White-tailed deer moving through the homeland of Red Elk and her Dakota and Lakota ancestors. Historic photo courtesy USDA
Great poets bring clarity to things we may not yet see. Great poems move with lasting resonance when their message transcends the limits we artificially impose on time. Consider this passage from Lois Red Elk:
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.
Like many, Red Elk and her family are now in self-quarantine and she sends her warm greetings. In House of Portals, below, she reminds us to shake our false material constructs and try to to understand when enough is enough, to have gratitude for the simple things that matter most. Those things are our connections and honoring—always being aware—of the others who make our life possible including those who do not walk on two legs. "I think this poem is important for today as it one of appreciation for the values my culture teaches," she writes.
House of Portals is a meditation and let it bring you solace and mindful recognition of not what we're missing but what we have. We are grateful for you, Lois Red Elk. Pidamaya —Mountain Journal
Burning of sage used in prayer and to purify our minds of bad thoughts and negativity. Photo courtesy Andrea Parrish-Geyer/Flickr
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 traditionalstories.
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.
NOTE: Red Elk will soon release a new volume of poetry. Meantime, discover her other works. Why I Return To Makoce was edited by Montana's recent state poet laureate Lowell Jagger. In reviewing the volume Heather Cahoon wrote, "These poems, which are steeped in Lakota cultural traditions, urge us to take a deep breath, to take initiative, and to not allow ourselves to drift back to the safety of chains. They encourage readers to believe that change is possible and that it is through our reconnection with the spirit realm." Available through local independent booksellers.
About Lois Red Elk-Reed
Lois Red Elk-Reed is a poet who calls the high plains home. She is Mountain Journal's poet in residence.
