For Joshua (16 page)

“Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo,” said Myeengun.

“Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo,” replied Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming.

There was silence. Then, slowly, Myeengun raised his voice again, and slowly Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming replied. A pause. Silence. And then, again and again and again, Myeengun sang out to the Moon and each time Light in the Sky answered. The boy’s heart was filled with incredible joy. This was an experience he had never imagined. Here was another being who heard him, spoke with him, felt his words and understood him. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming felt like his heart would burst with the sheer joy of it.

Then, as mysteriously as he’d arrived, Myeengun was gone. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming stood in the shallow water and looked upwards at the Moon that still hung fat and silent and watchful over everything. His heart was light and he raised his face to the heavens and called out on his own, “Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo, ow-ooo-ooo-ooo!” Every bit of joy, celebration, praise, love, and honour that he felt welling up inside him went into that call, and when its last note faded off into the air he turned and hitched his way back up the trail to his family’s wigwam and slept.

The people were excited over the appearance of the Wolf. They took it as a good sign and for a few days their hearts were light. But when the drought continued and their bellies continued to feel that deep hunger they sank into worry again. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming watched this happen and was saddened. There was nothing he could say, even though every fibre of his being called out to his people to have hope, to believe that Myeengun did in fact come to bring a message to them, to stay strong within themselves.

Each night he crept out of his wigwam and went to the lake to sing his song to the universe. Each night he thought about his people, his mother and father, his friends, and he put every ounce of care and concern and
love for them into his voice. His song was pure. It was a prayer and he felt every word.

The people thought it was Myeengun they heard those nights and they could not figure out why the Wolf was staying so close to them.

“Maybe to pick our bones when we drop from starvation,” someone said.

“Or maybe he’s crying for us because there is no relief in sight,” said another.

“Or maybe he’s teaching us a mourning song,” said someone else.

Only Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming knew the truth but he could not tell anyone. Every night he went to the lake and sang his prayer song to the universe. Every night he felt the motions of love in his heart and every night he sang that love to the stars. His voice grew stronger.

The drought continued and the people grew tired. Soon there were arguments and shouting around the campfires, and people began to hoard scraps of food rather than share as they were accustomed to. Jealousy and judgement were everywhere. It began to seem as though someone would die from the hunger. Bitterness grew among them.

One night a loud argument erupted. One family that had some food was trying to keep it away from another
family going without. Accusations and threats were shouted. A fight started and soon everyone was involved. People were invading other wigwams, tossing things around in attempts to find food they were certain was secreted away somewhere. The entire village was in an uproar and everyone was angry.

Suddenly the people heard a mournful cry raised up among them. It was Myeengun’s voice, but it was coming from Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming. He stood square in the middle of the village with his face raised up to the universe and sang the song of the Wolf. It was pure and strong and loud. Everyone stopped their running about and turned to see this magic.

“Ow-ooo-ooo-ooo,” sang Light in the Sky. “Ow-ow-ow-ooo!”

Slowly everyone walked towards the middle of the village and stood in a big circle around the bent and twisted boy who sang so beautifully in the night. He sang and sang and sang. When he was finished he looked around at the great circle of his people and tears shone on his face. It saddened him so much to see them fight amongst themselves and forget the teachings of sharing and community they lived by. He walked around that circle and took each person’s face in his small crooked hands and looked deeply into every pair of eyes. There was not a single member of that village who
did not feel the message that Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming’s eyes carried that night. Not one member of that tribal family was not touched by the depth of the love and concern they felt flowing from that small crooked boy. Every person felt spoken to. Comforted. Loved.

When he’d completed the circle and looked into every face, Light in the Sky moved into the centre of the village again. He motioned his parents over to join him and when they did he took their hands in his own, raised his face to the sky again, and sang. His mother and father were very proud and they cried openly in love for their son whose voice rang so clearly over everything.

“Ow-ow-ow-ooo!” he sang. “Ow-ow-ow-ooo!”

Then, someone gasped and pointed to the east. There, above the treetops, the Moon was rising full and round and orange against the night. As Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming’s song continued the Moon rose higher and higher into the sky. And then, as if that magic weren’t enough, the people heard another voice raised up in song to mingle with the boy’s. Myeengun. Together the boy and the Wolf welcomed the Moon back to the sky. Together they praised Creation for its blessings, its mysteries, its guidance. Together they sang a song that reminded the people of all the teachings the drought had forced them to forget.

They began to cry. They poured out all their hurt and disappointment. They poured out their anger, resentment, jealousy, fear, and indifference. They poured out their love and concern for each other. The Wolf song continued and the people felt their energy returning, felt their faith rekindled, and their belief in the kindness of Creation take hold again.

When they opened their eyes again they saw a wondrous sight. Bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight was Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming. But it was not the bent and twisted boy they’d known all their lives. Instead, in his place stood a beautiful, straight, strong youth with eyes that shone like the Moon itself. He was radiant and perfect. Beyond them the people heard Myeengun’s relatives join him in song. A chorus of wolves raised their songs to the Moon, and in their shrill keening Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming walked around the circle of the village again and looked into every face. Not a person did not cry in joy and awe at the beauty of this youth or the pure, splendid light of love they saw in his eyes. Not a person felt unheard, unspoken to, unloved.

And when he’d made his way around and faced his parents again, the Wolf song grew louder and louder. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming looked adoringly at the two people who had loved him all his life and celebrated the beauty they had
known he carried within him. He reached out and touched them and then, as the Wolf song rose and fell, a wonderful thing happened. He began to glow, silvery, ghostly, like the light of the Moon, and as he spread his arms in celebration of the song that filled the night he began to float upwards and upwards away from them. As the people watched in humble awe Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming rose higher and higher and higher until finally they saw him float right up into the face of the Moon.

And suddenly the Wolf song died away.

Silence. A pause, and then, very quietly in the distance, the people heard the rumble of thunder. The air cooled suddenly, and against the horizon they could see the edges of rain clouds scuttling towards them. The clouds moved in very quickly and surrounded the Moon where Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming had settled. When the clouds were thick with the promise of rain they blanketed the Moon and its light winked out just as the first wet thick drops of rain began to fall.

The people cried in joy and celebration. They danced amongst the raindrops. They danced and danced and danced, grateful for the rain, for Light in the Sky and the magic they had seen. It rained for four days and after that the berries flourished, the fish returned to their pools, and game became
plentiful again. When winter came the people had more than enough to see them through the cold months. And each of those cold winter months brought a brilliant silver moon to the sky and the people sang in celebration of the boy who had reminded them that faith would always see them through the toughest of times, that feeding the spirit was as important as feeding the body, and that they needed each other for survival.

But there were two who were confused, who felt a deep sense of loss for their son. Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming’s parents went to see the wise woman. They wanted to know why this had happened. As grateful as they were for the events of the past summer they wanted to know why their son could not stay with them, why he needed to live in the Moon.

“All of his life your son felt the words he wanted to speak. He felt them in his heart, in his spirit. He knew them as truth and he wanted to share this truth more than he wanted anything in the world. He wanted to speak the language of his heart. Myeengun gave him the gift of song and he found his voice. When he did, he put all of his love, compassion, forgiveness, loyalty, kindness, truth, and wisdom into it and the universe chose to honour him for that. He lives in the Moon to remind us always of the lesson he was sent to carry to us,” the wise woman said.

“What lesson is that?” his parents asked.

The wise one smiled kindly. “That only with the heart can we truly speak, and only with the heart can we find and become who and what we were created to be. That is Wass-co-nah-shpee-ming’s gift to us all.”

The night was deep and dark. High above me the stars seemed far brighter than they ever had and I saw shadows thrown by their intensity. Memories of the Sweat Lodge had made me very thirsty and I slaked that thirst with two huge gulps from the canteen. That ceremony had been a great gift. For a short time after that first Sweat Lodge I felt that anything was possible and I dove into my life wholeheartedly.

But I still carried around the old feelings of shame, hurt, and unworthiness. Despite everything that was given to me I still held onto those old beliefs. I could not shake them loose no matter how desperately I desired to. I still chose to believe that I did not belong, did not fit, and did not deserve all the good that our way and our people offered me. They could not fix me. They could not heal me. They could not take away the great hurts and bruises inside me. I felt that if my people knew that I had been to jail numerous times, if they knew that I had lied, cheated, and stole, that I had hurt a great
many people, they would not welcome me into their circle. So I did the only thing that I knew how to do: I hid myself and my feelings. When those feelings got to be too much to bear, I drank again.

I drank a lot through those next years. Even though I started to find success in my work, even though I was a participant at ceremonies, even though I appeared proud, strong, and capable, I felt none of that. I always felt like a liar, a fraud, a con. I was unable to forgive myself for the way I had lived my life, for the choices I had made, and my inability to forgive myself left only blame in its place. So I blamed other people. I blamed foster homes, adoption, the white man, society, history, government, sexism, racism—and I blamed myself. It always came back to my own unworthiness, the fact that I was unlovable, unwanted, a failure. And so I drank. I’d stay sober for months at a time but always the feelings arose and I would have to drink to kill them. I would have to, despite the experience of the Sweat Lodge.

When I drank again after being sober for a long period the guilt I felt was unbearable. I felt guilty that I was disrespecting the teachings, guilty that I wasn’t living the way I knew was the way to live, and guilty that I was weak and afraid. So I drank even more. When it got so bad that I was sick from drinking, shaking, sweating, vomiting, seeing things, hearing
things, I drank so I wouldn’t be sick and wound up drunk again. Then I would lie, cheat, and steal all over again and the guilt would continue. And so would that circle of pain.

I was in that vicious cycle a long time. Time and again I would get sober and do something positive. Time and again I would have people in my life who were there only to help me. Time and again the way was offered me, and I came close to grabbing for it sometimes. But fear always held me back. Always. I was afraid that if I made the journey to inside all I would find was the liar, cheat, and thief I knew I was. I was afraid that I would discover the me I was always afraid existed. So I faked it. I became what a lot of unhealed Native people become. I became an Indian of convenience.

An Indian of convenience is an Indian who knows of the teachings and the way, but doesn’t
really
know them. An Indian of convenience picks the parts of our teachings and of our way that don’t cost too much in terms of sacrifice and uses them. Displays them. An Indian of convenience chooses to display attitude over knowledge, appearances over humility, and cultural activities over traditional teachings and living. Mostly though, an Indian of convenience is a person who gives the impression of belonging, fitting, knowing, and being but who hasn’t found the courage to begin the greatest of all journeys: the journey to inside.