"CEDAR WINDS:" Dawn Walk ( Fall 2008)

Note: Wanbli means eagle in Lakota                     

Wakan Tanka means Great Spirit/ Great Mystery in Lakota

Twentieth Dawn at Redwing

by Diana Ramsdell Newman

Childlike and secure,

immersed in transitional light

of another opening dawn,

standing within its sublime

intersection of night and day,

full moon at my back,

sun rising on my face,

broad winged birds passing 
straight overhead,

I see the wide canopy of oak

becoming lit at the top,

with shimmering with tints of gold.

Even overcast dawns

have proven hospitable,  

pulsing strength and clarity

into my nineteen little

ceremonial fires in succession,

the faithful sun pressing

its light behind the veil,

back-lighting shifting shadow

with subtle hues,

quickening our world into day.

But how shall I greet this twentieth dawn,

storm advisories having been shouted

across the region,

winds having scattered things

across this old New England farmhouse porch

while we slept?

From inside the chilled, pre-dawn kitchen

there is little hint

of the light outdoors,

just enough to get my bearings,

pull a pair of boots from the corner,

and step out into gusting winds

to find more light than imagined.

But matches extinguish

one by one in the damp.

No good at all for a campfire but a

simple smudge might be possible.

The air sweeping across the open porch

is tropical and caressingly soft

across my cheeks,

reminiscent of the feathers 

come upon earlier this week

scattered like stars amidst the grasses

and silken milkweed

bursting from the pod,

an unanticipated gift

in my predawn pathway.

Stepping back into the dry kitchen

I light the smudge

of white sage and cedar

tucked into a small clay pot

I fashioned over

three decades ago,

venture back out into the wind

with my hand cupped

up around one side to shield it,

its fragrant smoke

curling upward.

One lone red ember of cedar

glows deeply

in the center 

tenaciously holding its fire

like a strong, tiny sun.

The rain lets up

just long enough to open a way

for small birds to eat their fill.

I exit the porch with an umbrella 

but finding it too unwieldy

I park it in favor of accepting

the light, balmy rain on my skin.

And a natural flow of prayers

emerges within me like a river

from the mind of morning:

 

                      Facing Eastward:

“Good Morning, Great Spirit,

I am glad to be your daughter.  

Thank you for the sacred powerful gifts of the East~

for first light of sun opening this new day,

for renewal and rebirth,

for kindling and fire,

for conception and revelation,

for fresh beginnings,

for re-emergence of hope,

for trust in the unseen.
Remember the songs and prayers of our ancestors

who walked this trail before us.

And hear now the prayers of the afflicted

and the nations who cry in distress.
Open our eyes and guide us

more fully into the present

that we might see our condition

and stray not further into error.
Thank you for awakening the little birds,

for sun-lit wings and quickened voices,

for original voices of the land,

for the first breath of Spring,

for unfolding the buds,

for air stirring the trees,

for sounding the flutes,

for lifting Wanbli’s wings,

for kindling the sacred fires,

for inspiring the poets,

and for releasing the songs.
May the little ones

growing in their mother’s wombs

know your strengthening light today,

may births be blessed,

may milk of mothers be plentiful,

may we know the full ecstasy of morning

and learn to walk in peace and gratitude. Aho.

                         Facing Southward:

Good Morning, Beautiful South,  

Thank you, Creator, for your gifts~

for growth, blooms, and fruition,

for the beautiful idealism and heart of youth,

for strong clear senses,

for sensuality,

for purity of voice,

for sacred arts, dance, and song

for movement and waters,

for loyalty in relationship,

for empathy and sacrifice. Aho.

                         Facing Westward:

Wakan Tanka,

I am your daughter.

Thank you for the gifts of the West~

the place of darkness and night,

the place of going alone to

your great repository of dreams and visions.

Thank you for sacred ceremonies,

for the sacred pipe,

for discipline, perseverance, and sacrifice,

for healing ways and natural medicines,

for quest and discovery of true identity,

for balanced use of power,

for care and use of sacred tools,

for original language arising from the land,

for the nourishing silence,

for reclamation of lost knowledge,

for respect for the spiritual journey,

for respect for safeguards,

and respect for the journey of the elders.

Aho.

               Facing Northward:

Thank you, Creator, for the Great North.

I am your daughter and I love this place of

magnificent winter snows,

of sacred lakes,

and sacred mountains, 

and for our white haired elders

all across the earth.

Thank you for the great council of beings.

Thank you for all sanctuaries,

for the sacred heart,

for places of deep rest,

for our wisdom keepers who do not impose

yet are ready to speak, share, and interpret

and who understand trial,

and the importance of balance,

who learn how to let go,

and to love with healthy detachment.

Thank you for ancestors who left a good legacy,

and whose love serves to guide us for all time.

Thank you for our unseen helpers.

May we become more mindful

of those who have passed before us

and those who will yet come after us.

Creator, give our aging elders strength and courage,

peace of mind and a sense of completion. Aho.

                     Facing Earthward:

Good Morning, Mother Earth.

I am your daughter.

Thank you for all you so generously give

and for all you know.

Thank you for soft receptive earth

beneath my feet.

May we learn to walk in peace and honor you.

I am so sad, Mother,

that in our ignorance and indifference,

we so often abuse you.

May we see what we have cast aside

and turn back to you.

Aho.

                        Looking Skyward:

Grandfather Sky: How good you are to hold

Grandmother moon and sun and stars.

How good you are to lift

the bird nations’ wings and voices

onto your beautiful sky paths.

You release the great winds to purify and sustain,

to carry seeds, prayers, songs and offerings,

You release the sweet rains

and nurturing snows onto Mother Earth,

You show me messages and lift my spirit.

Aho.

                   Looking Inward and Outward:

Thank you, Creator, for the Great Mystery

binding us all one to another.

May we learn to walk in peace.

Thank you for this day and its lessons.

May your gifts bless the oppressed,

the confused, and the wayward.

Help us all to walk a good path.

Give courage to the elders.

Keep whole the hearts of the young.

May the prayers of the righteous

of all times and places prosper in your care.

Aho.

Now having greeted the directions,

I slog through mirrored puddles,

carrying one small feather

of the fallen mourning dove 

around and around the circle  

until my prayer-walk feels

tranquil and complete,

and standing in place I smile to see

a tiny, obsidian-black cricket

scuttling through wet grasses

at one edge of my foot.
But as the wind and rain pick up

I must put chase 

to the suddenly

somersaulting umbrella.

Laughing my way along

through tall wet grasses

I retrieve it at

the edge of the marsh

near the glistening willow tree 

that dances and flows

in all directions,

perfectly yielded

to the breath of the storm.

Stepping back up over

the wet granite steps

I pass late-blooming rose petals,

scattered and upturned

across October’s ground,
each petal has become

a tiny sacred lake,

delicately holding

fresh, reflective rains

of one more

celebrated dawn,
light trailing

from my footsteps

back into the kitchen.