Tag Archives: great spirit

121 Years Ago Today – Repost

SITTING BULL AND DANCING HORSE

Reid Dickie

December 15, 1890

Sitting Bull’s Camp

Grand River, South Dakota

Commotion was his cue, his spur, his trigger. Gunfire, whoops, whistles and yells! Dancing Horse needed no other prompting. He began to perform his repertoire of tricks; the seven Bill Cody taught him and the two he learned by watching other horses. He was a smart horse who learned easily.

Though it was the middle of a cold night and the years had slowed his gait, it all came back to Dancing Horse. As the air filled with noise and bullets whizzed around him, the horse pranced and danced, sat on his haunches and raised his front legs, waving, whinnying and shaking his mane. He cantered in a circle, stopped, backed up and cantered on, a curtsy, a bow and, his finale, a high wild buck accompanied by snorts and a long careening whinny. Then he started again.

The horse was born to the circus. Bill Cody had gelded him himself and taught him tricks. Dancing Horse was the gift Buffalo Bill Cody gave Sitting Bull when Bull retired from the Wild West Show. He’d spent recent years on the quiet prairie with Sitting Bull, far from the cheering crowds.

At the door of Sitting Bull’s log shack, melee built into frenzy. The holy man, now 60 summers old, lay propped half-naked against the doorframe, dying; his blood, loosened by two wounds, soaked into the snow. Sitting Bull’s spirit soared over the scene, its grief brief for the hard and desperate life just lived, now elated by the familiarity of death and the antics of Dancing Horse, moving like a white ghost in the snow below.

Long after the fighting ended, as the prairie filled with mournful keening, Dancing Horse continued to perform, repeating his act over and over. The horse had danced through the mayhem without a single bullet hitting him.

He did not perform for the incredulous and spooked Sioux who stared in awe. Dancing Horse had an audience of one. His old friend Sitting Bull watched long in delight, solely entertained by the horse’s show, then he turned and his spirit embraced The Light.

As the first rays of dawn swept over the frozen land, Dancing Horse collapsed into the snow, exhausted. A little boy dressed in buckskin advanced toward him, extending a handful of sweetgrass.

MESSENGER

Reid Dickie

December 15, 1890

Central Plains

Overhead Orion paused in mid hunt; half a moon lit the prairie snows. The Spirit, its message clear and urgent, rose from the shabby encampment on Grand River, the scene of the crime.

Wearing only paint on his body, riding a horse with arrows and lightning bolts painted on its white flanks, the ghostly Messenger held a human skull on a stick. Half his face was red, half white, his heart was painted with a blue starburst and his body had wavy yellow lines running from foot to throat.

Sailing through the clear cold air the Messenger traveled north over the rolling hills of Standing Rock Reservation to Cannonball River, the end of Hunkpapa land. Every tiny cluster of tipis with warm dreamers inside in the camps of Thunderhawk and John Grass got the news as they slept. Some awoke keening in grief.

The Messenger turned south, crossed over the Grand River in a single bound and headed toward Cheyenne River Reservation, home to the Minneconjou. In his dream, Yellow Bird, the medicine man received the news with a jolt, grabbed his rattle and woke the camp. It was nearing dawn but still dark and cold as Kicking Bear, the high priest of the Ghost Dance, his wife Woodpecker Woman, and all the Minneconjou were informed. Further on, the camps of White Swan, Bear Eagle and Hump were next to be grief stricken. Off the reservation, the camps of Touch the Clouds and Red Shirt received word.

The ghost Messenger leapt the Cheyenne River and flew southwest toward Pine Ridge Reservation. Passing over Bad River, through the eerie Badlands past Castle Butte and a leap over White River got him to Pine Ridge and the camps at the headwaters of White River. Black Elk, the mystical shaman of the tribe, received the news and told the Oglala chiefs Red Cloud and American Horse. Ghost Dance priest Good Thunder immediately began to beat a hide drum and chant.

Spirit Messenger turned eastward just as dawn was blemishing the blackness. A leap over Pass Creek, through coulees and around buttes and Two Strike’s camp was informed; the ghost dancers Short Bull, Mash-The-Kettle and Plenty Horses began to paint their bodies with grieving symbols.

By the time the sun rose, the Great Plains was lit with grief. As far west as Tongue River Reservation in Montana, Wind River Reservation in Wyoming, and as far south as the Kiowa Reservation in central Oklahoma – they all knew what had happened. Even the people of Walker River Reservation in western Nevada, home to visionary Wovoka who brought the Ghost Dance to the people, knew.

Except Orion, no one saw the ghostly figure riding the strange awkward horse but they all reported his message with sad accuracy:

“Sitting Bull is dead.”

2 Comments

Filed under Saskatchewan, shaman, Spirit

What’s with “Happy Deathday”?

Reid Dickie

Nothing is lost, nothing is created … all is transformed. Nothing is the prey of death. All is the prey of life.”  – Antoine Béchamp

“All goes onward and outward. Nothing collapses. And to die is different from what anyone supposes…and luckier.” -Walt Whitman

A good question and one asked of me several times since I began the Happy Deathday features on the blog. Don’t misinterpret this as me being happy these people no longer live. That’s not the point at all.

My perspective on this is shamanic and incorporates a shaman’s understanding of death which differs vastly from the mainstream idea of death being scary and unknowable. In the shaman’s world death is simply a change of being, a moving from organic to inorganic, from flesh to Spirit, that faithful old process we’ve lived and died with for eons.

Death is our next opportunity to express our spiritual evolution and put to use the soul building we have done during our life. It is a celebratory moment when we face Great Spirit and obtain final clarity for that lifetime. If we are prepared, if we have trained well during all our lifetimes, we transcend reincarnation, become enlightened and merge with The Light. If we still aren’t ready to achieve that, we contract away from The Light back through the mental realm as a sexual thought then reproduced again in a gross body with all its suffering and bondage. This is also our next opportunity for personal evolution, for pursuing our next level of soul building.

Because we communicate with spirits directly, shamans know that Spirit persists after the elemental needs of the body are gone and the mind is relieved of its duties. Seen simply, sometimes we are alive, sometimes we are dead, always we are Spirit. Since the aftermath of birth is life in the gross reflecting realm and the aftermath of death is heaven, it’s just as appropriate to wish someone a happy deathday. The hope that accompanies the loving wish is that you have used this life as a stepping stone on your path to enlightenment and eternal bliss, that you have done the real work, the necessary work.

2 Comments

Filed under Ancient Wisdom, Deathday, Love, Old Souls, shaman, shamanism, Soul Building, Spirit, Wisdom

DickToolCo Art Page Expanded

The year-by-year history of the art Linda and I created when we first got together now covers seven years. On DTC Art page, you can find our art actions from 1977 until 1983 with plenty of links to the videos we made and other DTC art attractions. Collage, performance, video, audio, fashion, design, public art – DickTool Co used multi-media to probe the world and its all documented. This picture is from June 1985 when Linda and I were married and is a screen shot from a short video of the casual reception. We were happy kids!

Leave a comment

Filed under BEAUTY, dicktool co, DickToolery, Family, Images, Linda, Winnipeg

Tiger Bear Eagle

For more information on power animals, see FAQ

Leave a comment

Filed under Ancient Wisdom, Critters, Spirit

North American Tribal Proverbs

ANISHINABE PROVERB 

“No one else can represent your conscience.”

BLACKFOOT PROVERB 

“Life is not separate from death. It only looks that way.”

CREE PROVERB 

“Never sit while your seniors stand.”

 FOX PROVERB 

“When you have learned about love, you have learned about Great Spirit.”

 HOPI PROVERB

“The rain falls on the just and the unjust.”

Leave a comment

Filed under Ancient Wisdom, shamanism, Spirit

12 SACRED PLACES

12 SACRED PLACES

DAY NINE

MINTON TURTLE EFFIGY

July 19, 2010

“Stoned in the original sense of the word”

“The frog does not drink up the pond in which he lives.”

Sioux proverb

            Cast 65 feet across the top of the highest hill around lies an intact outline in stones of a huge turtle. Its shell is a large rock carapace out of which grows a bluff of chokecherries. While some smaller turtle effigies were markers to indicate water in the direction the turtle faced, this site, over 2000 years old, served a more spiritual purpose. This is a dancing ground, a ceremonial site.

This stock picture shows the stone Turtle effigy laid out with the pile of stones at the centre of its shell. The head is in the foreground and the body  widely surrounds the bushes and rockpile.

             I imagine the undulating hills around filled with angular tents and soft plumes of white smoke and above them, the sacred turtle. The hill I stand on and those I see to the northwest are part of the eastern edge of the Missouri Coteau. The Continental Divide passes just north of here. Below and to the south of the effigy you can see the white alkaline east end of Big Muddy Lake. Since the effigy is next to a plowed field, I always express gratitude that is remains here at all and recognize how close it came to being destroyed. I never miss the irony of our modern definition of energy as it is pulled out of the ground and stored in the oil storage area below the effigy.

            The hills around the Turtle Effigy are velvet and verdant this year with all the moisture. Sloughs that haven’t existed in decades reappeared this year. Rolling hills and the good gravel transport me to the site. That old familiar tingling in my hips and spine and the skin tightening around my face starts as I near Turtle.

            One change since Chris and I were here a month ago is the access road, then knee deep in weeds, now graded with the weeds towering along the side of the short trail up to the site. I park several hundred feet away from the site.

            After smudging myself with sweetgrass in the car, I approach Turtle singing my power song. Overhead a red-tailed hawk, eternal guardian, cries on the updrafts. I walk the outer circle of stones as I sing my power song. I feel recognized and welcomed as I stand at Turtle’s head, waiting. I am welcomed into the effigy.

                  Illustration of Minton Turtle effigy

           At the centre of Turtle is a pile of rocks out of which grows a thicket of chokecherry bushes. On the leeside there is an indentation in the tall grass. I left this indentation there a month ago, maybe it has been reinforced by sleeping deer. As happened last month, I am thrown to the ground on this spot and lay on the hot earth with the hot sun pouring over it all. Out of the wind with the grass walling me in, I am filled with amazing warmth that transcends sensation and just simply is, here and now. I feel blissful in my little space, enclosed but connected, at home, at ease.

            After a few minutes I stand, rather wobbly, and thank Turtle for the healing. It’s time to leave an offering but not before I walk back to the car and take a breather from the intensity of the place. I must be vigilant about how much of this energy I can handle at one time. Turtle will provide but in small doses.

            As I meditate on an offering in the car, the prairie breeze weaves the tall grass into a subtle floating song. A month ago, my offering was a flyaway – some beads and feathers I strung together – which I left flying from one of the chokecherry bushes on the carapace. Though tangled it still flutters there.

            Turtle indicates an offering of water would be appropriate this visit. I fill my water bottle from a jug of Winnipeg water I carry with me. Singing my power song, I approach the head of Turtle and spray water on the rocks that form its large head. Once the water is gone, I stand, eyes closed, still, silent, present, waiting, waiting.

             Turtle’s message to me is sudden and clear – be happy! It’s not a reiteration of Linda’s “be happy” but an entirely new kind of “be happy”, one that grows out of me, a happiness that burns from within me. I start to laugh and laugh. When I open my eyes three little yellow butterflies dance happily, dizzily, in the air over the grass. I start to laugh at their perfect antics and they become funnier and funnier. I am stoned in the original sense of the word.

            How seldom we find perfection yet, here, atop the highest hill within view, I have found perfection – simple, direct, unmitigated perfection. I feel the presence and love of all the generations who came here before me to pray, to worship, to seek this perfection. Laughing voices ripple up the side of the hill toward me. Now and then, a sharp keening quells the laughter and a moment of sorrow arrives, abides then passes. Perfection.

             I return to the car for a break and sip home water for the day is hot, the sun very near today. I approach the effigy again, singing my power song and am asked to attend the heart stone. Every effigy I have seen has included a heart stone placed where the heart of the animal would be. In Turtle’s case, the heart stone is a small bed of stones about three feet square on the upper left side of the form. I stand at the heart stone, waiting. I have sat on this heart stone before and been given gentle direction and urgings. This time the message is immediately clear.

            Battleship clouds have sailed by all day, their moving shadows I can see coming for miles across the rolling land. I am told to lay my naked body on the heart stone in the sunshine. I stand and wait for the cloud to pass, strip and lay face down on the heart stone. The tall grass encloses me. The energy of the stones overwhelms me, I am immersed in a heat that burns somehow outside and inside of me at once. I begin to sweat, especially my face, arms and chest. The hairs on the back of my neck bristle and I feel a little nausea arise. I realize I am also crying a little.

            In a few minutes I am covered in shadow again, present and aware, still sweating, waiting for the return of the sun. In sunshine, I roll onto my back. At that moment, I realize what is happening to me. I am purging small painful knots of grief. The heart stone is pulling me fiercely toward it. Sun and stone hold me in place, in safety. I feel relief, a lightness I haven’t known in months. Be happy.

            Turtle’s heart stone drained me of some aspects of grief I had been struggling with the last few months. Specifically, Turtle relieved me of the remorse and regret that frequently overwhelmed me. Though mild, my depression lessened significantly after this day. Nature abhors a vacuum. My sorrow was replaced with love, Linda’s love, Turtle’s love, elemental love the springs from simply being, as Spirit just reminded me.

 Incredible 10-mile vista from Turtle effigy! That’s Big Muddy Lake in the middle distance, most summers a dry white bed of alkali but this wet year filled with blue water.

            I wait for the next shadow then stand a little unsteadily. As I thank Turtle for the generosity and comfort, I look down at the heart stone and, darkening the rocks, is my sweat. As it evaporates in the heat, I feel even lighter, freer, knowing I am leaving behind something I no longer need.

            I am leaving something else of me as well. The shape of my body is pressed into the tall grass growing out of and around the heart stone, my delicate effigy carved in grass, humble, unsubstantial. 

            How did this happen? These experiences are so site-specific that it is usually quite hard to reduce them to words. It is elemental. Earth, air, water are evident elements that exist in our bodies. Fire is somewhat different, more obscure. Often this refers to the fire that burns at 98.6 degrees within us but we are able to burn in other ways. Fire connects us to more evolved parts of ourselves.

            One aspect of shamanism is the ability to create, under certain circumstances, inner heat that radiates outward into the world. When combined with specific intent, our inner heat can burn away unwanted or unnecessary parts of us, purging them, healing us. That is what happened at Turtle that hot July afternoon.

            Humans have used burning grounds through the millennia as a way of cleansing ourselves. Sometimes Nature purges imperfections from our bodies with high fevers. From my power song and my open awareness, Turtle recognized what I needed to burn away and offered the means for that to happen. All I had to do was be present, aware and open in the burning ground and Spirit moved through me. The experience integrates the three basic elements of my being: physical contact (naked on the heart stone), mental settling (being present and open) and spiritual touching (purging the grief). Such a simple technique. Call it an inner technology.

            My role in this, besides grateful, present recipient, is to integrate those three parts into a whole and healthier thing called Reid Dickie. I’m up to the challenge.

DAY TRIPPING

NEUBERGTHAL

July 13, 2010

            Neubergthal is one of the best preserved single street Mennonite villages in North America. Located southeast of Altona, the tiny spot is part of the West Reserve set aside for Mennonites when they immigrated to Canada in the late 1800s.

          The outstanding features of Neubergthal are the eight intact housebarns aligned along the street, actually Provincial Road 421. The traditional building style shows characteristic Mennonite architecture with house and barn connected. In the 1990s, local people organized to save the buildings, many of them unique in Canada. Today a fully restored housebarn interpretive centre complete with a functioning Russian bake heater offer visitors a glimpse into a bygone era and lifestyle.

Leave a comment

Filed under Pioneer Village, Sacred Places, Saskatchewan, shaman, shamanism

120 Years Ago Today

SITTING BULL AND DANCING HORSE

 Reid Dickie

 December 15, 1890 

Sitting Bull’s Camp

Grand River, South Dakota 

            Commotion was his cue, his spur, his trigger. Gunfire, whoops, whistles and yells! Dancing Horse needed no other prompting. He began to perform his repertoire of tricks; the seven Bill Cody taught him and the two he learned by watching other horses. He was a smart horse who learned easily.

            Though it was the middle of a cold night and the years had slowed his gait, it all came back to Dancing Horse. As the air filled with noise and bullets whizzed around him, the horse pranced and danced, sat on his haunches and raised his front legs, waving, whinnying and shaking his mane. He cantered in a circle, stopped, backed up and cantered on, a curtsy, a bow and, his finale, a high wild buck accompanied by snorts and a long careening whinny. Then he started again.

            The horse was born to the circus. Bill Cody had gelded him himself and taught him tricks. Dancing Horse was the gift Buffalo Bill Cody gave Sitting Bull when Bull retired from the Wild West Show. He’d spent recent years on the quiet prairie with Sitting Bull, far from the cheering crowds.

            At the door of Sitting Bull’s log shack, melee built into frenzy. The holy man, now 60 summers old, lay propped half-naked against the doorframe, dying; his blood, loosened by two wounds, soaked into the snow. Sitting Bull’s spirit soared over the scene, its grief brief for the hard and desperate life just lived, now elated by the familiarity of death and the antics of Dancing Horse, moving like a white ghost in the snow below.

            Long after the fighting ended, as the prairie filled with mournful keening, Dancing Horse continued to perform, repeating his act over and over. The horse had danced through the mayhem without a single bullet hitting him.

            He did not perform for the incredulous and spooked Sioux who stared in awe. Dancing Horse had an audience of one. His old friend Sitting Bull watched long in delight, solely entertained by the horse’s show, then he turned and his spirit embraced The Light.

            As the first rays of dawn swept over the frozen land, Dancing Horse collapsed into the snow, exhausted. A little boy dressed in buckskin advanced toward him, extending a handful of sweetgrass.

September 6, 2002

 MESSENGER

Reid Dickie

December 15, 1890

Central Plains

                  Overhead Orion paused in mid hunt; half a moon lit the prairie snows. The Spirit, its message clear and urgent, rose from the shabby encampment on Grand River, the scene of the crime.

            Wearing only paint on his body, riding a horse with arrows and lightning bolts painted on its white flanks, the ghostly Messenger held a human skull on a stick. Half his face was red, half white, his heart was painted with a blue starburst and his body had wavy yellow lines running from foot to throat.

            Sailing through the clear cold air the Messenger traveled north over the rolling hills of Standing Rock Reservation to Cannonball River, the end of Hunkpapa land. Every tiny cluster of tipis with warm dreamers inside in the camps of Thunderhawk and John Grass got the news as they slept. Some awoke keening in grief.

            The Messenger turned south, crossed over the Grand River in a single bound and headed toward Cheyenne River Reservation, home to the Minneconjou. In his dream, Yellow Bird, the medicine man received the news with a jolt, grabbed his rattle and woke the camp. It was nearing dawn but still dark and cold as Kicking Bear, the high priest of the Ghost Dance, his wife Woodpecker Woman, and all the Minneconjou were informed.  Further on, the camps of White Swan, Bear Eagle and Hump were next to be grief stricken. Off the reservation, the camps of Touch the Clouds and Red Shirt received word.

            The ghost Messenger leapt the Cheyenne River and flew southwest toward Pine Ridge Reservation. Passing over Bad River, through the eerie Badlands past Castle Butte and a leap over White River got him to Pine Ridge and the camps at the headwaters of White River. Black Elk, the mystical shaman of the tribe, received the news and told the Oglala chiefs Red Cloud and American Horse. Ghost Dance priest Good Thunder immediately began to beat a hide drum and chant.

             Spirit Messenger turned eastward just as dawn was blemishing the blackness. A leap over Pass Creek, through coulees and around buttes and Two Strike’s camp was informed; the ghost dancers Short Bull, Mash-The-Kettle and Plenty Horses began to paint their bodies with grieving symbols.

            By the time the sun rose, the Great Plains was lit with grief. As far west as Tongue River Reservation in Montana, Wind River Reservation in Wyoming, and as far south as the Kiowa Reservation in central Oklahoma – they all knew what had happened. Even the people of Walker River Reservation in western Nevada, home to visionary Wovoka who brought the Ghost Dance to the people, knew.

            Except Orion, no one saw the ghostly figure riding the strange awkward horse but they all reported his message with sad accuracy:

“Sitting Bull is dead.”

 September 9/02

 

 

1 Comment

Filed under shaman, Spirit