Psalm 100

Southwest On My Mind

And now?

The month is almost ending.

Maybe it's the sweet April showers promising to bring some May flowers.

Maybe it's the upcoming merry month beckoning to chase bees, recall past trusts and past vows, and capture anew moments of tenderness.

Whatever.

However.

NOW IS THE TIME to cap this series with a southwest blessing.

PSALM 100, A Paraphrase For The Southwest

Written for the Shepherd of the Valley UMC Disciple Class, January 1993

1 Beat your ancient drums to the Great Spirit, from the Bridge of Coming and Going, to the paths of the sun and the winds.

2 Kneel before the Venerable One in the great Hall of Worship; fall on your knees before the spirit table with chanting for your heavenly gifts.

Needlepoint: Navajo Yei Rug. By ATV. Yeis are the supernatural 

beings that allow communication between the Navajo

and their gods. September 2021

3 Revere the Great One with the echo of bronze bells. It is He who made us mighty hunters and virtuous maidens, and we are His; we are His people whom He keeps safe beneath the ancestral tepees

 

From the DeGrazia Apache Collection,
Superstition Mountain Museum

4 Enter the Mesquite Gate and the courtyards of the Mighty Buffalo with gratitude to our illustrious Ancestor. Give thanks to Him for prosperity, harmony, piety, and peace; bless Him whose name makes everything harmonious.

5 For the Patriarch is good; His love is as pure and as constant as the water from the Laughing Brook, and His Eagle shadow hovers all generations.

Aho.*

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*Aho is Lakota and has been borrowed into many other North American languages. It means, Yes, I agree. It is used in prayers in somewhat the same way that Amen is used.

Storyteller

Southwest On My Mind

Have you ever walked into a rummage sale and find something you didn’t know you were looking for?

I do. 

Every.Time.

Look at this terracotta storyteller.

This is one of my favorites. EVER.

Because it is very southwest.

I cannot even begin to tell you how perfect it is. I was grinning from ear to ear when I saw it.

Storytelling has been an inherent part of many indigenous cultures today. Way back when we were in our Phoenix home, I had obsessed to have a figurine like this, but forgot about it. 

And now, Victory! 

It found me.

When I gaze at my storyteller, I can envision him and children gathered under the great wide canopy of a shamel ash tree. Some are perched on his lap. Others are sitting back on a flat tapestry-woven rug or just squatting on their haunches.

The storyteller strokes his chin at first. Then his frown of concentration smooths out into a smile. He begins to narrate the origin of entire nations, why animals look or act the way they do, and where or how entire cultural traditions originated.

Giggles fill the air. Or the children gasp when they hear about the sky that looks like it is on fire with sunset. When the horizon appears like the edge of the world. Or when a star falls on earth.

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind?

I think that applies to stories, too. They are like old friends.

And for me?  My life is full of stories. That’s why I write my tales and pen my words.  I want to keep them close.

So now I step back and look at our home.  

My kachina grins at me, the pottery on the deck sparkles, the gourd vase whispers spring, and the storyteller eagerly waits to tell another tale.

It looks like home.

(To be continued)

Gourd Vase

Southwest On My Mind

This one isn't from our southwest home, but when I saw it at the Goodwill store, I didn’t think.

I didn’t say a word. 

I simply grabbed it and took it home.  

It’s not fancy. 

Just a dried-up, naturally hollow gourd. Its simple, graceful lines make it perfect for use as a vase. With line etchings of the sun, a turtle, a mountain, gecko, a deer. 

Very southwest.

I just knew that it would be an amazing centerpiece.

Here was what I did. 

Start with a doily made from Golden Tips of Darjeeling Tea packaging. 

Add faux feathers, fuzzy cattail seed heads, and brown berry picks.  Then tuck in straw-like leaves, letting them bend whichever way they want.

Or adorn with feathered yarn and style it on a tumbling block riser (both DIY-ed).

Let spring do the rest.

It’s so simple that it takes my breath away.

And the message?

Life is simple. 

You thrive on maize corn that is cultivated in irrigated fields in river bottoms. Women gather wild plants to eat. Men hunt deer and antelope. 

Harvest is plentiful.

Life is beautiful.

And rain comes when you dance.

(To be continued)

Talavera Pottery

Southwest On My Mind

So we moved across states and rivers and valleys and mountains and deserts.

We moved away from family and friends and all I knew.  

We moved to a Midwestern state in the Great Lakes region. 

The Buckeye State.

This was a new adventure.

This was the start of our new life.

And I surely brought with me a few more mementos of my southwest roots. 

I loved them and when I loved something, I just didn't love them. I obsessed. They came home with me as well.

If I were stranded on a desert island and I could bring along one thing, what would it be?

Yes, please to my talavera-tile pottery urn and terracotta pot. A colorful heritage of the Old World. 

When I gaze at them, I see the art of a Spanish colonial period in the intricate blue and white design.

I could hear the voices of native American warriors dancing to the sound of a drum. 

(To be continued)

Kachina

Southwest On My Mind

Dance in the rain. - Anonymous

Sometimes when you realize you can’t go home anymore, you discover something even more important.

Wherever you go...

Wherever you land...

Wherever the journey takes you...

You can always bring a little bit of home with you along the way.

That's the reason that this kachina napkin holder tagged along when we moved to our home in the Midwest some ten years ago. This, and a few more knickknacks.

I love the kachina because of what it stands for.

A spirit being in the religious beliefs of pueblo Indians.

The bridge between the spiritual world and mortals.

A rainmaker who dances between raindrops, without umbrellas.

I can imagine the kachina with his elaborately painted headdress adorned with turquoise beads.

In a slightly forward-tilted posture, forward raising of the knee, and a flat-footed stomp, he starts a petition for rain.

His feet are painted yellow, a color that represents the eagle’s yellow feet to enable him to dance lightly throughout the day.

He continues to beckon the rain gods in their cloud homes in the north, west, south, and east. He gyrates, his torso flexing.

Looking up, the people sense the rain before it comes in raving clouds that are humming with charged energy. 

The rain begins almost immediately. Like the sky just opened up. Hard rain. A downpour. 

Rolling over them in thick, warm sheets.

(To be continued)