JOURNEY HOME.
The bright yellow sun hung lazily in the noonday sky. The shimmering heat stopped all but the foolhardy from venturing forth beneath its intense glare. In the distance a dust cloud rose and then fell as a mild breeze swept lazily across the vast open spaces of the plains. The sky above was blue and cloudless. There was no shade from the relentless heat that baked the ground as hard as stone, the force of which then split it open like an over ripe melon, leaving behind gaping scars as evidence of the suffering that the earth underwent during this time.
Nothing stirred for days on end. No strong winds blew and no clouds appeared. No animals seemed to roam across the plains in search of food or water. For any animal that had failed to find these essential sources of life, before the coming of the fierce summer sun, were already laid out upon the sweltering floor of the plains. Their dead bodies wasted away, their bones bleached white, for this was a harsh time. A time when only the strong would survive.
There resided a profound and heavy silence over this vast area of land like a shroud, a cloak that covered both the living and the dead. Nothing moved beneath the blazing yellow disk therefore nothing could produce sound. It seemed as if the world had come to an end. And yet there was life. A few plants and flowers, with their roots tunnelled far beneath the ground, grew in spite of the heat. Animals driven below ground during the hottest parts of the day braved the first early light of the morning, and cooling evening periods, when they would scamper around in the failing light hoping to find a fresh carcass upon which to feed.
Day after day the heat continued to sap the strength of the earth below. Mighty rivers fed by the distant Black Hills, and other mountain ranges far away, also lost their life force to the heat. They weakened and in time they were no more. The flat riverbeds became as hard baked as the surrounding banks and flat lands around them.
It was towards the end of this cycle of intense heat, when the animals of the lands began sensing that the weather was about to change and their suffering brought to an end, that a curious happening took place. A single Human Being appeared. He seemed undeterred and unafraid of the heat that was still capable of rendering death and desolation upon the earth. He walked slowly across the land, his eyes surveying all before him. Every now and again he would stop. Then taking a container from his pocket he would raise it to his lips and drink the cool refreshing water that it contained. Once refreshed he would then continue on his slow journey across the land.
Although this was the first time that his eyes had ever seen the colours that now surrounded him, this Human Being knew that he was home, knew that he was now walking upon the sacred land of his forefathers. His heart was filled with untold joy at having finally reached his destination. It had taken him a lifetime to achieve but now he felt an overpowering sense of being. He hoped that the light breeze that seemed to welcome him, caressing his cheek like an old friend, would also carry the news of his arrival to others so that they might in turn come to know, and enjoy, the purpose of his journey home.
As the sun began its descent towards the earth the lone figure decided that now was the right time to speak. To introduce himself to those around him, the earth, the wind, the sky, and the lands that he so loved. Finding a suitable position he held his arms far out at his sides and looking up towards the clear blue yonder he cried.
“Behold for I have come! I send heartfelt greetings to all my brothers and sisters of the past. I give thanks to the Great Spirit for allowing me this day, and for guiding me on my journey home, and thank him for making me a Lakota!”
The sound was carried far away from where the man now spoke. And in uttering these words, in a tongue, which was in fact foreign to his native ears, he was showing great respect and understanding to the customs and religion of those that he now hoped to visit with. For the language that he spoke so fluently belonged to another time, and place that he had only ever seen either in books or else in visions.
His words were carried high into the sky until they reached the Place of Souls and where the spirits of the Lakota people could hear them. It was decided that they would, with one voice, welcome their spiritual brother on his journey home.
“They know that you are here my brother.” The voice that now spoke to the Human Being was one that he was familiar with for he had heard many times before. It belonged to his Spirit Helper. When the man turned around he saw before him, glowing brightly in the dying rays of the sun, a beautiful golden eagle standing proudly upon the ground before him. “Can you feel their words my brother? Do not listen with your ears but listen with your heart for their words are being carried to you upon the wind.”
“I feel them my brother.” The man whispered as the wind caressed his body and soul.
“They send greetings from the past,” the Golden Eagle explained, “and they want me to tell you that their hearts soar high in the sky because you have remembered them and have carried them in your own heart. They know that you will carry their past deeds with you always, and that you will keep their spirit alive by teaching others of their past actions and deeds, and regale their brave exploits upon the field of battle. Now there is one amongst them, whose name must remain unspoken for that is our way, who wants to send you a special greeting. From one Oglala Lakota to another he says you and he will always be brothers.”
“My heart soars high because of his words.” The man replied.
“They know you have travelled far to be with them today,” the Golden Eagle continued, “that you have crossed the wide waters from the Grandmother country. They know also about the big thunderbird that carried you here within its iron belly. And they know the contents of your heart.” Again the wind blew and the Golden Eagle paused as if to listen. “They ask that you now bare your feet.” The eagle waited until this was done. “So tell me my brother what do you feel.”
“I feel...” The man closed his eyes as he allowed himself to become as one with the earth, “the rise and fall of the earth, as if it were breathing. The warmth from the ground is now spreading upwards throughout my body. It feels as if the earth is rushing up through my entire body as if to welcome me. It feels as if the earth wants to show me the sacred paths. It is allowing me the honour of feeling a part of everything that I have seen and touched during my time here.”
“Then you have been truly blessed my brother.” Said the eagle with some pride. “Now the wind is asking for you to remove your shirt.”
This the man did without hesitation or question. Standing bare chested he then faced the bright red disc of the dying sun as it fell back towards the distant horizon. Closing his eyes again the man then felt the wind upon his body. The sensation of which felt as if many hands were reaching out though the passage of time and touching him. At first there was total silence but then, on the crest of the wind, he thought he heard a voice or maybe many voices? It sounded as if something was calling out a name. He listened with all his heart and soul and slowly the sound could finally be heard.
“Stephen!” The wind called softly.
This name belonged to the one who stood listening. And now in this time and place he could hear it being called from across the ages. From a distant time and place the souls of those that he had grown to love and admire were now recognizing him as one of their own. They were calling out to him and him alone. It filled his heart with untold joy.
“Greetings my brothers.” Stephen called back. “And thank you for allowing me this day.”
The wind ebbed and died and, after offering up a special prayer to the Great Spirit, Stephen opened his eyes and watched as the sun slowly sank below the horizon. The land now fell dark as he quickly replaced his shirt and his shoes. Before heading back towards the highway, where the bus to take him to his hotel was waiting, he thanked his Spirit Helper for guiding him once again. Finally he watched as the Golden Eagle rose majestically into the air before disappearing into the blackness of the night.
As he neared the road he thought he heard the faint sound of singing coming from far away in the distance. He turned to look back over his shoulders and in the darkness of the night he thought he saw the flickering yellow flames of a campfire far away in the distance. Thrown out by the light he thought he could make out the shadows of dancers, prancing and leaping about to the sound of a drum. The beat of the drum soon reached his ears. The drum beat out a steady and hypnotic rhythm much like the pounding of his heart.
The bus was ready to leave the rest area when Stephen arrived back at the pickup point. He quickly climbed aboard and as the bus pulled away, accelerating away down the long smooth surface of the highway, he happened to glance once more out of the window. He could see nothing but the blackness that engulfed the world outside. As he was about to turn his head away from the window he happened to spy, out of the corner of his eyes, in the peripheral of his vision, and reflected upon the flat smooth surface of the window, the unmistakable face of someone that he knew.
This face had never before been depicted in a photograph or even a drawing. Many false images had been made of it by those claiming to have seen him, and drawn by those who never had, but none had produced a true likeness. And yet within the silence of the night Stephen knew in his heart that he had been blessed with a visit from Tashunka Witko.
The Oglala war chief who had made his name at the battle of the Little Big Horn when Yellow Hair and the 7th Cavalry had been made to pay the ultimate price for all the death and destruction that they had once brought to the lands outside. Stephen closed his eyes and silently offered up a prayer to the Great Spirit for allowing him this vision. When he opened his eyes again he knew that the image had gone before he even looked.
As the greyhound bus continued on its journey through the heartlands that is the Black Hills country, it was watched over by those in the Place of Souls. For these spirits of the past stand guard for all eternity, in their valiant attempts to both protect and honour this most sacred of lands and its people. They are also there to act as guides for all true Human Beings who happen to make their way back to their long lost homelands once more.
