Paging Gazhekwe

[gazhekwe]

OK, no more music.

There is a bit of snow in the air, and it is cold enough for more. Story time is upon us. Once the sun goes down, I will post a story, but for now, here's some news.

The Cobell settlement was passed by the House and Senate. The next step will be Obama's signature, then from there, it will pass back to the Federal Court overseeing Cobell v Salazar. The case has been in litigation for 13 years. Obama was scheduled to sign it yesterday.

The $3.4 billion settlement amount is slated to be distributed as follows:

The case will award the 500,000 Native Americans with individual federal trust accounts - including an estimated 42,000 Navajos - partial compensation for the mismanagement of those accounts by the federal government over the past 100 years.

Each allottee will receive $1,000 up front, with the remainder of the $1.4 billion set aside for payouts divided between the claimants. Two billion dollars will be awarded to the allottees' tribes to buy back and consolidate factionalized land claims, with up to $60 million of that set aside for tribal scholarships.

[gazhekwe]

The Evil Gifts

In the Anishinaabe Migration Story, alcohol is the last and most evil of the four evil gifts that Short Bear Ribs brought home from his trip back east, where he met two ugly, smelly "red-face bear men." who had built a square wigwam made of tree-trunks. [[The first white men ever seen by the migrating Anishinaabeg, red-faced from cold & alcohol & wearing dirty, shaggy coats.)

They persuaded this hungry, stupid young man to feast on a bear [[his clan totem) that they had killed. This was in itself an evil, to eat his clan totem animal. They told Short Bear Ribs to take the four evil gifts as "sample trade goods" back to his people. He didn't know what that meant, but he took the four evil things as gifts, which everyone understands, or so they think.

Short Bear Ribs returned to the sacred island with the four evil gifts; a mirror [[encouraging self-centered vanity, instead of seeing your appearance reflected in the smiling eyes of a friend or beloved); red calico [[signifying that the land would be traded for worthless colored rags); a gun [[ the means of the new type of devastating warfare the people would conduct against their fellows, Dakota inhabitants of the lands the Migration was moving into); and last; the most evil, alcohol. Its evilness was proven by what was immediately done with it on Moningwaakunig [[Madeline) island, WI, where the fifth fire of the Migration had been lit.

Elders pondered whether this drink might be poison? and found a friendless forlorn old woman who had no relatives left to look after her.

"Drink this," they said and waited to see if she would get sick or die, or whether it would be safe for them to drink. She began to fling her creaky old bones around, to scream and sing in her old lonely voice that no grandchildren listened to, to screech and laugh where she had softly wept from hunger when no one remembered her after a hunt.

"Oh, this is good stuff!" the elders said, and began grabbing and drinking from that big jug.

From this, what those supposedly wise leaders did, you can see: it is not alone alcohol, but that this poison attacks people through existing weaknesses of spirit. Those elders were not wise; those people had not cared for that lonely old woman. They made both a deadly experiment and a mockery of her when she had no one--they should have been the ones to protect her and take care of her. Through these weaknesses of theirs, the poison of the fourth evil gift took over. But everyone has weaknesses; this poison can always find something to work through.

[Pam]

OK, no more music.

I was trying to find an old Buffy Sainte Marie clip from the Pete Seeger show I saw once, but it seems to be gone. I found a newer song by her though that you might like.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKmAb1gNN74

[gazhekwe]

No more Greedy Guts, that's good! Buffy rocks it out, she is so truly amazing! Love her. Thanks for posting this.

I love her cover of this one:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r_9gZEMQ2No

I found three of Buffy and Pete, Cindy Cindy and Welcome Emigrante and My Country, T'is of thy People You're Dying. Hadn't seen them in awhile. So young! The last one wouldn't play very well, though.

[Pam]

I found three of Buffy and Pete, Cindy Cindy

I think that was the one I was looking for- where she was playing the mouth bow.

[gazhekwe]

Yes. They were each separate, though. Cindy Cindy was the mouthbow one. Welcome Emigrante kind of fits with the one you posted. The other side of the coin.

[gazhekwe]

In Part I we saw how a simple young man brought back the Evil Gift from the white traders, and how the foolish elders tried a cruel experiment to see if the gift was poison. In Part II we explore the consequences.

Soon the sacred island where the big Midewiwin lodge had first been raised, where the Bear had given secrets of new medicines to the people,where the Sacred Fire burned, where the sacred drum was kept, had become a riotous, dangerous, disgusting place. People were fighting, killing each other, talking loud and senseless, vomiting and pissing on the medicine ground, the arbors, the Fifth Fire.

Sober people--quiet sad families carrying their wounded, their passed-out or sick drunks--left the island. And from the drunks who stayed there drinking, arose within them those corrupted spirits which are bear walkers, who do much evil, who love death, fuck the corpses of the dead, dig up graves, threaten people with death unless those people do whatever evil the bear walker wants, kill people with poisons, both alcohol which they are always offering and other poisons which matchi-manitou taught them to make. They commit rapes even of their own young daughters and their sisters.

All this consequences and the spreading poison, a spirit-poison [[the white man used to call alcohol "spirits" knowiing that it is a spiritual poison as well as physical) has weakened the people, has left our path a bloody and misery-haunted chaos, has left us awaiting the true kindling of the purifying Seventh Fire.

We no longer know where. Once we were going there, many others would have met together there, but we don't now where it is we were supposed to go to anymore. Through this poison of alcohol, the path and the grand destination were destroyed among us. Much suffering over this 300 years since the Fifth Fire was put out by the four evil gifts has had to be endured even by those who themselves never touch the poison.

The fourth evil gift is a racist weapon that has been mounted against the survival of Indian people. We must help our young people find ways to combat it. We must show them by our example how to value each other and to want to give to others rather than to grab, to buy, to accumulate possessions.

Mahpiya Luta [[Red Cloud) tells us that "love of possessions is a disease among them." Whether their ancestry kits are "formal dance gowns" or PowWow regalia, kitchen kits or tipis, bows or uzis, horses or cars, it doesn't matter. The lesson is the same: buy, buy, buy, gain status by what you buy and keep. Young children need to be taught how to love, not to be consumers.

[gazhekwe]

President Obama signed this into law today:

The legislation signed by Obama also funds a separate $3.4 billion settlement reached with the Department of Interior for mishandling Native American trust funds, along with four separate water rights lawsuits brought by Native American tribes.

Over 100 years in the making, thirteen years in litigation, finally some justice has come. The settlement is a mere raindrop in the ocean of what was owed, but it is something for the surviving plaintiffs. Many have already walked on, never seeing the end of the cruel hoax of the trust that administered their lands.

[gazhekwe]

Grandfather Cries by Charles Phillip Whitedog
Grandfather, do you know me? I am your blood. The son of your son. I come to ask you a question Grandfather.
Grandfather, don't you know me?
Can I stop being Indian now? There are others that want to be Indian, And if they can start from nothing, I should be able to stop from something?
Grandfather, don't you know me?
Grandfather, I don't look like you. I don't know what you know. It would be easy for me to hide behind my paler skin. No one would know the pain I feel, Or see the tears I cry for your Great Grandchildren.
Grandfather, don't you know me?
Grandfather, look what I have done to our world. Mother Earth is on her knees. The Snake and Owl rule the day. I don't understand the language you speak Grandfather.
Grandfather, don't you know me?
Grandfather, I want my Pepsi, Levi's and Porsche too. I want to go where the others go, And see the things they see too. I don't have time to dance in the old way Grandfather.
Grandfather?
Grandfather, why are you crying? Grandfather, why are you crying? Grandfather, please stop crying. Grandfather, don't you know me?

[gazhekwe]

“When the Indian has forgotten the music of his ancestors, when the sound of the tomtom is no more, when noisy jazz has drowned the melody of the flute he will be a dead Indian. When from him has been taken all that is his, all that he has visioned in nature, all that has come to him from his land, he then, truly, will be a dead Indian. His spirit will be gone, and though he walks crowded streets, he will in truth- be dead.”
Luther Standing Bear, Chief of Oglala, Lakota, 1905

I sometimes wonder if we are not all dead.

This is a teaching time of year, when we have the time in these long dark cold evenings to be quiet and reflect on what we need to do,and gather to ourselves the things we need to learn. These are the Seven most important teachings of the Anishinaabe world, the Seven Grandfathers. They will reappear in our stories through the season.

• Nibwaakaawin—Wisdom: To cherish knowledge is to know Wisdom. Wisdom is given by the Creator to be used for the good of the people. In the Anishinaabe language, this word expresses not only "wisdom," but also means "prudence," or "intelligence."

• Zaagi'idiwin—Love: To know Love is to know peace. Love must be unconditional. When people are weak they need love the most. In the Anishinaabe language, this word with the reciprocal theme /idi/ indicates that this form of love is mutual.

• Minaadendamowin—Respect: To honor all creation is to have Respect. All of creation should be treated with respect. You must give respect if you wish to be respected.

• Aakode'ewin—Bravery: Bravery is to face the foe with integrity. In the Anishinaabe language, this word literally means "state of having a fearless heart." To do what is right even when the consequences are unpleasant.

• Gwayakwaadiziwin—Honesty: Honesty in facing a situation is to be brave. Always be honest in word and action. Be honest first with yourself, and you will more easily be able to be honest with others.

• Dabaadendiziwin—Humility: Humility is to know yourself as a sacred part of Creation. In the Anishinaabe language, this word can also mean "compassion." You are equal to others, but you are not better.

• Debwewin—Truth: Truth is to know all of these things. Speak the truth. Do not deceive yourself or others.

[gazhekwe]

An Indian Christmas

[[A legend of the camp by the spring)

On Christmas night the Indian camp was a noisy place. The fires were burning brightly in every wigwam, and shouts and laughter told of the good time that was being had by everyone as a part of the celebration that the old French priest had taught them to have.

Outside the wind was blowing cold, with skiffs of snow. A strange boy wandered into the camp. He stopped at the tent of the chief and asked that he be admitted and given food and allowed to get warm. The chief drove him away. He went to the tent of Shining Star and tried to be admitted, but Shining Star grunted, and his boys drove him away with whips. He then went to many of the tents, including those of Eagle Eye and Black Feather, but none would receive him, and at one they set a dog upon him. His feet were bare, and tears were frozen on his cheeks.

He was about to leave the camp, when he noticed a small wigwam made of bearskin off by itself. He walked slowly to it, and quietly peeped in. Inside he saw the deformed Indian, who was known everywhere by the name of Broken Back. His woman sat near him, preparing a scanty meal for them and their children. The children were playing on the ground, but were watching their mother closely, for they were hungry. The fire was low, and the boy started to turn away, and broke a twig that lay on the ground. Broken Back ran out and stopped him as he was about to turn away.

"What do you want?" he said.

The boy commenced to cry. "I am so cold and hungry," he said, "and I have been to all the tents, and they will not let me in."

Then Broken Back took him by the hand and led him into the tent, and they divided the food with him, and built up the fire until he became warm and happy. They urged him to stay all night and until the storm was over.
So he sat on the ground near the fire and talked and played with the children until it was time to go to sleep.

Then he stood up, and they all noticed that he was tall, and as they looked they saw that he was a man instead of a boy. His clothes were good, and over his shoulder hung a beautiful blanket, and over his head was a bonnet with feathers of strange birds upon it. As they looked, he reached out his hand and said:

"Broken Back, you have been good to a poor, cold and hungry boy. You and all of yours shall have plenty."

And Broken Back stood up; and he was deformed no more, but was large and strong and well, and his woman stood by his side, and both were dressed in the best of Indian clothes. The children jumped about with joy, as they noticed that they were at once supplied with many things that they had always wanted.

"Broken Back," he said, "you shall be chief of your tribe. And all of your people shall love and respect and honor you. And your name shall be Broken Back no longer, but shall be Sacred Mountain."

And as they talked, all of the Indians of the tribe came marching about his tent shouting in gladness, "Great is Sacred Mountain, our chief, forever."

As they shouted, he disappeared, and they saw him no more.

The next day the good priest came to the camp, and they told him what had happened, and he said, "It was Jesus."

[Note that each religion interprets happenings in their own language. We would say that the boy turned man was Nanabozho, or maybe, Mishomis, Grandfather. Respectfully we do not challenge or argue with the priest.]

[Magnatomicflux]

Thanks gazhekwe, I enjoyed that.

[gazhekwe]

Of course, before settlers arrived, American Indians did not celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, because they had never heard of him. Once missionaries began teaching about Jesus, the stories rang a bell of truth for many tribes. For many, the stories fulfilled tribal prophecies, and many of the teachings were consistent with the truths handed down from the ancestors.

The time of year chosen for Christmas, the Solstice, was also a time of feasting and prayer for many tribes. At that time of year, the Sun is ready to begin its return to give life and warmth to the earth. At any Native celebration, there might be a giveaway, when someone in the tribe shares their plenty with the others.

Christian Christmas was celebrated very differently back in the 1500s and 1600s. There was no Santa, no Christmas trees, gift giving was a very small part of the celebration, and gifts were usually limited to some special food treat.

Traditional Believers and Christmas

Looks for Buffalo, an Oglala Sioux spiritual leader, the full-blood Oglala grandson of Chief Red Cloud and White Cow Killer, and a Cheyenne Oglala leader, explains the meaning of Christmas to the traditional Indian people of the Americas:

"Traditional American Indians are raised to respect the Christian Star and the birth of the first Indian Spiritual Leader. He was a Star Person and Avatar. His name was Jesus. He was a Hebrew, a Red Man. He received his education from the wilderness. John the Baptist, Moses, and other excellent teachers that came before Jesus provided an educational foundation with the Holistic Method."

"Everyday is our Christmas. Every meal is our Christmas. At every meal we take a little portion of the food we are eating, and we offer it to the spirit world on behalf of the four legged, and the winged, and the two legged. We pray--not the way most Christians pray-- but we thank the Grandfathers, the Spirit, and the Guardian Angel."

"The Indian Culture is actually grounded in the traditions of a Roving Angel. The life-ways of Roving Angels are actually the way Indian People live. They hold out their hands and help the sick and the needy. They feed and clothe the poor. We have high respect for the avatar because we believe that it is in giving that we receive."

"We are taught as Traditional children that we have abundance. The Creator has given us everything: the water, the air we breathe, the earth as our flesh, and our energy force: our heart. We are thankful every day. We pray early in the morning, before sunrise, to the morning star, and the evening star. We pray for our relatives who are in the universe that someday they will come. We also pray that the Great Spirit's son will live again."

"To the Indian People Christmas is everyday and they don't believe in taking without asking. Herbs are prayed over before being gathered by asking the plant for permission to take some cuttings. An offer of tobacco is made to the plant in gratitude. We do not pull the herb out by its roots, but cut the plant even with the surface of the earth, so that another generation will be born its place."

"It is really important that these ways never be lost. And to this day we feed the elders, we feed the family on Christmas day, we honor Saint Nicholas. We explain to the little children that to receive a gift is to enjoy it, and when the enjoyment is gone, they are pass it on to the another child, so that they, too, can enjoy it. If a child gets a doll, that doll will change hands about eight times in a year, from one child to another."

"Everyday is Christmas in Indian Country. Daily living is centered around the spirit of giving and walking the Red Road. Walking the Red Road means making everything you do a spiritual act. If your neighbor, John Running Deer, needs a potato masher; and you have one that you are not using, you offer him yours in the spirit of giving. It doesn't matter if it is Christmas or not."

"If neighbors or strangers stop over to visit at your house, we offer them dinner. We bring out the T-Bone steak, not the cabbage. If we don't have enough, we send someone in the family out to get some more and mention nothing of the inconvenience to our guests. The more one gives, the more spiritual we become. The Christ Consciousness, the same spirit of giving that is present at Christmas, is present everyday in Indian Country."

http://www.aaanativearts.com/article1412.html

NOTE: The celebration of Christmas ranges from traditional to secular, depending on the individuals. Looks for Buffalo teaches of the ideals we must live in order to be true to the earth, and shows how these teachings are mirrored in the teachings of Jesus. Sometimes it does seem as though we have forgotten all that in our scramble to live life in the 21st century, but we still need very badly to live in community with our fellow beings of the earth.

[gazhekwe]

Native American Christmas

It is Said that Pride Goes Before a Fall - Oldwarrior

By Oldwarrior
Each year, like children, we eagerly await the advent of another Christmas holiday season. We promise ourselves that this one will be different, that this one will be the best yet; no overspending, less emphasis on material things, more attention to the true meaning of the holiday. Unfortunately, each year we always seem to backslide into our old familiar habits; shopping mania, hustle, bustle, hassle, and a massive buildup of stress, debt, and personal dissension.

It's difficult for most of us to recall the simple, uncomplicated, and seemingly innocent Christmas' of our youth, but how many times have you reflected back to see if you could find that most memorable Christmas? For myself, I think it would have to be what I refer to as "the year of the lights."

I was eight years old and living with my native American grandmother. We weren't exactly a well-off family, nor could we be considered a middle class family. The truth be known, we were just about as poor as a family can be and still be around to tell about it. Our ramshackle home had no electricity, no indoor plumbing, very little coal to heat the cast iron stove and chase away the bitter cold, food on occasion, and a rather big shortage of love. We had no need for windows because the cracks in the single board walls were wide enough to see just about everything outdoors.

That Christmas I decided that I was just plain tired of old Saint Nicholas passing by our house as if it didn't exist. I figured there had to be a way to get his undivided attention, a way to flag him down and drag his jolly fat carcass down our stove pipe chimney. My young mind chewed on this thought for days on end without coming up with a favorable solution. Finally, in desperation, a few days before the big event, I decided to make a Christmas tree in our front yard, or what passed for a front yard. I knew it could never match the beauty of the Christmas tree down at the drug store, in fact, I'd be lucky to find a tree at all.

With the ingenuity and imagination that most children are gifted with, I cut a three foot cedar tree off the land of our neighbor to the south and dug a deep hole in the front yard to place it in. I made the hole a little too deep and the bottom part of the tree was under the dirt, but I figured that didn't matter as it would only lend more support to the tree. Over the next several hours I used my school notebook paper to cut out stars, and made colored chains with loops of paper and crayons. After draping my best made ornaments on the tree, it still didn't look quite right.

My sister noticed it and let out a deep sigh of regret. It was her idea to string popcorn on sewing thread as they supposedly did back in the good old days. When my "Santa Magnet Tree" was finally finished, I have to admit, I was rather proud of my decorative efforts. Unfortunately, like the biblical saying, pride goeth before a fall.

The next morning I found a dozen or more hungry blackbirds had feasted on the popcorn in my little Christmas tree and their excitement at such an unexpected gift had torn my wonderful little tree all to shreds. Charlie Brown would have been proud of what was left. To say I was angry and despondent would be the least of my sorrows, for without my "Magnet Tree" Santa was sure to bypass our house again that year.

I guess our neighbor across the fence to the north must have witnessed the depths of my depression because she came out and clucked about how the nasty old blackbirds had demolished my beautiful work of art. I can't remember her real name but everyone called her by her Native American name of Toopsa-Tawa [[which meant short marriage). I never questioned the name because at the time I didn't even know what marriage really meant. The great thing about Toopsa Tawa was that she was very rich. She had electricity, running water, a car, a television set... she was just plain rich, at least from my poor point of view.

She then surprised me by giving me a string of electrical lights to put on my little tree and she ran an electrical cord through her window to plug it in. To say the least, it was totally awesome!

No! Santa did not come again that year but I don't think I really missed his jolly face. My little, though somewhat mangled Christmas tree, stood as a shining beacon for everyone in my small world to witness. My sister had placed a small nativity scene in the dirt at the base that had given me greater inspiration.

I figured if Santa Claus was too busy to visit on Christmas, at least the little Lord Jesus would look down on our shining tree and hopefully bless our family with love. Who knows, maybe our mom would visit us again!

2010 © Associated Content, All rights reserved.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/art...g2.html?cat=74

[gazhekwe]

Starman learned from an elder how to travel to different parts of the world by astral projection. He gathered herbs needed for healing in the villages. One night in winter, he saw the brightest star he`d ever seen. It seemed to glow brighter and brighter. Giant beams engulfed him.

He knew he was going on a journey and he was instantly in the desert. He followed a road into a strange village with square houses. The people wore long, flowing garments and the men had hair all over their faces. Starman sensed something was happening, but he didn`t know what. He was drawn to the back of a peaceful crowd, where a beautiful woman held a little baby in her arms. There was a glow around the mother and the child. Starman remembered a story about when special children and chiefs are born -- they have a glow.

Before he left on his journey, he had found an eagle feather, which he placed in his belt. When he noticed people were presenting gifts to the child, he took out his eagle feather and laid it before the infant. It was a simple gift among the gold and incense, but Starman knew the power of the eagle feather. It was the most important gift he could give. The mother looked at Starman and smiled. She knew it was a special gift.

After she accepted his gift, Starman knew it was time to leave. He walked back into the desert and saw the star. A huge beam of light came and took him back to his camp. He thought he might have dreamed the whole thing, but his eagle feather was gone. Starman knew that someday the story would be understood as the birth of the baby Jesus.

A story told by Red Feather Woman. http://www.eptrail.com/ci_13970161

[gazhekwe]

Two elders describe the way Boarding Schools dehumanized them and destroyed their connection to their family and culture. I cried all the way through this. The scars are in my family too, and in the families of many people of my tribal family.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9e8kJC-UYus

Here is another, Our Spirits Don't Speak English, a very poignant look at what happens when a nation destroys a culture. Without our language, we are walking dead. Always, the trauma rises up to color the way we feel about ourselves. My own grandmother, having lost her mother at five, spent the next six years at boarding school before her family could get enough money together to bring her home for the summer. As an adult, she still understood Anishinaabemowin, the only language she knew when she went to boarding school. She would never speak it, nor did she teach it to her children. It would hurt their chances of success in the world, she felt.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2u3VOZ4n4aM&NR=1

[gazhekwe]

Keep an eye on this, Michigan vs Bay Mills, again.

http://www.upnorthlive.com/news/story.aspx?id=555841

[gazhekwe]

One of the traditions of this story time of year is the Why story, why is something like it is. Here is a tale about something that happened in just about this kind of weather, so you can imagine yourself in the place of the the animals in the story.

How Bear Lost His Tail

Back in the old days, Bear had a tail which was his proudest possession. It was long and black and glossy and Bear used to wave it around just so that people would look at it. Fox saw this. Fox, as everyone knows, is a trickster and likes nothing better than fooling others. So it was that he decided to play a trick on Bear.

It was the time of year when the Spirit of Frost had swept across the land, covering the lakes with ice and pounding on the trees with his big hammer. Fox made a hole in the ice, right near a place where Bear liked to walk. By the time Bear came by, all around Fox, in a big circle, were big trout and fat perch. Just as Bear was about to ask Fox what he was doing, Fox twitched his tail which he had sticking through that hole in the ice and pulled out a huge trout.

"Greetings, Brother," said Fox. "How are you this fine day?"

"Greetings," answered Bear, looking at the big circle of fat fish. " I am well, Brother. But what are you doing?"

"I am fishing," answered Fox. "Would you like to try?"

"Oh, yes," said Bear, as he started to lumber over to Fox's fishing hole.

But Fox stopped him. "Wait, Brother," he said, "This place will not be good. As you can see, I have already caught all the fish. Let us make you a new fishing spot where you can catch many big trout."

Bear agreed and so he followed Fox to the new place, a place where, as Fox knew very well, the lake was too shallow to catch the winter fish--which always stay in the deepest water when Frost has covered their ponds. Bear watched as Fox made the hole in the ice, already tasting the fine fish he would soon catch.

"Now," Fox said, "you must do just as I tell you. Clear your mind of all thoughts of fish. Do not even think of a song or the fish will hear you. Turn your back to the hole and place your tail inside it. Soon a fish will come and grab your tail and you can pull him out."

"But how will I know if a fish has grabbed my tail if my back is turned?" asked Bear.

"I will hide over here where the fish cannot see me," said Fox. "When a fish grabs your tail, I will shout. Then you must pull as hard as you can to catch your fish. But you must be very patient. Do not move at all until I tell you."

Bear nodded, "I will do exactly as you say." He sat down next to the hole, placed his long beautiful black tail in the icy water and turned his back.

Fox watched for a time to make sure that Bear was doing as he was told and then, very quietly, sneaked back to his own house and went to bed. The next morning he woke up and thought of Bear.

"I wonder if he is still there," Fox said to himself. "I'll just go and check."

So Fox went back to the ice covered pond and what do you think he saw? He saw what looked like a little white hill in the middle of the ice. It had snowed during the night and covered Bear, who had fallen asleep while waiting for Fox to tell him to pull his tail and catch a fish. And Bear was snoring. His snores were so loud that the ice was shaking. It was so funny that Fox rolled with laughter. But when he was through laughing, he decided the time had come to wake up poor Bear. He crept very close to Bear's ear, took a deep breath, and then shouted:

"Now, Bear!!!"

Bear woke up with a start and pulled his long tail hard as he could. But his tail had been caught in the ice which had frozen over during the night and as he pulled, it broke off -- Whack! -- just like that. Bear turned around to look at the fish he had caught and instead saw his long lovely tail caught in the ice.

"Ohhh," he moaned, "ohhh, Fox. I will get you for this."

But Fox, even though he was laughing fit to kill was still faster than Bear and he leaped aside and was gone.

So it is that even to this day Bears have short tails and no love at all for Fox. And if you ever hear a bear moaning, it is probably because he remembers the trick Fox played on him long ago and he is mourning for his lost tail.

[gazhekwe]

Tribe defies AG demand to shutter its casino
It argues it has the right to operate
By JOHN WISELY FREE PRESS STAFF WRITER

A dispute over a controversial new casino in northern Michigan appears headed for court after the state ordered the Bay Mills Indian Community to shut it down. Officials with the Michigan Attorney General’s Office sent a letter Thursday to the tribe saying the legal rationale the tribe used to justify the casino in the village of Vanderbilt was invalid.

“The state of Michigan respectfully disagrees with your position and is not persuaded that the Vanderbilt casino is on ‘Indian Lands’ as required for lawful gaming,” S. Peter Manning, who heads the Attorney General’s Environment, Natural Resources and Agriculture Division, wrote to the tribe.

Bay Mills opened the casino with 38 slot machines on property it purchased this summer off I-75, just north of Gaylord. The opening sparked controversy because the tribe didn’t seek approval from the state or federal government. Other tribes that operate casinos have demanded its closure.

Tribal leaders declined interview requests. Bay Mills Tribal Chairman Jeff Parker released a statement, saying, “We have received the letter from the attorney general and do not agree with the state’s analysis. We are open for business and have no further comment at this time.”

The tribe has argued that since the land was purchased with money the federal government uses to settle land disputes with native tribes, gaming would be allowed because the land has become “Indian Lands,” as defined by the law.

The state disagrees and Manning’s letter concluded by saying, “The state will take appropriate action to ensure compliance with its laws and compel closure of the Vanderbilt casino.”

The tribe also has bought property in Port Huron, where it hopes to build a casino. If the tribe’s legal theory holds up, it could then build another gambling hall in Port Huron.

• CONTACT JOHN WISELY: 313-222-6825 OR JWISELY@FREEPRESS.COM  

[gazhekwe]

This police dashcam video shows the action in the Seattle police killing of the Indian carver. The man is shown crossing the street carving on a piece of wood. The officer is shown crossing in front of the car. Just as he goes out of range, he shouts at the man. He shouts, put down the knife put down the knfie. Three seconds from the first shout, he fires, bang bang bang. Three seconds to hear, realize he means you, and understand what he is yelling about. Be careful out there.

http://www.komonews.com/news/local/112097619.html

[gazhekwe]

Part I

Once there was a time when men knew no joy. Their whole life was work, food, and sleep. One day went by like another. They toiled, they slept, they awoke again to toil. Monotony rusted their minds.

There was a man and his wife who lived alone in their dwelling not far from the sea. They had three sons, all anxious to be as good huntsmen as their father, and even before they were full grown they worked hard to become strong and enduring. Their father and mother felt proud and secure in the thought that the boys would provide for their old age when they could no longer help themselves.

But it happened that the eldest son, and after a while the second one, went hunting and never came back. They left no trace behind; all search was in vain. The father and mother grieved deeply over their loss and watched now with great anxiety over the youngest boy, who was by this time big enough to go hunting with his father. The son, who was called Ermine, liked best to stalk caribou, while his father preferred to hunt sea creatures. As hunters cannot spend all their lives in anxiety, soon the son was allowed to go where he pleased inland while the father paddled to sea in his kayak.

One day, stalking caribou as usual, Ermine suddenly saw a mighty eagle, a big young eagle that circled over him. Ermine pulled out his arrows, but did not shoot as the eagle flew down and settled on the ground a short distance from him. It took off its hood and became a young man who said to the boy:

"It was I who killed your two brothers. I will kill you too unless you promise to hold a festival of song when you get home. Will you or won't you?"

"Gladly, but I don't understand what you say. What is song? What is a festival?"

"Will you or won't you?"

"Gladly, but I don't know what it is."

"If you follow me, my mother will teach you what you don't understand. Your two brothers scorned the gifts of song and merrymaking; they would not learn, so I killed them. Now you may come with me, and as soon as you have learned to put words together into a song and to sing it--as soon as you have learned to dance for joy, you shall be free to go home to your dwelling."

"I'll come with you," answered Ermine. And off they set.

The eagle was no longer a bird but a big strong man in a gleaming cloak of eagles' feathers. They walked and walked, farther and farther inland, through gorges and valleys, onward to a high mountain, which they began to climb.

"High up on this mountaintop stands our house," said the young eagle. And they clambered up and up until they had a wide view over the plains of the Caribou hunters.

As they approached the crest of the mountain, they suddenly heard a throbbing sound, which grew louder and louder the nearer they came to the top. It sounded like the stroke of huge hammers, and so loud that it set Ermine's ears humming.

"Do you hear anything?" asked the eagle.

"Yes, a strange deafening noise, that isn't like anything I've ever heard before."

"It is the beating of my mother's heart," answered the eagle.

So they approached the eagle's house built right on the uttermost peaks.

"Wait here until I come back. I must prepare my mother," said the eagle, and went in.

A moment after, he came back and fetched Ermine. They entered a big room, fashioned like the dwellings of men, and on the bunk, quite alone, sat the eagle's mother, aged, feeble, and sad. Her son said:

"Here's a man who has promised to hold a song festival when he gets home. But he says men don't understand how to put words together into songs, nor even how to beat drums and dance for joy. Mother, men don't know how to make merry, and now this young man has come up here to learn."

This speech brought fresh life to the feeble old mother eagle, and her tired eyes lit up suddenly while she said:

"First you must build a feast hall where many men may gather."

So the two young men set to work and built the feast hall, which is larger and finer than ordinary houses. When it was finished the mother eagle taught them to put words together into songs and to add tones to the words so that they could be sung. She made a drum and taught them to beat upon it in rhythm with the music, and she showed them how they should dance to the songs. When Ermine had learned all this she said:

"Before every festival you must collect much meat, and then call together many men. This you must do after you have built your feast hall and made your songs. For when men assemble for a festival they require sumptuous meals."

"But we know of no men but ourselves," answered Ermine.

"Men are lonely, because they have not yet received the gift of joy," said the mother eagle. "Make all your preparations as I have told you. When all is ready you shall go out and seek for men. You will meet them in couples. Gather them until they are many in number and invite them to come with you. Then hold your festival of song."

Thus spoke the old mother eagle, and when she had minutely instructed Ermine in what he should do, she finally said to him:

"I may be an eagle, yet I am also an aged woman with the same pleasures as other women. A gift calls for a return, therefore it is only fitting that in farewell you should give me a little sinew string. It will be but a slight return, yet it will give me pleasure."

Ermine was at first miserable, for wherever was he to find sinew string so far from his home? Suddenly he remembered that his arrowheads were lashed to the shafts with sinew string. He unwound these and gave the string to the eagle. The young eagle again drew on his shining cloak and bade his guest bestride his back and put his arms round his neck. Then he threw himself out over the mountainside. A roaring sound was heard around them and Ermine thought his last hour had come. But this lasted only a moment; then the eagle halted and bade him open his eyes. They were again at the place where they had met. They had become friends and now they must part, and they bade each other a cordial farewell. Ermine hastened home to his parents and related all his adventures to them, and he concluded with these words:

"Men are lonely; they live without joy because they don't know how to make merry. Now the eagle has given me the blessed gift of rejoicing, and I have promised to invite all men to share in the gift."

Father and mother listened in surprise to the son's tale and shook their heads incredulously, for he who has never felt his blood glow and his heart throb in exultation cannot imagine such a gift as the eagle's. But the old people dared not gainsay him, for the eagle had already taken two of their sons, and they understood that its word had to be obeyed if they were to keep this last child. So they did all that the eagle had required of them.

A feast hall, matching the eagle's, was built, and the larder was filled with the meat of sea creatures and caribou. Father and son combined joyous words, describing their dearest and deepest memories in songs which they set to music; also they made drums, rumbling tambourines of taut caribou hides with round wooden frames; and to the rhythm of the drum beats that accompanied the songs they moved their arms and legs in frolicsome hops and lively antics. Thus they grew warm both in mind and body, and began to regard everything about them in quite a new light. Many an evening it would happen that they joked and laughed, flippant and full of fun, at a time when they would otherwise have snored with sheer boredom the whole evening through.

As soon as all the preparations were made, Ermine went out to invite people to the festival that was to be held. To his great surprise he discovered that he and his parents were no longer alone as before. Suddenly he met people everywhere, always in couples, strange looking people, some clad in wolf skins, others in the fur of the wolverine, the lynx, the red fox, the silver fox, the cross fox--in fact, in the skins of all kinds of animals. Ermine invited them to the banquet in his new feast hall and they all followed him joyfully. Then they held their song festival, each producing his own songs. There were laughter, talk, and sound, and people were carefree and happy as they had never been before. The table delicacies were appreciated, gifts of meat were exchanged, friendships were formed, and there were several who gave each other costly gifts of fur. The night passed, and not till the morning light shone into the feast hall did the guests take their leave. Then, as they thronged out of the corridor, they all fell forward on their hands and sprang away on all fours. They were no longer men but had changed into wolves, wolverines, lynxes, silver foxes, red foxes--in fact, into all the beasts of the forest. They were the guests that the old eagle had sent, so that father and son might not seek in vain. Thus animals, who have always been more lighthearted than men, were man's first guests in a feast hall.

[gazhekwe]

A little time after this Ermine went hunting and again met the eagle. Immediately it took off its hood and turned into a man, and together they went up to the eagle's home, for the old mother eagle wanted once more to see the man who had held the first song festival for humanity.

Before they had reached the heights, the mother eagle came to thank them, and lo! The feeble old eagle had grown young again. For when men make merry, all old eagles become young.

This tale is related by the old folk from Kanglanek, the land which lies where the forests begin around the source of Colville River. In this strange and unaccountable way, so they say, came to men the gift of joy.

And the eagle became the sacred bird of song, dance and all festivity.

[gazhekwe]

As many of us rush around to make sure we have gifts for everyone under our trees, we may want to slow down a little and think about another kind of gift, the one given us by the Creator to share in the world. Let's not stress ourselves to the point that we forget to share what is special about ourselves.

Our Special Gifts

"In our story of Creation, we talk about each one of
us having our own path to travel, and our own gift
to give and to share. You see, what we say is that
the Creator gave us all special gifts; each one of us
is special. And each one of us is a special gift to
each other because we've got something to share."

-- John Peters [[Slow Turtle), WAMPANOAG


We are all equally special. We need to focus on what is right for ourselves. As we focus on what is right for ourselves, we will start to see our special gifts. Then we can see how to share our special gifts with others.

If we focus on what's wrong with ourselves, we will not be able to see our gifts. Then we will think we have nothing to give others and we become selfish and withdrawn.

The more we focus on our good, the more we see the good in others. The more we see the good in others, the more we see the gifts they have to share. What you sees is what you gets!

My Creator, today, let me use the gifts You have
given me. Let me use them wisely.

Source: Elder's Meditation for the Day
www.whitebison.org

[mikefmich]

@gazhekwe
Just started reading this thread recently, I'm slowing making my way thru it. Kudos to you, I for one am enjoying this much.

[gazhekwe]

Hi, Mike! I'm glad you're here. Thinking about gifts we have, this is one of mine that I can share such wonderful stories, lore and news. It is wonderful to see that people enjoy it.

Speaking of news, my home community, Bay Mills, is in the news again today as the Michigan AG files suit to close our new casino in Vanderbilt. We will fight this, because the land was purchased with money paid in a land settlement, the agreement giving us the right to use such purchases to further our economic development. In addition, the Vanderbilt community is up in arms about the state wanting to terminate the jobs that the casino has created.

The Little Traverse Bay Band of Odawa is also suing to close the Bay Mills Vanderbilt Casino, alleging that keeping it open will threaten the integrity of Indian gaming nationwide.

http://www.thetimesherald.com/articl...EWS01/12220308

http://www.upnorthlive.com/news/story.aspx?list=~\home\lists\search&id=557928