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| A Vision For The Dogsoldier? by � kiowadogsoldier The cross draft ruffles the feathers across my back as I circle just below the clouds. The air is thick and moist and as black as by feathers. I am totally alone and I am afraid. I must call to my brothers! My agitated caws are, for some reason, silent. There is no sound, not even the normal crack of air as I beat my black wings to gain altitude. Questions arise intertwined with one of my darkest fears. Is my human form dying? I must circle towards the West. I don?t understand why, I just know that I must. Even though it?s nighttime, I can make out the black and purple outlines of the mountains where the Thunderbeings live. There?s a white/silver skyline that appears every time the Thunderbird speaks from his roiling cloudnest beyond the peaks. Flashes of silver and gold highlight the different puffs of the angry looking clouds that He calls his home. I wonder what Thunderbird is trying to tell me in this velvet world with no sound. I, somehow, know now, that I?m not supposed to hear anything, but am instead, supposed to learn through sight and emotion. Is this the vision that my human form has been waiting for, for so many eons, is it the delirium caused by my human sickness or is this the precursor to death? I?ve never shifted to Wind Rider during a bout of illness before. Why did I shift this time? What does Wakan Tanka want me to learn? I must circle toward the North. Blackness and numbing cold, in the North greet me. This is how it is to be blind. Funny, although I can?t see or hear, I can feel. I can feel life. Rocks, trees and animals. Each with it?s own life force, beating...beating...beating. Waiting. Waiting for what? The Giants, who live in the North, seem sad, as they direct me towards the East. I circle. I can see again! I see the peach and yellow sky as the sun starts its daily journey over the softly indistinct purple landscape. There?s a warm breeze blowing gently under my wings. Flying isn?t so difficult now as I can soar on the breezes and thermals. South. I must circle to the South. The desert below me is quiet and commanding. The beautiful colors of the mesas, the deep writhing canyons and cacti in bloom. A sacred place. A holy place. Is this where I started this journey? I must go to the center of my Circle. Directly underneath me I can see the Center of the World. I see square lodges, houses of every description and teepees, all organized in the Sacred Circle. I?ve shifted again. I find that I am no longer the crow called Wind Rider, but I?m not back in my human form either. I?m like a wisp of smoke from the pipe. No real form. No real substance. But, I exist. I am. No fears and no apprehensions. It is good. There are vibrations coming from the West. The Thunderbeings have sent a great paint horse to me, here in the Circle. Thunderhorse, is he to be mine? Is he to be my totem or could he be the spiritual representation of my name? I stare deeply into the Thunderhorse?s face and watch it transform into a human face. My human face. A face that?s painted black with two jagged blue thunderbolts on the left cheek. Or is it on the left side of the crow?s beak? It?s like looking into a mirror and seeing all of my selves. Is this my paint? Is this my identity? I?ve shifted again and now I?m in my human form. I?m standing on top of a mesa, inside a circle outlined by a braided rawhide picket rope. My picket pin is in the center of the circle by a small fire. My pipe rests atop the pin and my coyote medicine bag, my rattles and my bone-handled knife are lying on top of my blanket, by the fire. I can feel the heartbeat and emotions of each item. They?re waiting. Waiting for me to pick them up and use them on my journey. I know who I am now. I am a relation. I am a dogsoldier and I am a healer. I have my paint and now I know who I am. I am the dogsoldier called Thunder Horse and it is good. Copyright � 2002 James T. Kelley. |
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