"Hungry Fox Equinox," a painting by R. Tom Gilleon. "During winter," Gilleon says, "many plains tribes referred to the season as the time of the hungry moon." Painting used with the artist's permission. To see more of Gilleon's work, go to tomgilleon.com
Words from Lois Red Elk are always a delight to receive.
"We have been freezing over in this part of the state," she writes. "How are you wintering?"
Amid the cold season, Red Elk has been stoking the fire with warm thoughts of important women in her life. The two poems, below, are about Red Elk's Hunkpapa grandmothers who helped raise her.
"My father's mother was such a kind and gentle woman and left a universe of knowledge with me. She and my paternal grandmother were half sisters. They belonged to a Hunkpapa Dream Society and both were dream interpreters," Lois shares. "All the knowledge they had about dreams was passed on to me
and all my siblings and cousins."
Modern science confirms what the Hunkpapa knew innately—that sleep and the visions which come with it—are important windows into what's happening in our conscious existence. "During these months of winter, when the earth sleeps, we women in the society are encouraged to dream deeply and share our dreams with each other," Lois explains. "This sharing keeps us close culturally, spiritually and is like an institute where knowledge is gained and satisfied." Lois says the poems reflect the dream culture and how dreams can help us today in our daily lives. Mountain Journal is proud to announce that Red Elk is debuting "House of Portals" here. Consider it her gift to you and carry the words with you into your own dreams tonight. —Mountain Journal
Lois Red Elk's grandmother on her father's side, Brings Her Sorrel Horse (1884-1938), was a member of the Dream Society. She had an individual belief against having photos taken that showed an exact image of herself. Thus, this photo is one of Lois' prized reminders and for the poet the best way of honoring her memory is in words. Photo courtesy Lois Red Elk
The Dream Interpreter
By Lois Red Elk
Elderly in shawls, the hesitant young, strong men
in dirty work clothes, mother’s with troubled youth,
fathers with sons, neighbors - all entered her door
with offerings of meat, money, warm bread, tobacco,
sweet grass, cedar, blankets and sacred pipes. All
had the same need, the same trust, the same faith.
A most unique practice existed on this quiet lone land
surrounded by cottonwoods and believers. Hers was
a world of dreams so sacred everyone knew why
she was so humble and kind. She knew knowledge
could be in footsteps, in how one consumes water, in
the way an animal was held, or in the care of hands.
Sharing the most private visions, the most secret
revelations, and the most hidden fears, they came and
confided. Was silence a sign of joy, is joy a sign of
betrayal? Can dismay be a sign of pain, is pain
expressed in loud laughter? Premonitions, déjà vu,
the sixth sense, a foreboding, nothing was unknown to
her enlightenment. Her education was communication
with angels, spirits, ghosts and the lost. Can dominant
colors in the sky shape the life of a child? Can an
animal capture the walk, talk and spirit of a man?
Would Freud and Aristotle comprehend if the earth
spoke with them? How could a people be so close to
the motion of the universe that they could make time
stand still and see into the future? How and when does
a person leave their body and travel the spiritual plane
of this reality? She was called a dream interpreter.
She was from the Hunkpapa band of Lakota. She spoke
the Lakota and Dakota dialects. What she was not was
primitive. She had a world of understanding unlike
any I have ever known. I loved her dearly, and she
"Dream Interpreter" is from Red Elk's acclaimed book, Why I Return to Makoce, 2015, Many Voices Press
A bald eagle: "eagles carry our prayers to the great spirit," Red Elk says. "In our Dream Society, the eagle often relays messages to other dreamers." Photo courtesy US Fish and Wildlife Service
House
of Portals
(For Grandmother High Back)
By Lois Red Elk
The house of portals
takes my story from once upon a time
to this present room
where a resurrected eagle and hawk have
winged their way to my
personal space. Their essence perches
in the living room
context and listens for something moving,
as dreams take a quantum
leap into my sunrise.
My
home, on the ‘rez’ in northeastern Montana, has been the
portal
entrance for this present journey through space. Some
call
my stories myth, well myth works for me and continues to
be
the encyclopedia for my life. I entered this zone from stars
to
this star, through a unique atmosphere, from a sacred zygote
produced
by Back Tracks His Horses and Good Voice Woman.
In
this HUD home are stories, carried on ash poles, that chronical
my
path. One pole supports the head of a sacrificed Eagle along
with
all the sacred feathers. The pole is secured to the wall by
nails
and screws. The eagle head is not dead.
The eagle spirit
remains
according to heart, and the eyes of the eagle search the
room,
the air and has vision through the walls and into the
atmosphere
surrounding my home. It is always the
movement
of
other spirits that trigger the eyes to wake from a dream space
that
exists in our parallel world.
This yard, this house,
this open heart accepts all animal prayers
and welcomes the carved
cottonwood bowl with cleansing sage
smoke to my hair. It is then I know we are all one for this
early
morning nourishment of
earth presence where no famine lingers
only the domain of pure harmonious
spirits.
Prayer
exists in this home, prayer that includes the energy of all
the
spirits who live here. I welcome and
encourage all these
entities
by preparing a container of sage that I pick every year
out
in the country. Sage is for cleansing bad
thoughts from the
area
and all things that are negative. It is
important for story to
abide
according to ritual and my ritual has been practiced for eons.
This
ritual not only acknowledges that there is negative, but there
is
also positive energy that needs to be lauded forever. I know
this
as ancestor’s prayers instructed me so that all will balance for
this
day. These aromas fed my spiritual needs
so that I am filled
with
eternal love and humility. This practice keeps me alive, I will
never
know void. I will only know energy that
is fed the same way.
I walk in moccasins made
of sacrificed deer hide, not for running
or escaping but walking
purposefully down the hallway that daily
transforms from a rug to
a path of fresh buffalo grass where I
recognize an echo off
living air next to grandma’s vibrating
neutrinos. They have
assembled to greet me at my bedroom door.
To
walk this earth in a sacred manner I must connect the skin of
my
feet or the skin of the deer with the surface of the earth. The
deer
sacrificed its life for my nourishment and for my protection.
The
deer know this. Through the connection between myself and
Mother
Earth, my life becomes renewed by the everlasting potency
radiating
from Mother to me. She was and will
always be my
umbilical
cord, keeping me close to her heart, feeding me with
breast
food, water, herbs, breath and fire.
With this bond, I have
no
need to flee, fear or hide. All fear is
removed all I need do
is
walk the good red road laid out for me in the traditional stories.
This
connection, this road, this path can then transcend this space/
reality
to the parallel world and back to me.
That which exists
there
comes alive with its own vitality, own vision and opens my
eyes
to all sacred places. The vibrating
coming from this space
arrives
in my body and allows me to make my way to the place
where
I can enter another world, the place where my grandmother
has
planned to meet me in eternity.
We unite as our energy
embraces a common cloak, a common
mind of belief and love,
and instantly I am standing next to her
at the wooden table in
the log house grandpa built, where she
sews quilt pieces made
into blankets that yawn prayers over all
lives she protects. My life, too, shielded in the stitches and
blood.
In
my upbringing I learned very carefully the meaning of love
from
my grandparents and my second set of parents, my aunts
and
uncles. The meaning of tiwahe, or family,
means all the
energy,
spirit and love that exists in our household is extended
to
the children, elders and close family members. It is what
keeps
us together, cooperating and surviving. This love and
spirit
continues after death. For us D/Lakota,
the human body
ends,
but the spirit and potency that was given to us by the
Great
Spirit continues. In our prayers, dreams
and ceremonies
we
can reconnect with those spirits. My grandmothers and
aunts
made me several quilts when I was young and I remember
all
the love and careful planning that went into those quilts. When
I
cover myself at night, I am warmed, comforted, and connected.
This
is one place where I am united.
We speak this way, mind
to mind, and have done so all my life
as planned from the
other world. Now it is the moment, time
to
burn cedar for her precious
words and burn sweet grass for her
grace as I accept this oath,
this unbreakable love between all space
and all that moves. We bring presence where our portals open.
