The Wisdomgifting

. . . the Wind thundered through their arched wings, and jagged spears of bright, angry light flashed from their eyes . . .

This column is my giveaway. I have been gifted with teachings from many elders and healers in my ceaseless quest to return to the Balance of the Native Way. Gifts grow stale and turn upon the beholder when they are coveted. And, as the gifts I walk with are not mine to begin with, I share them that they again may bestow blessings upon the People, as intended. My quest has been for 'Chi Debwewin—an Algonquian term that refers to truth or awareness of a universal nature. What finds voice in this column is common to Old Way Peoples regardless as to culture or dwellingplace on the Bosom of the mother. I am honored and grateful that you hold out your cupped hands for the gifting.

As a young boy learning to hunt, First Human was immediately successful. Having personal power which gave him great skills and strengths, he quickly learned of the ways of his forest kin and how they gave of themselves for the good of the People.

There was one gift however, that he wished for his People, which was beyond his mighty grasp—the great sturgeon, with her fine oil and leathery skin which had no equal. He asked his old grandmother with whom he lived, how he might go about bringing home the giant sturgeon.

"Grandson," she replied, "The Guardian of the deep cold waters has powers nearly as great as yours. In seeking her out you would likely know your final breath. Perhaps in time you will be of such cunning and stamina that you would have some chance of making such a great gift to your People."

Being ever respectful, yet needing to follow his path, First Human waited an appropriate time and approached Grandmother thusly, "Most wise grandmother, if someone of more age and strength than me were to seek sturgeon, what would he do to bring that great and cunning fish onto the beach?"

"I will tell you what one would do, but you must wait your time to carry it out. Only an arrow fletched with a tail-feather of mighty Thunderbird can reach the dark rocky lair of Sturgeon."

Grandson thanked Elder Woman for her answer, begged his leave, and went immediately to the top of a high, open cliff where the Thunderbirds could easily see him. He had the power to change himself into any form he wished, so he became a little rabbit and hunched there in the wind, waiting...

Meanwhile, the Thunderbirds, high in their cloud nest, were preparing to leave for the hunt, as their young were getting hungry. One cautioned the other to be careful, as rumors spoke of First Human being increasingly about and, as everyone knew, he was a clever trickster.

As one of the Thunderbirds soared high over the cliff he saw the furry little rabbit and swooped down to grab him, thinking he would make a nice plaything for his children. When his mate returned he was admonished, "How can you be sure that what you brought home is not actually the young trickster?"

Doubt notwithstanding, they left again to continue the hunt. As soon as they were out of sight, First Human assumed his normal appearance, plucked the tailfeathers from the young Thunderbirds, and jumped.

Hearing the loud wailing of their children, they raced back to see First Human tumbling earthward with a handful of feathers. In their instant rage, the clouds grew dark, the wind thundered through their arched wings and jagged spears of bright, angry light flashed from their eyes as they dove to intercept the plunderer.

First Human hit the ground, yet, because of his great power, was only slightly dazed. He rose quickly and ran with all the speed he possessed into the sheltering forest, as the Thunderbirds were almost upon him. They roared with such might that trees were falling all about him and being cindered by the barrage of sizzling bolts from their fiery glares.

Closing the gap, one of the Thunderbirds was just about to sink his fierce talons into that tender boy's back as he dove into a hollow birch log. Try as they would, the warbirds could not penetrate that slick, resilient bark.

Their rage spent, they conceded to First Human, and honored him thusly, "You were wise in taking refuge beneath the bark which not even we can tear asunder. So that all may remember your courage and cunning, the battlescars on these trees which are in the shape of the flying Thunderbird will appear on every birch from this day on. Your People will call this tree Grandfather, as he will provide stormtight covering for their lodges, and from him they will fashion canoes, baskets, and storage containers that will repel insects. And those who seek shelter under this tree when we rumble the skies will be spared the searing when we cast our great blinding lances Earthward."

We all know legends, and use them for the same purpose—as doorways to the more profound aspects of life. Their function is not to explain life's source or meaning; rather, they involve us in its richness and experience. The above native legend, which I enjoy sharing over and over with friends and classes at our school, is found throughout the Land of the Birch. It is typical of an enduring Legend—entertaining, emulative, transporting and provoking.

As oral tradition, legends evolve and persist because they are the conveyors of culture. They provide a continuity that spans generations, and a vehicle to keep alive and disburse a culture's cumulative experience. Lasting legends, pregnant with the best of a culture's wisdom, wit and adventure, have been sheltered by generations of storytellers' memories and honed by countless retellings.

The heroes and fools of our legends are actually us; they become our personified aspirations and qualities of character. Without reward or sanction, they provide examples of behavior to emulate and avoid. Good legends give something to ponder, which may be simple or deep, and could be different for each listener. They explicitly involve all manner of everyday life, from sex and birth to violence and pain to bodily functions and death. Even the very young in native societies are familiar with these aspects of life, which legends help to give purpose and explore the mystery.

Legends can become power objects enabling such transformation because their masterful recounting draws the child within us into greater consciousness.

Some legends are retold only in a particular season. Those with certain animals as characters are heard only when these animals are hibernating or migrated, so they will not hear themselves be talked about. Others are for the White Season, as the introspective gifts of the Northwind Blower are strong at this time, bringing forth that which speaks through the words.

Most native groups have individuals who specialize in storytelling. They have committed a large body of legends to memory, and are held in much esteem. Some legends are considered sacred, and can be related only by a particular individual.

In some traditions a person wishing to learn a legend will present its bearer with a gift to signify her request, and will hold a feast in honor of the granting. It may be that each time before this legend is recounted (as in my tradition), recognition is given to the one who carried it before. If present, he will be asked permission and given an offering.

The Civilized commonly refer to native legend as myth. By definition and popular usage, this term relegates legend to the realm of fiction; its use is demeaning of Old Way cultures and disrespectful of the ways of their People. Fairytale, another misconstrued term, is used (unknowingly by most), in reference to what are actually Civilized People's own degraded and remnant legends.

To new ears, legends may at first seem to be uninspired and lacking in significant content. Their recounting is usually straightforward and unanimated, so we who are accustomed to media entertainment can have trouble envisioning the life which is in the legend. When a legend is related outside of its cultural context, symbolism and allegory can go unnoticed, as they are intrinsic to the culture and common knowledge to its People. The greater context from which the legend is plucked is unknown to the outsider as well; he does not have the benefit of that body of oral tradition to give perspective. Because of the cultural rift, the humor may escape him, or he may not catch the unspoken "to be continued" at the end of a night's oration, or he may be confused by such as the term for people being used in reference to animals.

Much of this would not be evident in the legend I just recounted had I delivered it exactly as I learned it from the Old Storyteller. I embellished and elaborated to convey the subtle and otherwise assumed. Yet, I did much less so than would have been necessary with one who has not sought to read this far.

Legend can continually gift our steps as we walk the farther places on our path to power.

Tamarack, who lives in the Wisconsin forest, is a Native-approach counselor and dream interpreter, primitive skills instructor. He guides quests and other rites of passage, and is author of the book, Journey to the Ancestral Self. Write to him at Medicine Lodge, Nishnazhida/Three Lakes, WI 54562-9333; (715)546-2944.

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