Wi Wanyang Wacipi—Sundance Lessons

Laurelyn Baker

It is hard to imagine what people confined to concentration camps (known by their other name “reservations”) had to go through in order to avoid the watchful and punishing eyes of religious, governmental and military agents employed to eliminate their traditional ways at any cost. Yet they persevered. They continued drumming and dancing, facing the Sun. The extreme sacrifices of the old ones enabled us to hang on until today. The marrow in my bones still remembers the decimated villages, the forcible abandonment of our native tongue, and the attack on our lifeways, including a dismissal of our deep communication with the more-than- human world. Because of the sacrifices of our ancestors, our life is worth living now. Yet these days we have renewed fears of government surveillance. The words “fascism” and “authoritarianism” are now being spoken.

The lessons I seek to bring forward here from Sundance are both practical and spiritual. I will do my best to describe what occurs, although the core essence of what takes place at summer Sundances is beyond words, and some of its more esoteric aspects are forbidden to share.

The physical deprivation of going without our usual comforts of food and water is easy enough to imagine. Being exposed to the blistering hot afternoons that follow the bone chilling predawn lineup is also understandable. The experience of surviving prolonged periods of deprivation under the auspices of a carefully guarded ceremony is great preparation for the emergencies that we frequently hear of in the news these days. I pray that my experience may serve to inspire people to think outside the box when deciding the best method of resistance to wage against the many harmful changes that are happening today.

The Magic of a Sundance

A Sundance is not easy to explain. The tree at the center of the arbor keeps us alive by sending lines of invisible life-giving energy to those tied to its trunk with long prayer filled ropes. This may sound weird and incomprehensible, but I have witnessed this, and other mysterious phenomena like it. Once an iridescent copper dragonfly appeared at high noon to land on a prayer bundle tied to a stick right in front of my constantly moving feet. Another time this same ancient winged one became a vision, bringing me a sip of invisible nectar in a tiny silver bucket to slake my thirst. The days and nights are filled with encounters like this that will never be put into words. But they made me feel blessed and protected.

The Sundance continues to support me long after the dance is over. There have been many times throughout my life when I needed strength, and .unexpectedly, the vision of the Sacred Sundance Tree appears, shining in the full sun. It appears in my visions exactly like it was seen all those years ago, shining through the feathers of my eagle feather fan when I held it up to shade my eyes. I can feel the beat of the drum keeping pace with my heart. I can picture the leaves, ties and flags shimmering along with the shrill eagle bone whistles, and I am reenergized to carry on.

Recently a day of watching too much news caused me to awaken at 3:00 am in a panic. It is during these times when it is especially good to recall the teachings. I can draw upon those nights on the Sundance grounds when a different kind of dance with uncertainty—brought by the Wakinyan Thunder Beings—tested us. This tends to happen at some point, usually after a day or two of stirring the energies. The walls of the tipi light up with a previously unimaginable number of perceived opportunities to be struck by lightning. The constant booming call of their awe inspiring voice is in synch with their strikes indicating a unique type of message from the skies. It is close. We hold firm. We reassure each other that this is just a confirmation of our prayers being heard and that we will be safe. Wakinyan bring a blessing that makes one aware of the supernatural protection of the Medicine People conducting the dance who watch over us as they communicate with Spirit Beings. No matter what disappointing messages the government and media send, I am not worn down with hopelessness; I know there are larger forces at play that will prevail.

My Anishinaabe ancestors were famous for making big life decisions individually and as a tribe based on ceremonial visions and nightly dreams. I dreamed last night that I was in the ocean surfing. I knew I had never learned and felt the rush of panic rise as I looked at the waves. One was coming toward me from the right and another from the left. The dream afforded me enough lucidity to know that this was an unusual wave pattern. I noticed there was a surfboard under my feet, and while I had not yet learned to surf, I knew it was possible for me to learn. I jumped on the board and took a deep breath, bracing myself for the impact, and was pleasantly surprised to see myself navigating the competing currents and managing to stay above the water. Maybe I was not as impressive as a professional surfer, but my first thought upon awakening was that I had managed well enough.

Deep Gratitude

This morning I am grateful the wind in Boulder is calm. Barely a breeze stirs. The quiet outside makes it a bit easier to maintain a sense of equilibrium while keeping a reluctant eye on reports of the cruel, cold and hateful gusts of oligarchic glee blowing out of the nation’s capital. The gentle pre-spring day allows me to safely light the pipe and offer smoke from tobacco, willow bark, cedar and sage to the spirits I know are watching from all directions. The Pipe is an integral part of every Sundance. When working with it I feel strongly connected each and every time. That is a good place to make prayers from. Today I am asking for my mind and heart to come together as the fragrant gray swirl leaves my mouth and moves up towards the endless blue home of clouds. Two young cottontails nearby in the grass face off and jump towards each other to bounce paws together in a rabbity high five. “Oh yeah,” I say to myself and smile. Migwetch Wabooz. Thank you Rabbit for the reminder. Chi Migwetch, big thanks Spirit for reminding me it is important to use the words of my Ojibwa relatives. I like to say them now and again on behalf of all the boarding school children who were punished if they dared to speak their native tongue, forced into English only speaking or silence. I read that an executive order was just signed demanding English be the official language. So just for fun I’m also going to say Waabigwanii Giziis (Showing Buds Moon) is still going to shine on us in April. The temperature will most likely be unusual in some way, but this year, baashkabigwanii (blossoms) will certainly reach up towards the sun at that time. It is really hard losing our sense of conviction about seasons unfolding in harmony and to then sit with the realization of the never ending implications that come along with that thought. It is also less difficult, but still really hard not to use a special English Only four letter word to describe how I feel about executive orders these days.

When I was a little girl, my family told me everyone was flying the American flag from their porches because it was my birthday. June 14^th: Flag Day. I didn’t figure that out until I was twelve. In those days my father’s relatives ,the Little Shell Tribe of Pembina Chippewa had been fighting the system since the 1860s in order to gain the “Holy Grail” of Federal Recognition. My family lived in a tidy little white house on the edge of Great Falls at the base of Hill 57. They were too ashamed to tell me the people who lived in shacks up there were my aunts, uncles and cousins. I did not discover that until I was in my twenties. After I knew this, my most fervent prayers at every Sundance was for the Little Shell tribe to gain status as a valid culture entitled to land and respect. That day did not come for 157 years. But it did come.

January 25, 2020 was the day we celebrated our Federal Recognition. Of course I hopped on a plane and flew to Great Falls. Of course I brought the Pipe bundle I carry. The event took place on the notorious Hill 57 of my childhood–he place I was told I would never be accepted. Long story short, I found myself at the center of the group of men conducting the pipe ceremony. Since I didn’t know any better, I asked if I could join and they gave me a seat in the circle. I shared the pipe that had been smoked all seven times I Sundanced. It was surreal to think of the tree and back again to this ceremony. Afterwards at the dinner and speeches many carried photos of their relatives who died without seeing this day come to pass. Hopefully my Grandma Lil was proud of me.

One of the strangest things about the way the bill was finally signed into law making us the 574th official tribe changing our status from Landless to having a land base to claim was the person whose signature made it final. Who was it? I’ll give you a hint. That guy shares a birthday with me. I don’t know what his parents told him about the American flag, but he likes to wrap himself in it in a weirdly erotic way from time to time. His followers have been known to turn the poles that flag flies from into weapons. Let’s just say I find it the height of irony that all things Federal are now under attack by Flag Man. It is certainly uncertain what that means for any of us.

Final Thoughts

As I carefully wrap the pipe back up into its antelope leather bundle, the rabbits hop quickly out of my line of sight. My thoughts turn to all of my neighbors who work at NIST NOAA that have just been fired here in Boulder. I think of my Little Shell Father who worked his way out of poverty by becoming an air traffic controller. I think of my husband’s family who came to visit from Pennsylvania last weekend. His brother has been employed by the Army Corps of Engineers for over 20 years. He tells hair-raising tales of the toxic sites he has been assigned to clean up. One of those places was New Orleans after Katrina. My beautiful, kind and brilliant niece who works for NASA, and her equally gifted sister working in a research department where she is helping to develop off shore wind turbines for alternative energy, both spoke of having to rename the projects they are working on to disguise any hint of climate science. They have to prove their right to exist in their chosen professions to a person who knows nothing about the importance of that work. I think back to the tree as it represents the hopes and dreams of so many. Will we hold firm in the days ahead? Will we be able to forego the usual sustenance and comfort to nurture to the best of our ability all we hold dear?

Humans learned thousands of years ago varying methods for conducting events in the context of ancestral wisdom. They knew that guiding these practices within a community working together to achieve the eternal quest for continuing life in a world of uncertainty led to favorable results. With time they observed how interacting in creative ways with different combinations of the beings around them—both the spirits of and the actual plants and animals, stones, fire, and water—gave extra potency to the effects. Moving their bodies in rhythm with cycles of Sun, Moon, Season, Star and Earth in tandem with the More-Than-Human World helped them gain even more proficiency in directing favorable outcomes for health and help in an uncertain environment. Learning to read signs around us to navigate difficult decisions is a skill can help each other reclaim and hone. What old ways will your great great great grandmother send you in a dream? Pay attention to the things she gathers to feed the invisible. Will you have the confidence to recreate in your own way her acts of resonant beauty to share ceremonially with others?

To that end I pay close attention to dreams and waking visions. I track synchronicity. Take note of coincidence. Remember I don’t believe in coincidence then hop on the trail to see where the omen will lead. When my friend Glenn Aparicio Parry asked me if I would be interested in writing on the topic “Dancing With Uncertainty”, I was reminded for some reason of the magnet on my fridge. The words Things just got super weird—it’s my time to shine are printed above an image of a slightly goofy looking wild eyed bird. The Journal is called ReVision he said. I was intrigued. Visions of Home is the name of my business. The plate on my vehicle is VISION9.

The number 9 is a lucky number in my line of Feng Shui work. VISION is there stamped in green and white because I like to drive up to a clients house with the pronouncement that we are most certainly going to create an environment based on our ability to visualize the Spirit of Beauty filling each room. Is the lucky number charm on my car working? The dent in my rear passenger side bumper reminds me that in truth, nothing is ever certain. But I know my car will take me to the next Sundance I am invited to.