When the tree flowered : $b An authentic tale of the old Sioux world — John Shaqi
When the tree flowered : $b An authentic tale of the old Sioux worldNeihardt, John G.
History
When the tree flowered : $b An authentic tale of the old Sioux world
Neihardt, John G.
Historical fiction; Oglala Indians -- Fiction
“The sun was shining almost level. I had gone to sleep kneeling in the
hole with my face and hands on the grass, and I thought it was still
morning. But the blue stick, with the bow and cup, was where the red
stick should be! The sun was shining low out of the blue quarter, and
it was getting ready to go under! I had slept dead all day, and it made
me feel good; but there were teeth in my belly, I was so hungry; for I
had not eaten the day before.
“I filled up on the warm water in the skin and thought about what I had
seen. Maybe all those coup-sticks and scalps meant I would be a great
warrior. But if they meant that, what more could there be, and what did
the eagle mean?
“I began to pray again as soon as the sun went under and the thin moon
appeared going to the spirit land. I prayed harder than ever because
of what the eagle said, and I could feel power getting stronger and
stronger in me every time I came back to the center. When I advanced
to the quarters, it was like floating with the pipe in the midst of a
great starry bubble. And afterwhile, whenever I began to say the prayer
to Wakon Tonka at the most sacred place, the prayer the _wakon_ taught
me, it made me cry. And this is the prayer:
“‘Grandfather, Great Mysterious One! You have been always, and before
you nothing has been. There is nothing to pray to but you. The star
nations all over the heavens are yours, and yours are the grasses of
the earth. You are older than all need, older than all pain and prayer.
Day in, day out, you are the life of things.
“‘Grandfather, all over the world the faces of living ones are alike.
In tenderness have they come up out of the ground. Look upon your
children, with children in their arms, that they may face the winds and
walk the good road to the day of quiet.
“‘Teach me to walk the soft earth, a relative to all that live. Give
me the strength to understand and the eyes to see. Help me, for
without you I am nothing.’[3]
“That is the prayer, Grandson. Maybe it will help you, Wasichu though
you are, to walk the black road and to find the flowering tree.
“The lean moon was gone and the night must have been getting old when
a great sudden voice roared from the quarter of the sundown where I
was facing. I had not seen it coming; but all at once it was there--a
heaped-up cloud coming fast towards me, with swift blue lightning on
its front and giants shouting in it. And in between the shouts that
shook the hill I could hear the deep voices of the rain singing all
together, like many warriors charging.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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