The Gift of Corn - Lakota (Sioux)

Alone in a deep forest, far from the village of his people, lived a hermit. His tent was made of buffalo skins, and his robe was made of deerskin. Far from the haunts of any human being, this old hermit was content to spend his many years.

All day long, he wandered through the forest, studying the different plants and collecting roots. The roots he used as food and as medicine. At long intervals some warrior would arrive at his tent and get medicinal roots from him for the tribe. The old hermit's medicine was considered far superior to all others.

One day, after a long ramble in the woods, the hermit came home so tired that, immediately after eating, he lay down on his bed. Just as he was dozing off to sleep, he felt something rub against his feet. Awakening with a start, he noticed a dark object. It extended an arm toward him. In its hand was a flint-pointed arrow.

"This must be a spirit," thought the hermit, "for there is no human being here but me."

A voice then said, "Hermit, I have come to invite you to my home."

"I will come," the old hermit replied. So he arose, wrapped his robe around him, and started toward the voice.

Outside his door, he looked around, but he could see no sign of the dark object.

"Whatever you are, or wherever you be," said the hermit, "wait for me. I do not know where to go to find your house."

He received no answer, nor did he hear any sound of someone walking through the brush. Reentering his tent, he lay down and was soon fast asleep.

The next night he again heard the voice say, "Hermit, I have come to invite you to my home." The hermit walked out of his tent to find the person with that voice, but again he found no one. This time he was angry, because he thought that someone was making sport of him. He determined to find out who was disturbing his night's rest.

The next evening he cut a hole in the tent large enough to stick an arrow through. Then he stood by the door, watching. Soon the dark object came, stopped outside the door, and said, "Grandfather, I came to--" But he never finished his sentence. The old hermit had shot his arrow. He heard it strike something that produced a sound as though he had shot into a sack of pebbles.

Early the next morning the hermit went out and looked at the spot near where he thought his arrow had struck some object. There on the ground lay a little heap of corn, and from this little heap a small line of corn lay scattered along a path. The old hermit followed this path into the woods.

When he reached a small mound, the trail ended. At its end was a large circle from which the grass had been scraped off clean.

"The corn trail stops at the edge of this circle," the old man said to himself. "So this must be the home of whatever invited me."

He took his big bone axe and knife and proceeded to dig down into the centre of the circle. When he got as far down as he could reach, he came to a sack of dried meat. Next, he found a sack of turnips, then a sack of dried cherries, and then a sack of corn.

Last of all was another sack, empty except for one cup of corn. In the other corner was a hole where the hermit's arrow had pierced the sack. From this hole the corn had been scattered along the trail, which had guided the old man to the hiding place.

From this experience the hermit taught his people how to keep their provisions while they were travelling.

"Dig a pit," he explained to them, "put your provisions into it, and cover them with earth."

By this method, the Sioux used to keep provisions all summer. When fall came, they would return to their hiding place. When they opened it, they would find all their provisions as fresh as they were the day they had been placed there.

The people thanked the old hermit for his discovery of this method of preserving their food. And they thanked him for his discovery of corn, the first they had seen. It became one of the most important foods the Indians knew.

Apache: The Origin of Fire

Long, long ago, animals and trees talked with each other, but there was no fire at that time.

Fox was most clever and he tried to think of a way to create fire for the world. One day, he decided to visit the Geese, te-tl, whose cry he wished to learn how to imitate. They promised to teach him if he would fly with them. So they contrived a way to attach wings to Fox, but cautioned him never to open his eyes while flying.

Whenever the Geese arose in flight, Fox also flew along with them to practice their cry. On one such adventure, darkness descended suddenly as they flew over the village of the fireflies, ko-na- tcic-a. In midflight, the glare from the flickering fireflies caused Fox to forget and he opened his eyes--instantly his wings collapsed! His fall was uncontrollable. He landed within the walled area of the firefly village, where a fire constantly burned in the centre.

Two kind fireflies came to see fallen Fox, who gave each one a necklace of juniper berries, katl-te-i-tse.

Fox hoped to persuade the two fireflies to tell him where he could find a way over the wall to the outside. They led him to a cedar tree, which they explained would bend down upon command and catapult him over the wall if he so desired.

That evening, Fox found the spring where fireflies obtained their water. There also, he discovered coloured earth, which when mixed with water made paint. He decided to give himself a coat of white. Upon returning to the village, Fox suggested to the fireflies, "Let's have a festival where we can dance and I will produce the music."

They all agreed that would be fun and helped to gather wood to build up a greater fire. Secretly, Fox tied a piece of cedar bark to his tail. Then he made a drum, probably the first one ever constructed, and beat it vigorously with a stick for the dancing fireflies. Gradually, he moved closer and closer to the fire.

Fox pretended to tire from beating the drum. He gave it to some fireflies who wanted to help make the music. Fox quickly thrust his tail into the fire, lighting the bark, and exclaimed, "It is too warm here for me, I must find a cooler place."

Straight to the cedar tree Fox ran, calling, "Bend down to me, my cedar tree, bend down!"

Down bent the cedar tree for Fox to catch hold, then up it carried him far over the wall. On and on he ran, with the fireflies in pursuit.

As Fox ran along, brush and wood on either side of his path were ignited from the sparks dropping from the burning bark tied to his tail.

Fox finally tired and gave the burning bark to Hawk, i-tsarl-tsu- i, who carried it to brown Crane, tsi-nes-tso-l. He flew far southward, scattering fire sparks everywhere. This is how fire first spread over the earth.

Fireflies continued chasing Fox all the way to his burrow and declared, "Forever after, Wily Fox, your punishment for stealing our fire will be that you can never make use of it for yourself." For the Apache nation, this too was the beginning of fire for them. Soon they learned to use it for cooking their food and to keep themselves warm in cold weather.

Apache: The Origin of Fire
As Told By Glenn Welker

Earth Prayer

"Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold me on earth and
lean to hear my feeble voice. You lived first, and you are older
than all need, older than all prayer. All things
belong to you -- the two-legged, the four-legged, the wings of
the air, and all green things that live.

"You have set the powers of the four quarters of the earth to
cross each other. You have made me cross the good road
and road of difficulties, and where they cross, the
place is holy. Day in, day out, forevermore, you are the life of things."

Hey! Lean to hear my feeble voice.
At the center of the sacred hoop
You have said that I should make the tree to bloom.
With tears running, O Great Spirit, my Grandfather,
With running eyes I must say
The tree has never bloomed
Here I stand, and the tree is withered.
Again, I recall the great vision you gave me.
It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives.
Nourish it then
That it may leaf
And bloom
And fill with singing birds!

Hear me, that the people may once again
Find the good road
And the shielding tree.

Black Elk: Holy Man of the Oglala Sioux, 1863-1950

Good Bye My Little One...

~~A memory I think is a moment in time,
brought on by desires and wishes come true.
I need to hold on, for as long as I can,
for to let go is to painful, for this loss I feel.

If only, I could turn back the time,
I would allow myself a moment to see,
the beauty I posessed, inside of me.
But alas I cannot do what I want,

So I must move on, and accept this fate.
I wanted so badly, to hold this inside,
But He had other plans, and now I must see,
It is heaven where it ought to be.

I ask only now that you see my regrets,
and help me to heal, and be at my best.
I know someday, we make a new life,
But I will never let go of this once tiny life.

I sometimes wish that I carried it still,
deep inside me, where I could feel,
a leg that kicks, a heart that beats,
and a lullaby I would sing
to help it sleep.

I cannot change what had to be,
But I will never forget you,
my sweet little one,
You are in my heart where you belong.

I will see you in heaven someday I know,
where angels will hold you,
and help you to know,
that your mommy and daddy loved you so,

The songs they sing will lull you to sleep,
as I watch you and smile,
I will be so complete.
Good bye my little one, forgive me this day

For not having carried you and watched you play.
But I must move on,
I have to you see,
For it is too painful for daddy and me.

Go now where the angels await,
they have a full lifetime of things to play.
I hand you over, and give you away
For God has told me this is the way..............

~~Dreamwalker 1998~~

Copyright © 1998, Dreamwalker

You will always be within our hearts little one.....

Great Spirit, Great Spirit, my Grandfather, all
over the earth the faces of living things are
all alike...Look upon these faces of children
without number and with children in their arms,
that they may face the winds and walk the good
road to the day of quiet.

Black Elk
Oglala Sioux holy man

The Seventh Generation...

In our way of life...with every decision we make,
we always keep in mind the seventh generation of
children to come...When we walk upon Mother Earth
we always plant our feet carefully, because we know
the faces of future generations are looking up at us
from beneath the ground. We never forget them!

Oren Lyons
Faithkeeper, Onondaga Nation

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This page last updated on 21 January 2001