Native American Wisdom
Thunder Bay biologist learns lessons from indigenous people
Close links to the land lead to valuable climate change observations, says Gleb Raygorodetsky
CBC News Posted: Aug 23, 2015 8:00 PM ET Last Updated: Aug 23, 2015 8:00 PM ET
It is so good to read good news. Let us keep it coming.
Essay The way we are in the world, changes the world
Oct. 23, 2013
Here’s something Native elders understand: Without respect for natural laws, no amount of technology will get us out of this mess. Why can’t we hear that message?
By Alan S. Kesselheim
The Daily Climate
“An elder I spoke to shared an experience that captures the disconnect. He is from Greenland. He conducts ceremonies around the world. People know him as “Uncle,” a man of unquestioned poise and power. His given name is Angaangaq. He told me about being in New York City, performing a ceremony.
“It was very hot,” he said. “It was the end of a long day. The Hudson River was nearby, and I suggested going for a swim. I started running toward the river to dive in. People got all upset and called for me to stop. ‘You can’t swim there,’ they said. ‘It’s polluted.’
“I turned to them, perplexed. I just read a story in the morning paper today,” he said he told them. “It boasted that New York City has the highest percentage of college graduates of any major city on Earth. You are the most educated population in the world, and you’re telling me that you can’t swim in your river? I don’t understand.”
This is the story of an event that happened to me in the mid 90’s while I was living in San Francisco and working my last days in the computer industry. It starts one morning as I awakened in our caravan on our homestead in Northern Victoria [Australia] located just south of Omeo nearer to Swifts Creek. As I awakened, there came to mind the word Tuzigoot. Yes, Tuzigoot. I felt a strong need to go there. I faintly remembered seeing the name and thought perhaps it was in Arizona. Thankfully, I had an old American road atlas and was soon able to find it just west of Cottonwood along theVerde River. I saw that it was a National Monument. Not having access to the internet at the time, I just digested the feeling and filed it away.
Part of the two years I worked in San Francisco, I was a contract instructor teaching both Microsoft and Novell local area networking. I was not able to line up work every week so the first summer I decided to fill a vacant work week with a trip to Cottonwood where I could visit Tuzigoot. I flew in and out of Phoenix and rented a car for the trip north. Arriving around 5:30PM, I decided to have a quick look realizing that the visitors center would be closed. As I made my way via the signposts across the narrowVerde river, I was shocked to find what to me looked like a failed irrigation project. There were huge areas lacking vegetation of any kind. I had a quick look around, checked the opening time and saved ideas for exploration till the following morning. The next morning was bright and sunny as I left the restaurant where I enjoyed my favorite breakfast of eggs and hash browns and headed back to the site. I was waiting at the door at opening time and had a chance to speak to the ranger at the desk. I asked him what the devil had happened to the river bottom down the road. He asked me if I had been to Jerome. “No”, I said.
Then he told me the story of the copper mining activities in Jerome and the ore processing plant a couple of miles west of the site at Clarkdale. To tell a long story quickly, extracting silver or copper ore veins from surrounding rock and quartz requires the crushing and mixing with various acids and noxious washes. The residue was originally dumped into theVerde Riverthrough metal pipes until they corroded. Then they were replaced by redwood troughs. Even though Phelps Dodge closed the Clarkdale smelter in 1950, the river as it runs alongside the monument looks like a moonscape. I was told that there would be another ranger that would lead a tour at 10AM.
I thanked him for the information and headed out to have a look around. Reading various information signs I learned that the site was a pueblo ruin built by the Sinagua [without water] people who lived there from around 1000 till about 1300. The actual name Tuzigoot is an Apache translation meaning crooked water. I soon found myself entering a large restored living area and was leaning over a wall when I was overcome with grief. The intense feeling almost doubled me over as I gushed tears and was choked with emotion. I was embarrassed and hoped no-one would come up behind me. After recovering somewhat, I was overwhelmed yet again, less intense this time. This had never happened to me before and I just couldn’t figure out what and why. As I continued around the site, I read that the Sinagua buried their dead underground in their living areas.
At ten o’clock, along with a few other people, I met the second ranger who if I rightly remember was a Mescalero Apache. The US government came up with the name Mescalero, probably because the mescal plant was a staple of their diet. Although there were several Mexican names for several bands or tribes of Apaches in the Southwest, in 1873 the US Government recognized only three- the Mescalero Apache, the Chiricahua Apache, and the Lipan Apache. These tribes had settled from Southeastern and middle Arizona, through New Mexico and with the Lipans, into western Texas in the beautiful area around and south ofAustin. Evidently they came into the Southwest later than the Puebloan cultures from parts [northern] unknown. I enjoyed the tour and was able to join a small group and learn more from him about the tragedy along the Verde River.
Over the next several days I tried to piece together the significance of my strange and highly emotional response to Tuzigoot. It came to me that I was picking up the sadness from the spirit of these people as they mourned the destruction of their lovely crop growing area. This site is about all that remains of around 50 such Sinaguan living sites.
The experience left me with the belief that we need desperately to protect and preserve these sacred sites that were loved and cared for by these early peoples because there is here to be found a spiritual record of the love of Gaia that can help us re-establish a loving relationship with the Earth.
I’ve found a wonderful, en-spirited story from first Nation North American history. The story was told by a woman of the “Cree” nation. No further detail is available but I might add that the name Cree comes from the French. They spoke Algonquian languages and were prominent mainly in Canada. “The Cree are the largest group of First Nations in Canada, with over 200,000 members and 135 registered bands.” [Canadian Geographic]
I especially value the story because of the way the Cree woman, “Eyes of Fire” speaks about Earth. Eyes of Fire prophesied that the keepers of the legends would emerge some day to mend the Earth. They would be called Warriors of the Rainbow. “The Warriors of the Rainbow would show the peoples that this “Ancient Being” (the Great Spirit), is full of love and understanding, and teach them how to make the “Earth or Elohi” beautiful again.
I quite agree with Eyes of fire as: “The day will come, it is not far away. The day that we shall see how we owe our very existence to the people of all tribes that have maintained their culture and heritage. Those that have kept the rituals, stories, legends, and myths alive. It will be with this knowledge, the knowledge that they have preserved, that we shall once again return to ‘harmony’ with Nature, Mother Earth, and mankind. It will be with this knowledge that we shall find our ‘Key to our Survival.’”
I’m sure that you will be moved by the story. May it come true, SOON.http://www.angelfire.com/ok/TheCherokeeLady/warriorsrainbow.html
”So live your life that the fear of death can never enter your
heart. Trouble no one about their religion; respect others in their
view, and demand that they respect yours. love your life,
perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make
your life long and its purpose in the service of your people.
Prepare a noble death song for the day death song for the day when you go over the great divide. Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If
you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in
yourself. Abuse no one and nothing, for abuse turns the wise ones
to fools and robs the spirit of its vision. When it comes your
time to die, be not like those whose hearts are filled with the
fear of death, so that when their time comes they weep and pray
for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different
way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home. .”