve a few isolated people claiming to be bearers of indigenous wisdom, but instead entire families, or villages. It is rare for any group of people to reach 100% consensus, but the involvement of increasingly larger groups is powerful. This approach helps to nurture not only the preservation and exchange of indigenous wisdom, but lays the groundwork for new traditions to emerge that allow people from different cultures to grow together. This is how the tribes of North America have been coming together for the past several generations.

I have learned that there are many shamanic practitioners in the world who may have begun in a self-centered way, but learned that there is a more nurturing way that leads to a deeper, richer understanding of life and the spiritual practices that shamanism recognizes. I struggled with the term “shamanism” because of all this confusion both within the indigenous community and within the shamanic community, about its value and purpose. I now recognize that shamanism has a large following consisting of many people who do not want to participate in cultural appropriation in their quest for a deeper relationship with life, but instead would welcome a healthy exchange based on reciprocity, respect, honor, and gratitude. There are a growing number of opportunities to practice shamanism through education and exchange, and I intend to contribute with caution and hope. I welcome you to join me in this pursuit and direct your interest in shamanism into a contribution to the preservation of indigenous wisdom.