Ghost Dance: Behind the Facade of Normalcy

Sly said:Hmm... Native Americans were resisting civilization?

Well, I have nothing but respect for them for doing just that! It’s truly a tragedy they didn't succeed.
They weren't fighting "civilization" as an idea, but rather its most violent manifestation: colonialism, which meant the systematic eradication of indigenous peoples and the seizure of their land.
The Native tribes managed their territory with near-perfect efficiency. From what I've read, their way of life was 100% ecologically sustainable.

The USA was built first on genocide (with nearly 90% of the indigenous population wiped out), then on slavery, and today it continues through neocolonialism—exploiting the rest of the world—and ecocide. It feels like a vicious cycle that just keeps spinning. 😉

Since it’s been ages since I’ve popped in to say hi, 👋I just wanted to send some good vibes out to everyone!

...and don't worry, I'll try my best not to derail any threads while I'm at it...

🙂

Once, some white guy asked the chief Red Jacket what he actually did to earn his reputation as a warrior. Red Jacket’s response was pretty much instant:

"A warrior? Please. I'm an orator! I was born a speaker!"

…and honestly, they weren't kidding. People say he wasn't always the bravest leader out there, but nobody—absolutely nobody—can deny he had the gift of gab. That's why everyone called him the silver-tongued Red Jacket.

*

Red Jacket was born around 1752 as a member of the Seneca nation near Lake Seneca in what we now call New York. His native name was Sa-Go-Ye-Wat-Ha, which basically translates to “He keeps the people awake”—which, let's be real, is a pretty perfect name for a guy with his rhetorical skills. That specific talent is exactly what propelled him to become such an influential leader.

The name Red Jacket actually describes his everyday look: he had this habit of wearing a red military jacket that an English officer had given him.

He eventually passed away on January 20, 1830, near the city of Buffalo.

**

The speech that follows was delivered by Red Jacket to a missionary named Cram, who had come to the Seneca lands as a representative of the Boston Evangelical Missionary Society to try and convert them to Christianity. During the encounter, Cram told them things along these lines:

“Brothers, I haven't come here for your land or your money. I am here to enlighten your hearts, to teach you how to honor the Great Spirit according to His will and desire, and to preach the gospel of His son, Jesus Christ. There is only one religion and only one path to serving God; if you don't follow the right path, you will never find happiness. You have never honored the Great Spirit the way He intends. Up until now, you have lived your entire lives in a great delusion and deep darkness. My intention is to correct these errors and open your eyes so that you may see clearly.”

After listening to Cram's explanation and conferring with his people, Red Jacket gave a response—it's easily the most profound speech ever recorded from him. Interestingly, he actually adopts a lot of his opponent's own phrasing, only to twist it toward a completely different conclusion: namely, that it simply isn't the time for the Seneca people to turn to Christianity. Red Jacket manages to create this magnificent comparison between indigenous spirituality and Christianity. But hey, take a look for yourself!

My friend, my brother! I truly believe it was the will of the Great Spirit that we should cross paths today. He’s the one pulling all the strings, isn't He? It feels like He hand-delivered this beautiful day just so we could sit down and talk. It's as if He stepped out from behind the sun just to make sure His light was hitting us directly. It’s enough to make you feel like your eyes are finally opening, seeing things a bit more clearly than usual. Even our ears feel unblocked, letting us catch every single word you said without any of that usual noise getting in the way. For all these little mercies—honestly, for everything—we give thanks to the Great Spirit, and Him alone.

Man, you really set that meeting on fire! Honestly, it was your call that brought us all together in one room like this. We were hanging on every word you said. You asked us to be straight with you and lay our cards on the table, and I have to say, that’s a relief. It feels right—it actually feels good—to be able to stand tall and just speak our minds without all the usual fluff. We all heard you loud and clear, and we’re standing here speaking with one single voice. We're all on the exact same page.

Man, I hear you! You’re saying you want an answer to what you said before you head out of here. Honestly, it only feels right that you get one. I mean, you’re so far away from home right now, and the last thing we want to do is hold you back or make things harder for you. But before you go, we really want to take a quick moment to look back—just to share what our fathers passed down to us and what we've learned from the white folks over the years.

Look, man, you really need to listen to what we’re telling you. There was a time, back in the day, when our ancestors actually held this entire American island. Their territory stretched from the moment the sun peeked over the horizon until it dipped right back down. The Great Spirit designed this whole land specifically for the Native Americans. He brought forth the bison, the deer, and all those other animals just to make sure there was food on the table. He gave us bears and beavers, too, so their furs could serve as our clothing. He spread them out across the entire land and taught us exactly how to hunt them. He even made sure the soil would yield corn to feed us. He did all of this for his red children because, quite simply, He loved us. And honestly? Even when things got heated over hunting grounds, people usually found a way to settle things without a massive amount of bloodshed.

Then came that one dark day. Your ancestors crossed massive oceans just to settle on this island, arriving in tiny numbers. They didn't find enemies here; they found friends. They told us they were fleeing their own homeland because they were terrified of the people there, seeking a place where they could finally live out their faith in peace. They asked us for a little bit of land, and honestly, we felt for them. We showed some mercy, granted their request, and they settled right in among us. We shared our corn and meat with them, and in return? Well, they brought us alcohol.

White settlers finally made it across the ocean to our land. Once that news hit back home, they started pouring in here in droves. But honestly? We weren't exactly shaking in our boots. We saw them as friends—people who called us brothers. So, we trusted them. We even handed over more of our territory to make room for them.

In the end, their numbers just exploded. It felt like they couldn't get enough—they were constantly pushing for more territory, eyeing every single inch of our land. Once we finally saw what was actually happening, it hit us hard; it left us all feeling restless and deeply unsettled. Then, the wars broke out. They used these dirty tactics, bribing tribes to turn against one another, which meant so many of our own brothers were lost in the crossfire. On top of that, white settlers brought in these incredibly potent liquors. That stuff was lethal—it tore through communities and claimed thousands of lives.

Man, listen... there was a time when our land used to be massive while yours was just this tiny little spot on the map. Now, you guys have become this huge nation, and we can barely find enough room to spread out a blanket. Even though you've taken over our territory, somehow you still aren't satisfied. And now, on top of all that, you want to force your religion down our throats.

Man, listen to this guy! He’s basically telling me he was sent here specifically to teach us how to worship the Great Spirit according to some divine blueprint. And get this—he actually claims we’re doomed to a lifetime of misery unless we embrace the religion you white folks brought over. It’s wild. He’s standing there acting like they have all the answers and that we’re just completely lost without them.

How are we supposed to know if any of this is actually true? Look, from where I’m standing, your entire religion is tied up in a single book. If that book was really meant for us just as much as it was for you, then why didn't the Great Spirit give it to us? And I don't just mean us—why wasn't this knowledge passed down to our fathers and our ancestors, along with some kind of guidance to help us actually make sense of it all? Right now, all we have to go on is whatever it is you decide to tell us.

How are we ever supposed to know when we can actually trust white people again? I mean, they’ve pulled the rug out from under us so many times that it feels like our default setting is just waiting for the next betrayal. It's hard to shake that feeling.

Man, listen! You’re telling me there’s only one true path to honoring the Great Spirit? If there really is just one religion, why on earth are we white people so incredibly divided about it? Why can't we all just get on the same page since we all know how to read the Book?

Look, brother, we just don't quite wrap our heads around all this. They tell us your faith was passed down from your ancestors, straight from father to son. Well, we have a faith that was handed down to us by our ancestors too—passed through their children, us. We live by it, and we honor the Great Spirit through it. It teaches us gratitude for every blessing we receive and shows us how to love one another... honestly, we never find ourselves fighting over religion.

Brother! The Great Spirit created every single one of us. But He made His white children and His red children differently. He gave us different skin tones and different customs. He gave your people the arts and sciences, things He didn't open our eyes to. We know those things are good. So, if He made us distinct, why shouldn't we assume He gave us a different religion that fits our own way of understanding? The Great Spirit does everything right. He knows what’s best for His children. We’re content with what we have.

Brother! We aren't looking to tear your religion down, but we aren't looking to take it from you, either. All we want is to live according to our own faith.

Brother! You claim you didn't come here for our land or our money, but just to enlighten our hearts. Now, I’ll be honest with you—I was actually there listening to your speech, and I saw you collecting money from people. I have no clue what that cash is intended for, though I'd guess it's going to your priest. If we end up following your way of thinking, who's to say you won't start looking for money from us, too?

Brother! Word is you've been visiting the white folks around here, giving them speeches. Those people are our neighbors; we know them. We're going to sit back for a bit and see what kind of impact your words actually have on them. If we see that it makes them better people—more sincere and less likely to cheat Americans—then maybe we'll give serious thought to what you've told us.

Brother! You've heard our response to your words. That's really all we can say to you right now. As we part ways, we will shake your hand and hope that the Great Spirit watches over you on your journey, bringing you back safely to your friends.

🙂

Jason Johnson4 said:... The spirit is everywhere. Sometimes it reveals itself through a living creature, a bird, the trees, or even a rolling hill. Other times, it speaks through the prairie, the stones, or even the water.
... ... ...

I wasn't alone anymore.

🙂

Throughout my life, I've lived within two completely different worlds. I was born into a culture built on communal living. My grandfather’s place was huge—about 80 feet long. We used to call it the "smoke house" and it sat right on the banks of a little creek.

All of my grandfather’s sons lived there with their families, all under one roof. Their beds were separated by simple reed partitions, but that central open fire? That was for everyone. It was how we all ate.

In houses like that, you learn how to actually live together. You learn tribal coexistence, helping your neighbor, and respecting what belongs to someone else. Kids grew up right in the middle of the adult discussions, surrounded by aunts, uncles, and cousins who loved them. No one ever had to look over their shoulder.

My father grew up in one of those homes, too. From the time he was a kid, he learned how to love people and how to feel truly at home in anyone's company.

And it’s through that acceptance of living with others that you develop this intense awareness of everything in nature surrounding us.

My father truly loved the land and every living thing on it. To him, the land was Mother, and everything upon it was a gift from the Great Spirit.

I can still remember being a young boy, going fishing with him. I can see him so clearly in my mind on those early mornings when the sun would hit the peaks of the nearby mountains. I see him standing there by the edge of the creek, hands raised high above his head, whispering softly: "Thank you, thank you."

That moment stayed with me. It left a mark.
And I’ll never forget the look of pure disappointment on his face when he caught me once just sitting there with a fishing pole, catching fish "just for fun."

"Son," he told me, "the Great Spirit gave these fish to you as brothers, to serve as food when you are hungry. You have to care for them. You should never just kill them 'for fun'."

That was the culture I was raised in. For years, it was the only way of life I understood. And that's exactly why it's been so damn hard for me to accept the things I see around me now.

And I see people living in "smoke-houses" that are a hundred times larger than ours. But look, people in one house don't give a damn about the people in the next; they don't even know them.

It’s also hard for me to wrap my head around the deep-seated hatred that exists between people. It's hard to understand a culture that thinks killing millions in the last war was justified, and is currently prepping bombs to kill even more people right now.

It's hard to grasp a culture that pours more money into wars and weapons than into education and development—things that could actually help other people.

It’s hard to understand a culture that doesn't just hate and fight its own brothers and sisters, but actively destroys and exploits nature itself. I see how my white brothers treat it in their cities.

I see them ripping things out of the arms of the motherland, acting like she's some kind of monster that's being stingy with her riches.
I see poison being dumped into the water with total indifference toward the life it kills—and I see the air filling up with deadly smoke.

My white brother is good in many ways, sometimes even better than us, but I wonder... does he even know how to love properly?
I ask myself, has he ever truly learned how to love?
Maybe he only loves the things he owns, but he’s never learned to love anything outside of his own possessions or himself.
And that, obviously, isn't love—because a human has to love all creation, otherwise, they don't love anything at all.
Human love has to be all-encompassing, or else man becomes the lowest of all animals.
That’s the power of love—it’s what makes him the greatest of all. Only humans are capable of true love.

In my culture, private property is a foreign concept. In fact, it's seen as incredibly harmful within a people. Native Americans believe that things in nature belong to everyone and should be shared with everyone, and you only take what is absolutely necessary.

Every person gives as gladly as they receive. Nobody wants to be a taker all the time. We have received a lot from your culture. I wish you had taken something from ours too—because there are plenty of good, beautiful things in it.

Soon, it will be too late to learn about my culture because integration is getting so strong that very soon, your values will drown ours out.
Even now, so many young people have forgotten the old customs and ways of life.
Many are ashamed of their roots because they get mocked by others.

My culture is like a wounded deer that has crawled into the thicket alone to bleed out in peace.

The only thing that can truly help us is real love.

I have spoken.

The Elders say:

There’s a time for being born, a time for learning, and a time for falling in love.

Then, according to the Elders,

Comes the time for marriage, for having kids, for raising them, and finally, just enjoying their company.

After that, they say,

It’s time to live life to the fullest, then the aging years, when other people start looking out for you, and when we get to play with our grandkids—basically, once we've already given everything we have back to Life itself.

And then, the Elders tell us, comes the time of death.

Those are the four stages of Life: every single one of us is going through them.

That’s the blueprint for Life on this Earth.

And every bit of it? It's all sacred.

Hey hey hey

Back when you first entered this world

And we hold you dear

Hey hey hey

From the heart of Tahca Ushte, Techihhila






😘

Whose voice is echoing through the wind?
Whose breath gives life to this world?
Listen to me.

I come to you as just one of your many children.
I need your strength and your wisdom.
Let me be transformed into something beautiful.
Let my eyes always behold the purple sunset.
Let my hands protect the things you have crafted.
And let my ears understand your voice.

Give me the gift of wisdom
so I can recognize the truths
you taught my people.
The knowledge
you hid within every leaf and stone.

Make me strong.
Not so I can overpower my brothers,
but so I can possess that strength within myself.

Keep me ready at all times
to look you straight in the eye,
so that
when this life passes us by
like a fading sunset,
my soul can return to you
without any shame.

The early Native Americans lived in total harmony with wolves. They respected them as brilliant, relentless hunters, actually picking up bits of the wolf way of life and weaving them into their own culture.

But the second white men moved in and started acting like "shepherds"—which we now just call ranchers—and switched from hunting wild game to raising livestock, the wolf turned into a threat. Suddenly, they were the enemy.

It’s just human nature for white people to try and control whatever they don't understand—and when they can't, they just destroy it. The moment hunting became a mere sport for white men, wolves became an even bigger target. It all led to this massive decision to wipe them out, and honestly, they almost pulled it off. As civilization sped up, humans drifted further away from the wild, while the wolf just kept being a predator.

Today, the wolf stands as a symbol of the wilderness—a world that most modern white people have almost entirely forgotten. All we can really do now is figure out how to protect and save them as an endangered species. Whether wolves survive depends entirely on how we view this mystical creature and what it truly represents: an incredibly fascinating part of our wild heritage and a living representative of the very wilderness we once tried to kill and now desperately want to preserve.

We have to recognize a wolf's fundamental right to exist in that wild space. In their world, wolves could teach us to look at other species through a completely different lens.

How long are we going to drag our feet? How long are we going to wait before we actually try to understand this mysterious, controversial animal and give it the respect it deserves? Do we even have the guts to look at a wolf from a fresh perspective and see past the myths and superstitions fueled by nothing but fear and a lack of understanding of the wild?

Humans have only recently started grasping basic facts about wolves, yet they remain shrouded in mystery because white society can't seem to view them in their true context or handle the reality of it.

Instead, white people play God, refusing to accept that animals are actually more in touch with the raw reality we all live and die by.

A wolf can teach us so much. Between their heightened perception and a social structure that is strikingly similar to ours, the wolf way of life could actually wake up some dormant wisdom in us.

Did you know wolves are monogamous? They choose a partner and stick with them until death, usually only looking for someone new if their partner dies or there's an unexpected breakup.

What we really need is a deeper, more mystical connection to these incredible animals. And remember this: no animal should ever be judged by human standards.

In a world far older and more complete than ours, wolves move with perfect grace, gifted with senses we’ve either lost or never had—they hear voices we aren't even capable of perceiving.
They aren't our subordinates, and they aren't our "brothers": they are members of another nation, caught in the same web called life, our fellow travelers and captives of this earth's beauty.

There are still way too many people out there who hate wolves. If we want that to change, everyone has to first learn to understand the wolf in its natural habitat before they can ever hope to accept or value it.

As humans, we judge wolves based on our own narrow rules. But in their wild world, where our standards are totally useless, maybe wolves can teach us to think differently. That way, we might finally realize who they really are: a magnificent species, perfectly adapted to their environment—a species that deserves our deepest understanding and acceptance.

This question (story) was published in the New York Times:

*****

Hello, Captain.

I wanted to ask you: can the bond between a human and an animal—if I may call it that—be so deep in terms of love and loyalty that it seems almost inexplicable? I’m not usually one for "supernatural" explanations, but what happened two months ago has really left me pondering this. Our German Shepherd, Luke, used to see my husband off at the door every single morning before he headed to work. He’d bark happily, wag his tail, and predictably hold onto my husband's hat in his mouth to present it to him. We always used to laugh about it. But one day, he simply wouldn't let him leave. He stood right by the door, jumped up at the coat rack, grabbed the hat, and completely tore it to shreds.
My husband left the house fuming. A few hours later, I got the call from the hospital: he had been hit by a car and sustained some pretty serious injuries. For the entire two months my husband was hospitalized, Luke barely ate. He just stayed in the corner of the room, silent, without barking once. It wasn't until my husband finally came home from the hospital that everything returned to normal.
Is there any connection between Luke’s strange behavior and the accident my husband had? Was he trying to warn him, perhaps even forcing him to stay home?
If this letter isn't quite right for your column and you decide not to publish it, I completely understand. Thank you in advance.
A reader from Boston

The window in the room where retired Captain Giovanni Amadeo lived somehow became an altar for swallows.
They would arrive every morning just before sunrise, perched on his windowsill, staying there until the old man's weathered hands opened the window to scatter breadcrumbs. Then, they would fly off again. When the autumn chill set in, swarms of swallows would settle on the ledge and chirp: it was their way of saying goodbye before migrating to distant lands in the south. In the spring, they would return, settling once more on the old soldier's windowsill. There were many identical windows in the large veterans' residential building, but the birds never made a mistake: they always flew straight to Giovanni Amadeo’s window.
The swallows knew all of the old captain's habits. Around ten in the morning, he would head out to the park for a stroll, and the swallows would already be waiting for him in the grass near the bench where he liked to sit and read. When he fell ill, the swallows took turns keeping watch on his windowsill, as if they could sense their friend was suffering. And when death finally came for the old soldier, they vanished. Two days later, when his casket was displayed in the building's foyer, the swallows—who had mysteriously disappeared—returned in great flocks to perch upon the coffin. Some people tried to shoo them away, but it was useless; they didn't take flight until the casket was loaded onto the hearse.
But this incredible story isn't over yet.

Those who followed the old soldier to his final rest witnessed massive flocks of swallows sweeping across the sky during the funeral, acting like a ceremonial guard of honor.
They flew high, settling on the large cross atop the church bell tower, remaining there silently until the casket was lowered into the grave. Only then did they rise and fly away in a noisy cloud. No one ever saw them circling the old man's building again, nor did they land on the grass by his favorite bench.
So many cases like this demonstrate how animals often possess a sense of connection that far exceeds that of civilized humans.
Nobel laureate Charles Richet put it clearly: "Despite the miracles of progress, we still cannot explain the origin of certain extraordinary phenomena in human history. These phenomena are becoming increasingly rare because humanity continues to drift further away from the laws of nature..."

February 26, 2005

There’s this incredible story about a run-in between a man and a wolf—something you could easily call "Man Meets Wolf"—unfolding in four distinct acts this past Saturday out in the Runovići area near Sebišna.

Act one: Adam Bakavić, an intense hunter, was driving his rig through the hilly, snow-covered outskirts of his town on Wednesday afternoon, just doing his usual rounds. He wasn't expecting much, but he stumbled upon a wolf tangled up in steel cable inside what looked like a wild boar trap. He called his buddies over, and they managed to haul the wolf back to the village using some netting. They stowed him away in a barn. News of a live wolf being caught spread through the Imotski region like wildfire. From Wednesday night all the way through Saturday afternoon, over 800 curious onlookers showed up just to catch a glimpse. The wolf wouldn't touch any food; he just drank water. According to Adam, he didn't even nibble on a scrap of prosciutto until Saturday. He just sat there, quiet and withdrawn, in the corner of the barn.

Act two: Around 2:00 PM on Saturday, after getting the call, a professional team from the University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine arrived at Sebišna, led by Dr. Josip Kusak from the Institute of Biology. A crowd of about two hundred people had gathered in front of the barn at Sebišna. Everyone wanted to see how things would turn out for the wolf. After a quick consultation, Dr. Kusak used a specialized tool to administer a sedative into the wolf's hind leg. Once he was out, they examined him. It turns out those steel cables did massive damage; the wound was infected and looking pretty lethal. His only shot was emergency surgery and heavy-duty antibiotics.

Act three: This is where things get frantic. The wolf—who was immediately named Eva by a local radio station listener poll since Adam was the one who caught her—was rushed to the Veterinary Clinic in Imotski. An experienced crew was already standing by: Luka Majić, Ivan Gudelj, Perica Tucak, and Mario Maršić. With help from Dr. Kusak and his two assistants, they spent two full hours stitching Eva up. Dr. Kusak claims this was a total first—one of the most unique operations performed on a wild wolf in this kind of manner. After two hours, the wounds were cleaned, she got her antibiotics and an IV, and they weighed her at 25 kilograms. She’s two years old and just hitting maturity. They also fitted her with a special tracking collar so they can monitor her movement and behavior for the next year. While the surgery was going down, a ton of people swarmed the clinic to watch the repairs. Most of them were parents with little kids in tow.

The final act: Dr. Kusak and his team sedated Eva once more, transported her back near where she was originally trapped, and in front of a large crowd of locals at Sebišna, Eva was released back into the woods—back to the wild where she belongs.

"I haven't seen anything like this in all my years working with wildlife," Dr. Kusak told us after the exhausting work was done. "First off, I've never seen such warmth and genuine concern for a protected animal from the people here in Imotski. At every turn, people were asking if she'd make it, if she had a chance. It was unique, just like the surgery and the whole rescue mission for this wild beast. What really touched me was the attitude of a few ranchers from Sebišna. Wolves are a constant threat to their livestock, yet they told me, 'Save her, because she's one of ours too.' Unbelievable," says Dr. Kusak.

And that’s the story of Eva, the wolf from Imotski. Now we just have to hope Dr. Kusak's prediction holds true and that she pulls through the post-op recovery. Everyone in Imotski is rooting for her.

Text and footage: Braco Ćosić

I was actually just waiting for you to bring up the Peyote Church. It’s funny how often that’s the very first thing a white guy asks me. They just come right up and go, "Hey Chief, you got any peyote on you?"

We get all sorts of visitors coming through here—mostly young guys rocking leather shirts with fringe and bandanas tied around their heads. Most of them have long hair, sometimes even braided in that Native American style, and plenty of facial hair to boot. Honestly, there are times when it feels like I’m being invaded by an endless army of clones of Jesus or John the Baptist. Seriously, I can barely tell them apart anymore!

Most of them are just friendly young folks out there searching for something, holding onto this quiet hope that they might actually find it here. We do our best to help them along. First step? We feed them. They’re always hungry—honestly, they have an appetite like a Native American, constantly craving food, new ideas, or just some plain old truth. There’s a real sense of friendship between us, a feeling that we're kindred spirits... they're gentle souls trying to reconnect with nature, though I'll admit, we don't always see eye to eye. They tend to come and go a little too fast, though. It takes more time than they usually give to really get to know one another.

Maybe understanding each other is just plain hard because we aren’t even speaking the same language. Not long ago, two guys from the University of Minnesota showed up around here. They went by the names White Panther. "Chief, we’re coming to you with a message..." they told me, all solemn and serious, "...we're bringing you the truth."

So, what’s the actual message here? I mean, really, what are we even looking at?

"Look, just find a way to get rid of these motherfuckers," they told me.

"Look, back home, you just don't see people doing stuff like this for their mothers," I told them.

See, that’s really where the friction lies. We don't exactly go around using profanity. Of course, we have a word for sexual intercourse; it means exactly what it sounds like—a man and a woman sharing love. It’s honestly a bit difficult for us to wrap our heads around how a single word meant to describe two joyful bodies becoming one can be twisted into an insult or a curse word. But regardless, it’s the peyote that’s drawing in all these young visitors, and frankly, it’s creating a massive headache for us. As Native Americans, we’re permitted to use peyote during our religious ceremonies, provided we are members of the Native American Church. But what happens when our white guests want to join in? We recently had a man from our tribe facing legal charges just because he shared a few bites of peyote with a white man. We’re sitting here wondering how on earth they’re going to handle this.

So, there was this one guy from the Native American Church—an old-timer, really—and some group of white college students handed him this little bottle filled with tiny tablets.

"Look, Chief, just take this. It’s Peyote, but like, the modern version. You don't have to go through the whole ordeal of choking down those bitter cacti anymore. Seriously, quit doing it the hard way—do it the modern, easy way. Just grab one of these and you're set."

The old man was absolutely beaming, honestly, he couldn't wait to get his hands on them—he was practically losing his mind with excitement. But man, let me tell you, for the next two or three months, he was a total wreck. He was completely scattered, just totally out of it, and he couldn't shake this constant ringing in his ears that just wouldn't quit.
He says it was huge. Powwow. It’s all going on in his head now. He went ahead and downed every single pill at once. Honestly, he told me they tasted great—just like candy. Now, he's sitting there wondering exactly what he just put into his system.

Look, my friend, I’ve been circling this whole Peyote thing for ages, kind of like a dog sniffing around a pot on the stove, just waiting for a chance to get to the meat of it. Honestly, the reason it's taking me so long to get to the point is that my spirit is totally torn on the matter. Part of me really wants to dive in and talk about Peyote, but another part of me... well, honestly, I almost don't want to.

I spent five years as a member of the Native American Church, heading to meetings every single week to partake in the Peyote ceremonies. You know how we Sioux are—when it comes to religion and chasing visions, we’re always down to try everything once. Even Black Elk, who was so deeply rooted in the old Sioux traditions, had this fascination with Christianity. He actually used to take his granddaughter out on horseback, and while they were galloping all over the place through the river valleys, she’d just sit there reading him passages from the Bible.

Look, I’ve been involved in the Peyote culture for a long time, but I stepped away from it ages ago. You just can't do two things at once—at least, I know I can't. I'm an old medicine man of the traditional Sioux ways, and I believe in... Wakan Tanka. Hey there, Luke.

Peyote religion is actually something relatively new. It isn’t part of our ancient, ancestral belief system. Around here, it only really started showing up about fifty years ago, spreading from tribe to tribe moving north. If you ask me, it probably originated way before Columbus, somewhere down in Mexico—maybe with the Maya or the Aztecs—and just slowly drifted through the Apache, Navajo, Kiowa, and Comanche territories until it finally hit the tribes in Oklahoma and eventually reached us. The Peyote cactus doesn't even grow in this neck of the woods. Members of the Sioux church actually have to source it from Texas—specifically from Luke, who can outshoot his own shadow.

In a way, the Peyote culture, as many Sioux practice it, is this perfect blend of Native American and Christian faith. That part makes sense to me. We tend to believe that all religions are essentially one and the same—just different facets of the Great Spirit. It’s not Christianity itself, or any other religion, that’s the issue; it’s what people turn them into. Everyone has twisted them out of shape. They took Jesus—who was really a rebel and a bit of a hippie—and turned his religion into something for missionaries, military chaplains, and BIA agents. Those are two completely different religions, my friend. Young people can sense that. That’s why they come to us—searching for the kind of spiritual connection their own churches just can't provide anymore. And hey, there's nothing wrong with that, provided it's enough. Mixing the two faiths, taking the best from both our worlds and theirs... maybe that’s the only real answer. The Pueblos seem pretty happy being both Catholic and Kachina at the same time. I even heard about a Catholic saint they turned into a Kachina rain god, and apparently, he does a pretty decent job.

A lot of the Sioux head to church on Sunday, hit a Peyote meeting on Saturday, and whenever they’re feeling under the weather—they go to yuwipiju
.
Up in Pine Ridge, they’re actually building a new Catholic church shaped like a tipi, with a peace pipe sitting right next to the cross.

Honestly, it all leaves me a little muddled. I’m getting too old for all these debates. I’ve got my hands full just tending to the old Sioux tradition—learning how to sing the old songs correctly, prepping the sweat lodge ceremonies just right, keeping the ancient beliefs pure, clear, and true... those are heavy lifts for an old man. That’s why I can’t be a yuwipi, a true Lakota medicine man, and also be using Peyote at the same time.

Besides, my whole perspective on substances has shifted. I don't want to call Peyote a drug—it’s a natural plant. If it were a core part of my innate belief system, like the peace pipe, I’d commit to it with everything I had. But the way I see things now, I want to find visions through my own internal juices, through my own grit—the old-fashioned, ancestral way.

I don't have much faith in visions that come the easy way—just by swallowing something. Real insight, that deep ecstasy? You don't get that just by consuming something.

Instant light from a socket, instant coffee, instant TV dinners, instant visions from pills, plants, or mushrooms—I just want to step away from all of that. To my way of thinking, it’s all just part of that white "Instant" culture.

Now, I could certainly—and I do—argue against myself. Peyote is a natural part of the religion for many Native American tribes. At the heart of all Native American beliefs are visions that arrive through various means. Christian, Jewish, and the great Eastern religions all lean on the same fundamental truths; it’s just that white people have forgotten it. For them, it isn't a priority anymore.

For us, it’s good to view all Native American religions as one big house, a shared shelter. It's something that binds us together regarding nature and ourselves. It makes us a community, rather than just Sioux, Cheyenne, Navajo, Pueblo, Iroquois, or Haida—it makes us something much larger and broader: Native Americans.

One of my younger brothers, Leonard Crow Dog, is both a yuwipi and a Peyote priest. He practices the old Sioux tradition, but he also travels to tribes in Arizona and New Mexico to learn their ways. First and foremost, he’s Native American—he’s Sioux second.

As for me, I’m still Sioux first—Minneconjou Sioux—and Native American second. I don't have nearly as many years left as my young friend here, so I have to focus on a smaller, simpler circle.

I could talk your ear off about Peyote. I’ve used it for many, many years. But honestly, I should probably stop talking about it. Listen to Crow Dog. He’ll explain it better. Better yet—go with him to a Peyote meeting. That would be a good thing. Then come back and tell *me* all about it for a change.

“I’m a road-man, someone who shows the way within the Native American Church—the Peyote Church. I’m also a yuwipi, a medicine man following the old Sioux tradition. Honestly, I can’t read or write to save my life. When I was a kid, my father, Henry, actually chased off the school officials with a shotgun just to get them away from me. He didn't want those white schools corrupting me or steering me away from becoming a medicine man.

I started out at thirteen years old with four heads of peyote. Two years later, during a ceremony, I was taking twelve heads at once. I don't have any formal book learning and my English isn't exactly top-tier, but I’ll explain things to you the best way I know how.

The power of peyote is really just God’s knowledge channeled through the plant. God—wakan tanka—the Great Spirit.

We’ve got the Bible here, along with a peace pipe. Some folks who show up to our gatherings are Catholic, others are Protestant, some aren't even Christian, and frankly, my friend, we didn't even ask what you believe. At the end of the day, it’s all the same thing. Jesus and wakan tanka are one and the same. God and the White Buffalo Calf Lady, yeah—Christ and this stone right here in my medicine bag, the light from this lantern, and the Holy Spirit... it’s all one and the same.

You follow me?

Just take some peyote and you'll understand.

Peyote is sacred. It isn't some chemical concoction; it's a holy plant—our sacrament. Peyote has led me to many good places and introduced me to some truly good people. I actually married through it, and my children were baptized in the Native American Church.

For me, peyote opens three doors: it helps me understand my own soul, it helps me understand the people around me, and it helps me understand the world.

To use peyote, we have to head down to Texas. It's a long haul. The state of Texas passed a law making it illegal, labeling it a dangerous drug. Now, it's perfectly fine if we kill ourselves with whiskey or fight each other, or if we drive drunk. It's okay to get cancer from smoking cigarettes—though most Native Americans don't live long enough to actually develop it—but peyote is considered "dangerous." Are you following me, friend? It just doesn't sit right with me. They tell us we have religious freedom, that the government guarantees it—but we also have these massive stacks of treaties guaranteeing our sacred Black Hills as long as the sun keeps shining. And you can see for yourself what happened to the Black Hills. Maybe that's what's happening with this law, too. It's a bad situation, not just for us, but for you as well, my friend. I know that much, even if I can't read or write.

We’re all set for the meeting. As you can see, this is just an ordinary house. We don't need fancy churches. You just clear the furniture out of the room and there's plenty of space for prayer. We all sit on the floor. Just lean your back against the wall. This could go on from sunset to sunrise, so make yourself comfortable.

This is a crossfire ceremony. There’s also a moonfire ritual used to accompany peyote meetings—done in the Navajo style. The main difference is that in a moonfire ritual, women play a huge role; the women lead, representing the earth and everything that grows. Moonfire feels more indigenous, with less of the Bible mixed in. We'll have some Navajo friends visiting soon, so we'll hold a moonfire ceremony in a tipi with a large crescent made of sand.

It’s almost funny when you think about it. We Sioux hold our ceremonies in houses, while the southern tribes meet in tipis—and we were the ones who invented the tipi! Now the Navajo have to come visit us just to use one. Right now, we've placed a square of tin plates and asbestos 😲 on the floor in the middle of the room. That’s for the fire. The Fire man will bring it in. Five people lead the meeting: the road-man—who leads the service like a priest—the Fire man, the drummer, the cedarwood man, and an assistant who handles the sacred sacrament, the holy peyote. Red Bear is our road-man today, which is why I'm free to sit here and chat with you. I think Jason Johnson mentioned to you that for us, everything has a symbolic meaning.

First, we set up the altar—a Mexican rug—and place the Lakota Bible on it in our own language. During our meetings, we mostly use the Book of Revelation. It’s very "Indian"—full of visions, nature, the earth, and the stars. There are some things we understand quite deeply, maybe even better than you do.

We place an eagle feather on the Bible—it represents the Great Spirit, the Holy Spirit. That holy spirit is like an eagle with sharp, piercing eyes.You can't fool him.

Over on the left, you'll see a leather pouch filled with ash from cedar wood we've burned in the fire. That’s our incense. The fire stands for the plants, all the green things of this land—everything that hasn't been paved over by your fast highways yet. Those green things want to live, just like we people want to live.

On the right, there's a Peyote feather fan. This fan catches the good songs out of the air—those beautiful Peyote songs. It represents all the winged creatures soaring through the sky.

Then we have the Peyote staff and a large gourd, the sacred rattle. The Peyote staff is really the staff of life. Our prayers rise up along it. Those beads on the handle of the rattle are something special, true Kiowa craftsmanship. You just can't find little beads like those anymore. The patterns represent visions, dreams, clouds, and rainbows. And the pebbles inside the rattle—the sound they make—that’s a prayer sent directly to God. The tuft of horsehair at the top? Those are rays of sunlight, the kind of sun that brings life.

Maybe you’re wondering why there’s a white man’s alarm clock sitting on our altar. Well, you’ll see. Night is split into four parts, and every two hours, the meanings and symbols shift. That’s why we need to keep time.

You might have noticed some empty cans lying around, too. Just grab one and keep it close. Some folks need to throw up when they take the Peyote. If that happens to you, don't sweat it. It’s perfectly normal. Use the can. Nobody's going to judge you.

Now, the Fire man is coming in with the embers. He never walks between a person and the fire. The fire represents the generations. Give fire to the fire. Pass the fire on to those coming after you. Pass the spirit along.

We shape the embers into a crescent moon— hanhepi wi, the night sun—which represents the night and the darkness. It's a time for thinking, concentrating, calming down, and looking inward. Grandfather Peyote brings us all together in love, but first, he has to pull us apart, separating us from the outside world so we're forced to look deep inside ourselves. Now, let's pray.

I approach an angel and ask him to give me a little booklet. And he says to me, "Take it and swallow it! It will burn your belly, but it will taste as sweet as honey in your mouth." So, I took the booklet from the angel's hand and swallowed it. And it was indeed sweet as honey in my mouth, but once I swallowed it, it burned my gut.

(from the Book of Revelation)

Our assistant is bringing us the sacred Peyote now. We've cut it into small pieces to make it easier to swallow. Take about four full spoonfuls. I hope you haven't eaten anything salty lately—Peyote doesn't care much for salt. See? You didn't even choke. Now, just slip inward. Let it work.

Peyote takes its time. You might sit there for an hour or two and nothing seems to happen, until suddenly, you notice a shift. Things aren't what they used to be. The person sitting next to you might suddenly feel a million miles away, or a drum on the far side might feel like it's resting right in your lap. That line separating the physical from the spiritual just... vanishes. Lights, voices, sounds—they all start bleeding into one another.

A new understanding begins to wake up inside you—something as joyful and hot as fire, or as bitter as Peyote.

People tell me they feel like they're leaving themselves behind, floating high up in the air, looking down at their own bodies on the floor. You'll see people curling up into balls like they're back in their mother's womb, remembering things from long before they were even born.

Time and space expand and contract in ways that don't make any sense. An entire struggle, a whole lesson, a lifetime of understanding can be squeezed into a few seconds of insight. Or, time just stops completely; a single minute stretches out into an entire lifetime. Think about everything you can do in that one minute.

I don't know how it'll be for you. Just wait and see what happens.

Now, the water drum begins to circle—along with the gourd rattle, the staff, and the fan—while everyone sings four songs.

A long time ago, drums didn't have metal rims. Back then, they were stretched with buffalo hide. Now, it's just a frame. That skin is like the skin of Jesus when the soldiers beat Him. It’s like Native American skin, beaten by police in a holding cell. The hide represents all the four-legged creatures that provide us with food.

The drumstick is the very rod they used to beat Jesus. A heavy rod, used by the Great Spirit against the Native Americans. It’s carved from cedar wood and symbolizes all the trees, which are our friends, too.

The rope wrapped around the drum is a lot like a crown of thorns. If you rotate the drum and take a look at the bottom, you’ll notice the cordwork forms the pattern of the Morning Star. Those seven beads lined up around the frame? They represent the seven sacraments—or, if you prefer, the seven sacred rituals of the Sioux people. That part is up to you.

Now, imagine the drum is filled with water. Slosh it around while breathing directly into the hide; you'll feel the sound shift from a dull thud to this high, ringing tone. We actually need both of those sounds. The beat of the drum is just your own heartbeat, really. Let it fill your being. Follow it. Don't hold back.

It’s time for the songs. I’ll sing them for you. Just pass these sacred things along when you can.

He yana yo wana hene yo
He yana yo wana hene yo
He yana yo, wani hiyana
He ye ye yo wai…..

Alright, that's enough. Right about now. It means….

It’s been a little while since we last talked; I left you alone there with the deck on your shoulders. It's midnight. The Fire man is bringing over more embers. We’re turning them into a heart. Can you see it pulsing? Peyote is that heart—the one beating inside all of us. It's what brings us together.

Put your hand on your chest. You look a little spooked. I know that feeling. It happens to everyone the first time. There's a drum beating inside you. Your heart is hammering away so fast—just like a Peyote song. You’re scared it won't be able to keep up, that it might just give out. Don't worry. It won't. After a while, it actually starts to feel pretty good. Just lean into the rhythm. Ha, there's that smile. Washtay—time for four more spoonfuls, time for one more prayer.

And then a massive sign appeared in the sky:
A woman clothed in sunlight,
with the moon beneath her feet,
and a crown of twelve stars upon her head.

Whether it's Mary, or White Buffalo Calf Lady, or our Water Woman here—it doesn't really matter. Here comes the drum and the rattle again, the song and the fan that catches the melodies.

If you ever decide you want to be baptized, we'll shape the fire into a bird—a dove of peace, the Holy Spirit, the Thunderbird.

But for now, it's time to make a cross out of the fire. For the four corners of the world. At each corner stand angels with their wings spread wide. If they felt like it, they could tear the world apart, but they're right here protecting us with those wings. They have no interest in seeing this place destroyed. They say this:

"Do not harm the earth, nor the sea, nor the trees..."

Pay attention to those words. Maybe they aren't even angels, but wakinyan, the holy Thunder Beings. Who knows? Maybe you can see them, with lightning flashing in their eyes. I know I can.

Now we’re going to turn the fire into a star. Christ says, "I am the bright morning star." Me, a Native American, I believe the first people came down from the stars. Here come the next four spoonfuls. Having trouble with your camera? Is it jumping and twisting around? Does it have fur? Everything is alive—the fire, the water, Grandfather Peyote—so why wouldn't the camera be?

"And I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for—the first heaven and the first earth had passed away..."

That's still from the Bible, though it could just as easily be a song from a spirit dance, right?

This is the final prayer. Dawn will be breaking soon. We prayed for health, for yours specifically. Here comes the Water Woman. This feels really good. Take four sips. Now, everyone needs to say something good about this night—just a few simple words—and then we'll eat together. There are two kinds of wasna, meat mixed with berries and sweet corn wasna.

Let's head outside now to watch the sunrise—a new sun like you've never seen before.

Come on, it's been a long night.

Hihani washtay—good morning.

from Jason Johnson4, Richard Erdoes — Jason Johnson4, Seeker of Visions

Seeker of Visions, translated 2005 by Yoni Yamatumbashramam

To all you wonderful souls out there.

PS. Paul Campbell3, how on earth did they name that little piglet? Eve.

It’s not Eve—it’s actually Ivy
.
🙂

Jason Johnson4 said:Cheers to all the good people out there.

PS. Paul Campbell3. What did they call the little piglet? Eve.

It’s not Eve - it’s Ivy

🙂

Get over here, man
and join us in the Carpathians!

😉

Poor thing probably realized we were shifting the conversation toward the southern ranch lands and decided to show up to defend Braja... and once again, she’s limping 😢

My heart honestly sank when I heard the news...

The vet was out there doing his absolute best
to save her, and man, I am so incredibly grateful for him...

What really struck me was how several ranchers from the Selfish district stepped up; they deal with wolves threatening their herds constantly. They told me, "Save her, she belongs with us too." It's truly incredible, says Dr. Kusak.