Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Be Humble Be Graceful and Listen


It has been 2 months since my experience on the Hopi Indian Reservation on Easter Sunday 2011.  I write this story with a deep reverence in my heart, respect for all of those involved and as with all posts associated with the Diamond Mind, with LOVE for each of my fellow human beings. What I experience in my life is sacred and I view it that way.  The lessons brought to me are reminders and since I am a writer, it is important that what I write has the ability to reach those whom the lessons were mutually gathered for.  In this time, the lessons are for all to hear.  In the blessing way, I call in the grandmothers and grandfathers and all of my spirit guides to guide me in the proper delivery of this particular story. I also ask for protection of myself, those who are mentioned and unmentioned in this story...ohm namah shivaya. Give thanks for all that we do have in our lives, for there are many who aren't as fortunate and many who do not consider what we "have" as fortunate at all.


It was Easter week-end and my dear friends birthday.  We decided to hike to Alter Rock located behind the famous and majestic Chapel located behind our neighborhood in Sedona, Arizona. Four men and myself arrived at the Earth Alter and sat for a few moments in prayer. The wind became ferocious and whipped across us with a strength that reminds me of that the ancestors are present. While living in Hawaii I was told on multiple occasions that when one comes  to a place and the wind comes up like this that it means the ancestors are letting you know that they are near.  I do not take this as a warning usually, more as a sign of confirmation and a show of the strength of many spirits.  I knelt down and so did my friends with me. Guided by the voice of spirit through my prayer, I was told to go gather many wildflowers and to do heart chakra openings with all of the men present on the hike. I didnt even know what that meant in the moment. 


It was my friend Jon's birthday, so I went to him first and knelt in front of him having no idea what I was going to do or say and like magic spirit began to move through me, guiding me into an offering.  I filled my hands with the wildflowers, put my hands over his heart and looked into his eyes.  I thanked him for being present on this Earth in this time of great changes and thanked him for his good heart and disposition with women. I asked for forgiveness on behalf of all of the women on the planet for any hurt or abuse that anyone may have put onto him and all men.  I made prayer that we would again only look at each other with compassion and love and be moved to act only upon each other in this way.  I told him the story of Japan and their flower rituals, where flowers are placed on the chest during healing to collect any unwanted energy associated with trauma to the heart and that when one allows the flowers to fall away, so does the unwanted energy associated with hard memories...and then I let the ancestors rip the flowers away and back into nature. I did this ritual with each man and each man wept, or embraced me, thanked me and blessed me in return.  We gleefully returned to the trail and began our trek home. On the way down one of the men asked me if I would be going to visit the Hopi with them tomorrow and insisted that I must go. This was news to me and with great surprise I asked how they had been invited to visit the Hopi on Easter Sunday and what was the occasion?  He assured me that we had indeed been invited to participate in some ceremony and that it was all worked out and said again that I must attend! 


All but the man who had the birthday were gathered at our home for a meeting of folks whom believe that they are directly in touch with extra-terrestrial consciousness and are on a mission to join together, perform ceremony and open star-gates around the planet.  Our home hosted many meetings and was a social gathering place and so as this was not my fervent passion I always take the opportunity to experience and listen and gain knowledge to share with others, as I am a story teller and myth, legend and the human spirit is my passion.    I approached the leader of the group whom was also staying at our home and inquired about the journey, asked if we were bringing gifts and if I could attend. He agreed that I could come and that their was an invitation. I went on with cooking my dinner astounded at what we were setting out to do tomorrow. 

We arose early, gathered a four car caravan and headed north about 3 hours.  What I had not anticipated was the abrupt stops made to "activate" certain sites along the way with ceremonial circles.  After the last abrupt stop which nearly got all of us in a wreck the members of the group ran out into the field following their leader and began to circle up. I followed quickly and got into circle, not understanding what we were gathered there to do.  It soon became obvious to me that I was one of only a few others who did not know.  So, I put my hands out in a receiving position at my sides, closed my eyes and began to meditate on the golden pink frequency of love and compassion. I did this mainly because the leader was speaking in loud harsh tones that appeared to make everyone there a bit nervous and un-grounded. I consider myself pretty aware and versed in ceremony having sat in sacred circles now for more than half my life.  But, this one was not like any other circle I had experienced.  I could hear the man yelling and I could feel him moving within the middle of the circle.  I suddenly realized after just seconds of me standing there that he was yelling at me and very close to my face. He had pulled off his sunglasses telling me to "look him in the eyes"!  I am omitting all names here as I do have respect for everyone involved, although I do not hold the same beliefs.  I looked him in the eyes aright, threw my hands up and turned on my heel and stood about 30 feet back, still with the intention of holding space for this circle.  I could tell that he was fairly unnerved by my reaction, but in all honesty, that was the most respectful thing that I could do. 


The leader then began to howl in a language channeled to him through his extraterrestrial lineage with a large wand in his hand, shouting at the heavens and then ramming the rod into the earth like Thor's lightning bolt. From what I could tell the group was moving energy, following his lead and using visualization, the movement of their breath and bodies to create a source of energy to be used for the purpose of the ceremony.  I did not resonate with this and was happy to leave the field and get back in the car.


Two of the men who were with me on the hike the day before apologized to me and asked if I was alright. I said yes, nothing was going to ruin my experience visiting the Hopi and that it wasn't anyone else's fault that the leader did not know how to treat people.  We swiftly got back on the road and carried on.  I suddenly became aware that I may have misinterpreted the situation and I heard the man who talks to me from the realm of spirit say, "Maggie,  do not go anywhere you are not invited...you are welcome with me, where ever I take you, but dont you ever go onto the reservation and knock on a door and think you will be welcome there."  These are real words spoken to me years ago when I was studying anthropology in college.  And BOOM! I took a deep breath and swallowed hard and realized that I may be in for more of an experience than I had bargained for. 


We reached the lower lands of the reservation.  It was desolate, impoverished to first world standards, simple, and covered completely in the red clay that covers everything in this desert.  And again I became very aware of our presence in someone else's place.  I became aware of the BMW and the smart car and the erratic driving, and of our clothing...and of the arrogance of the man who was leading us into this place. I became aware and overwhelmed at the same time. I zipped up my black hooded sweatshirt in an act of protection.  Our cars climbed the side of the mesa and soon we reached the top.  All along this narrow road there were signs stating that there was no cameras allowed.  There were many cars parked jam-packed along the roadway. We reached the top of the mesa following many cars with no sign of any parking ahead.  


This was a different kind of place.  The Rez is a different kind of place.  Most people have never been to an Indian reservation. In fact, most people have no idea that there are villages that exist this way in their own country. Things change so quickly by trends, stock-markets and simple desire in Western societies that most of us have no ability to consider that in some places almost nothing has changed in over a century. The reservation was no new news to me.  Again, everything was covered in the red dust.  There was little to no foliage anywhere, not a small bit of sage or even a sticker bush. No new cars, or pools, or lawns, or jungle gyms or paved driveways. The reservation had a lot of simple things and discarded things. Small pueblo style homes rose from the dust like pictures from a National Geographic Magazine, except pictures were not allowed here. We were on a mesa vaulted hundreds of feet up from the desert floor. Children gathered at the feet of parents who sat near small grills or tables selling burgers and katchina dolls.  The sky was blue with some clouds, but it was a nice warm day. I had jumped out of the car I rode there in prematurely to be a patron, purchase a burger and allow the group to disperse a bit as I was unsure that I wanted to be grouped up with the lot of them.  I went to sit near a cliff to eat my purchased burger and a Hopi couple came to me and told me I was not supposed to sit there. I apologized quickly thinking that I was in their space and they did not want me there, but that was not the reason.  They told me that it was not a good idea to sit at the edge of the cliff because the Katchina spirits were around and about and they made it sound like the act was of minor disrespect.  They asked me why I was there and I said that I had come with a group that was invited there. They informed me that it was a very special day and that I should be lucky to be there to watch their special dance.  I was grateful and agreed that I would like to get to watching the dance.  The couple directed me to climb a nearby latter to the roof to watch the dance with the rest of the village.  This roof surrounded a full plaza and under it were many peoples homes.

  
I sat down at the edge of the flat roof surrounded by Hopi families.  There appeared to be about 400 people present.  I was one of about 25 people present who weren't Hopi and I had come with about 20 of them!  I sat on the side of the building opposite the plaza from where the group I came with would eventually gather. There were many men in full costume walking around the village.  They really looked like living full-sized Katchina dolls and as far as I could tell they were in full personification of these gods. There were numerous baskets full of food in the middle of the plaza and the gods were taking the baskets and handing them out to the people.  I interpreted the act like this was some sort of a ceremony to insure that the crops would be good for the up-coming harvest.  Like paying it forward by giving out food before the ceremonial dance.  I watched the food being given out and I did not expect to be given anything, because I was obviously an outsider and I knew that all of their resources were cherished and needed.



 I watched patiently until finally one of the Katchina gods with lots of feathers around his mask and dressed in a while kilt with a wreath made of what looked to be like an arborvida around his neck, came and stood underneath of me and looked right up at me with something in his hand. I opened my hands and smiled and he nodded and tossed me an apple.  This particular apple was significant to me right away because upon it was a little sticker with the infamous Trout/Blue Chelan label on it.  Meaning it was grown in the town I am from and where my family has lived for over 120 years. I knew that this was special and I did not eat it right away, I turned to the man standing next to me and told him it was from my home town, he said "right on" and gave me a grin. I quickly put it in my pack and smiling big kept watching the ceremony. All of the food had been given out and I noticed that there were 50-75 of the katchina gods in the center of the village, to my right was another building right across from the squared in plaza that has a ladder going down into the roof and into a home.  the ladder was huge and must have been 25 feet long. I saw the katchinas going up and down it and I thought that it must represent or be a kiva. The dance had started and was a low stomp and hum sort of rhythm. I watched this for well over an hour when all of the sudden I realized that it was raining and huge rain drops were falling from the sky completely drenching my very thin silk skirt. I was at a ceremony where the people are gathering, dancing and praying for the rain and like a miracle the clouds gathered up in the middle of the four corners region of Arizona and began to just dump buckets of rain down on us from the heavens!  I had only read about events like this in books up until that moment. This was a special time for me personally.  I felt such immense gratefulness to the village for allowing me be there to share in this experience with them.  My eyes filled with tears of joy and pure thankful astonishment.  I took my journal into my hands and wrote how grateful I was to be there on that day and to be witness to such a miracle. The men kept dancing and chanting.  The rains fell hard for 20 minutes and continued on and off through out the rest of the day.
  
There was a small raucous behind me and I noticed that one of the dancers had climbed the ladder and was coming towards me.  He had on white pants with a white kilt over the top.  He was bare foot and bare chested with a ruddy brown mud rubbed all over his skin.  He had on a black and white mask with long black hair that came from the jawline of the mask.  He never stopped dancing and he came straight over to me and began addressing me in the Hopi language which I was not familiar with.  One of the men standing close to me told me that he wanted to know if I had been taking pictures and if I had a camera.  I said that I would not disrespect them in that way and that I was merely there to watch and observe the dance.  The clown saw my journal sticking out of my pack and asked what it was. I reported that I kept a journal . They asked if I was drawing pictures in it of their ceremony.  I reported that I had not and that I only write poetry in it and that it is like a diary of sorts. The Hopi man interpreting for me told the Hopi god that there had been a mistake and that he had seen me just writing, not drawing.  The Katchina clown insisted that I allow him to see it.  So, I handed it over, he flipped through the pages quickly and carelessly and took off with it back down the ladder.  I was flabbergasted. I was shaken and slightly damaged by the interaction. I looked at the same man who I had showed the apple to and he said, "were you drawing pictures?", and I said "no, I was just writing about how grateful I was to be in such a special place on such a special day".  I told the man that I would love to have my journal back and how special my writings were to me and asked him if he could try to get it back.  He agreed to do it and came back about 20 minutes later with the book.  He instructed me to put it in my pack and to write after I left the reservation.  



Another 10 minutes passed and again there was someone beneath me beckoning me with their eyes and clasped hands. It was a little boy who could have been no older than 8 years old. He made eye contact with me and launched a small bundle to me. It was a piece of paper wrapped around a rock.  The paper had words on it; my words and my writing. The rock was lighter than most and deep black. The little boy had returned one of the pages torn out of my journal. "How peculiar" I thought. I did not examine the page or the rock before I stuffed it in my bag. 


Soon after the dancing clown returned and more people gathered around me and the clown.  One of the people said I should go because I didnt want to make the gods angry.  I insisted that I was so appreciative of being there and I only came in respect.  I noticed the other non-Hopi people were gone below me. A drunken man in his 60's approached me and and told me I had been asked to leave again because they were still stuck on the camera thing. My eyes welled with tears.  I had been carrying this ridiculously large smudge bundle around all day.  My friend in Ojai had given it to me a few weeks prior as a travel gift straight from her garden.  It was at least 35" long.  I had tried to give it to the dancing clown god, but he looked at me like he had no idea what it was, so I handed it to the old man and followed him down off the roof.


He told me not to cry, in fact he begged me to stop. He said that there had been a misunderstanding and he could see that I was a good person by looking into my eyes.  He told me he was coyote clan and told him that I was mountain lion clan.  He kept pounding his fist to his chest saying that he took responsibility for me and that anyone who had a problem with me would talk to him.  That I was invited to be there by him and that the reason that they thought I was the one with the camera was because no one was taking responsibility for me. He tried to lead me back to the dance.  As we were walking back, the dancing clown re-appeared and pointed towards the road out.  The man looked at me and said, "wow, he really wants you to go".  He continued to lead me back into the village, but by this time I was sick to my stomach with it.  I told him that I do not do anything out of disrespect, especially here on this land and that I would appreciate it if he would just help me to locate where my group had parked their cars.  


The old man ended up leaving me there by the edge of a building and I sank down, my back against the wall and I began to weep silently staring at the ground.  I allowed self-sorrow to  engulf me for about 2 minutes until the rains began to fall again and I got up, pulled my hoodie over my head, strapped on my little blue back-pack and began to walk into the maze of low-roofed ancient homes with ally ways half the width of a normal doorway.  I wandered, I looked in every nook and cranny for a car that resembled the one I came in. No luck.  I came to the end of the road where a low built and very old stone wall also came to an end.  I sat at the edge of the village, at the edge of the wall, on the edge of the mesa, where the mesa walls dropped straight down.  There was one way in and one way off that mesa. I listened, I watched, and my mind battles meditation, as all my senses became electrified, waiting to hear a familiar voice or a car that was a match rolling behind me. One hour passed and then another. I stared out over this cliff, over the simple reservation village and passed it all to what appeared to be a mountain range.  I could see for miles in every direction.  Moments came and went where I felt exiled and strange past life like memories began to swirl in my head.  I could smell the dank smell of wet land and urine rising up to me from the ground far below.  There was garbage poured over the edges of the mesa and I did not feel disgust as I knew there was really no where else to throw unwanted things and that this had been the way for many years before much of our food products came in plastic wrappers.  


I contemplated why this was happening and the heavy rains kept coming over me and the winds howled and whipped my face harshly.  I was cold, but I felt extremely alive. My tears mixed with the rain and I felt that I was being purified by the heavens. I knew from the moment the clown first approached me that this event was not personal.  That I being white had to take responsibility for my choice of walking onto a reservation on a sacred day and I knew the consequences of this action more that any other person in the group.  I never took the turn of events personally, but I did take personal responsibility for how I chose to react while in the situation. I knew that what I was experiencing was a direct reaction of hundreds of years of inappropriate contact and disrespect by the impetuous culture I belonged to. I have known this my whole life, considered it my whole life, felt embarrassed by my white skin and the sick behavior of my western culture on multiple instances. 


Apologies fix nothing. Praying for forgiveness fixes nothing.  Recognizing our egocentric behaviors and changing the way we act and treat people changes everything, at least within ourselves. The garish and accusatory behavior of the clown was not justifiable, but I cultivated forgiveness for it immediately. Knowing that this was not a karmic responsibility that I was experiencing because of my own actions, the actions of my family, or the actions necessarily of the people I came with.  This experience falls into what I have described in the past as group karma, or karma that we all experience because of the societal group that we are a part of.  This karma or reaction can only be changed by altering our own behaviors and beliefs to represent a better way.  It happens one person at a time and we teach and encourage evolution in others by example. I was learning a lot today and some of it felt harsh. 


I heard someone behind me and I turned around.  It was a man with long thick dark hair who appeared to be within my age range. He said, "Hey, are you okay, you aren't going to jump are you?", as he nodded towards the edge of the cliff I sat upon. I nodded no.  "You having boyfriend problems or something, why do you look so sad"?  I laughed and I said, "its not like that, I was asked to leave the dance because someone there was taking pictures and I have too much respect to go back."  His smile turned upside down and he grumbled, "that sucks, hmmmph...well do you like cupcakes?"  I grinned big and replied sweetly, "of course I like cupcakes".


He motioned for me to follow him into his house and told me I could meet his family.  They all greeted me with smiles and looked happy to see a nice girl walk through the door.  They sat around a painted picnic bench in what was the simplest home I have ever been in.  It was all one room and there was no sign of a bed, only blankets stacked on a couch. There was a small old fridge to my left, a stove to my right, a garbage can that was very full behind me and something beside me that I had never seen before.  It smelled just like the cliff.  It was a real piss pot with pieces of feces floating in it.  Strangely, I was not surprised.  Immediately the man who led me in and introduced himself to me as 'Champ' was offering me a cupcake with pink frosting.  I was hungry and thankful and I ate it.  Then one of the men from the picnic table got up and came to me with a few ears of corn on the cob and offered me one telling me it was a traditional food for the day.  I accepted it too and ate the item with thanks knowing that these were gifts. Then came the cool-aid, the cracker-jacks and an already half eaten snickers bar. 


After a bit, one of the men piped up and said, "you were the girl who showed me the apple, I remember you". He reiterated the story, reminding me that he had also retrieved my journal for me. I felt that he had watched out for me in a way and again my gratitude for his presence that day was immense. These men told me many stories and apologized for what happened to me and like the old man, they kept saying it was a misunderstanding. They did not seem to look at me like I had been exiled or cast out by the gods. This was a perspective and I was beginning to believe I was the only one who had it.  Every time I began to talk about it my eyes welled up with tears and they did not like that at all.  They told me today was a happy day full of good prayers and that it was not a good thing to feel sad. The men were getting antsy and told me that they were ready to go back to the dance.  I was invited again. Turning them down knowing I should sit and wait for my friends.  It had been hours and I was afraid that somehow they had slipped by me and that I would have to hitch a ride down the mesa, off the reservation and back down to Sedona.  The very idea intimidated me.  I asked Champ to look for my friends and to let them know that I was waiting for a lift at the bottom of the road.  Champ told me I could sit and wait for his auntie and niece and that they were very nice.  I sat on the porch waiting for a number of things to happen.  Auntie and her granddaughter came first.  She looked at me as if to say, "what is this"?  I reached out my hand and introduced myself explaining that champ had let me sit and wait on the porch for my friends.  He came back for just a minute and re-introduced me.  All of them insisted that I go back into the house and I could not reason out of their wishes. 


Auntie got to making rows and rows of tacos.  She made two full pans that held at least 80 tacos together.  I looked around and noticed that the walls were completely bare.  There were no pictures, no fetishes, no extra items a all.  What they did have was a very beautiful antique wood stove and an oven, both for cooking and heating water.  It seemed to me that there was little besides food that was kept.  Auntie began to speak to me.  She told me of her youth on the reservation and how she had moved to Berkeley when she was young for college.  She remembered looking out of her window there and seeing the city sprawl.  She said just looking at it was enough to move her back to the reservation. She had come back and left there very little. 


"Do you see what is out there?" she said. "Juss dust, no plants, nothing grows here because there is so little water." her eyes squinched up as she looked at me over her glasses.  "Do you know many of us still hike down the hill to the well and take buckets to our crops? Cus that is all we have. We don't have nothing else but our crops.  Yesterday we put our seeds in the ground, but we began praying for rain and making food for this day weeks ago.  As we make the food we are praying for the crops to grow.  In everything we do for weeks before the dance is a prayer for rain and fertility of the land. When people come here they don't realize that these dances, and our food and our prayer is all we have.  We have tried to allow non-Hopi people to come and watch our dance, but someone always chooses to dis-respect us by bringing cameras. For them it is what they do on Sunday, like some form of entertainment. This dance is not for entertainment. This dance is all we have and all of us are praying really hard, our focus is on our prayer for the rain and just by being non-Hopi here you are a distraction to our prayers. We feel like we have to look after you, because most of the time when there are non-Hopi around stuff happens.  The police who come here are very strict.  We want to let outsiders come watch, but there are too many misunderstandings and it is a distraction from the importance of this day."  She looked up at me again over a pan of well-made tacos with tears in her eyes and I looked right back at her hard with tears in my eyes and I said, "I am so sorry".  


"Did you see it rain?" she asked.  


"Yes, it was the most amazing thing I have ever seen, the way the clouds gathered up and dropped those huge raindrops in the middle of the desert.  I didn't expect it.  I am so grateful to have been able to see what parts of the dance I did." and with that I smiled at her.  


Just then Champ walked in and told me that he had found my friends and one of them was on their way to get me. I hugged everyone and thanked them very much for sharing time and being kind to me. It really had made all of the difference in the world.  I followed my friend back to the group and then we all walked down off the mesa together to a lower lot I hadn't noticed on the drive up.  Everybody's energy was a little off. I kept a smile on my face as a natural defense, because I had not assimilated what had actually happened, yet. My whole body felt on edge and electrified. I was grateful that I had a ride home. My room-mate turned to me and said "I have been looking for you for three hours".  


(I'll call the alien occult team leader, Byron) Apparently Byron had told everyone that he thought I had run off to pout and make a scene to cause drama for our group at the dance. And it appeared like he had almost convinced everyone that I deserved to be left there to find my own ride home.  I felt a tinge of disappointment in  my guts and in the tear ducts of my eyes.  I was scolded and told that all of this happened because I separated myself from the group and we needed to learn to stick together.  It later came out that they also were asked to leave the the roof-top vista, because they were thought to have been snapping pictures, too.  I felt badly that they many of the members of the group were affected by their leaders assumptions and accusations about me. After all we had all been affected by whomever was there taking the pictures on that day and on any other day, as well. 


The two men who apologized to me before apologized to me again; one of them pulling me aside and telling me he wouldn't have left me there and no one could have convinced him to have done so. I was grateful for the kindnesses of those in the group who had taken the time to look into my eyes.  I was grateful to the old man who led me away and to the little boy who tossed me the bundle. I was grateful for the cupcake, the corn, the cool-aid and the crackerjacks. I was grateful for the Katchina god that came to stand below me, sensing something deeper or maybe not, and then blessed me with the apple.  I was grateful to the family who had invited me in their home and to the Auntie who gave me the valuable lesson to share.  When I was safely on the road and driving off the mesa I opened my pack and pulled out the apple and the bundle the small boy had tossed me.  


I noticed right away that the rock was special and like I mentioned before there was nothing but dust that was left laying on the grounds atop the mesa.  Everything there was brought there. I remembered being in a jewelry store a few weeks prior and a man showing me a Hopi snake fetish made of a very special stone that he said was particular to the Hopi carvers called jet. It was light and felt like plastic or coal and the $800 price tag didn't seem to be fitting of a resin composite art piece. He assured me it was a special stone batting down my disbelief. And now I had a large diamond shaped chunk of it covered in red mud in my hands. I read the torn out page wrapped around the stone again. Some of the content is of a private nature otherwise I would recite it here. The page had a tone and a weight to it and anyone who read it definitely could glimpse into my heart and into my soul. It meant something to me that it had been given back, regardless of the content.  And the rock I later found out is for healing sorrow associated with old karma, protection against evil, harm and spiritual possession.  It is a burial stone for safe passage in the after-life. It is also said to be able to create an electric current when rubbed. I felt blessed for having it and I have kept it with me every day since. 


An elder Hopi lady came with us for a drive to the famed prophecy rock.  Songs were song and one of the girls from the group came and held my hand.  Byron had obviously been rattled and he stood behind the group alone.  I think we all had a lot on our minds after that day, I know I did. I have thought back on the symbolism and deeper meaning of this experience many times realizing that I will have many layers and much to learn from telling this story.  It had been a good day. I was grateful to be watching this little grandmother chanting, even if the extraterrestrials had paid her to be our tour guide for the evening. We stopped by one other special rock, too.  It reminded me of many of the standing stones in Ireland. These places were old places.  Places most people never get to go. I felt that the ancestors were looking over my shoulders and walking with me while I was there, perhaps even giggling a little bit.  




Magnolia May Polley copyright 2011









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