Where and when do people go for spirituality?
Wakinyan ran out of fingers and toes as he looked up into the night sky counting the stars as they gazed down at him.
His toes where cold as he stood in the night. So he started counting stars with his toes to keep them moving and maybe get some circulation going.
The sparks from the fire posed and escaped their wooden prison as they fled up into the night to become yet another star.
He counted those ones as well….
The longer he looked up he felt himself falling through a hole in his head and the tears ran inside to add salt to his memories.
The salt stung his long-kept memories and he cried …
The language of spirituality was tarnished by the minds of wrong intention. It had consequences…
Gone were the days of just asking an uncle or an auntie for a prayer.
The times when they would just stop what they are doing and put their hands on his head and just pray. He remembered the firmness of their hands. roughened up by day to day living but still as gentle as holding a newborn baby. he would feel the power of the prayer coming through their hands and vibrating through his body to connect him back to the earth.
Now prayer was breathing in the toxic air of self-centeredness, capitalism, and competitiveness of who had the most powerful prayer and medicine.
Throw in a braid of sweetgrass and a hint of smudge. Pull out the hand drum. sing a song…. Give a blanket or (even better) money.
Prayers became their own enemy….. and they called it spirituality….
“Isaugha!!!!!….” Mishitl’a called out to him. “Can you help me put on another marshmallow? That one fell into the fire.”
He turned back to see Mishitl’a smiling at him. The fires light shaping his face in the innocence of being a little boy yet.
He would miss his older brother who went to explore the great mystery.
He placed his hands over Mishitl’a’s head and prayed for him…..