Nebraskaland

54 Nebraskaland • March 2020 MIXED BAG One of the great joys and comforts that have come to me from my 60-plus years association with Native Americans, starting with the Omahas in the 1950s and '60s, the Lakota in the '60s and '70s, and now increasingly during the last three decades with the Pawnee, has been the privilege of being present when prayers are sent out, blessings asked, and thanks offered, often sent on their way on wisps of cedar, Indian tobacco or sweet grass smoke. To begin with, there is the idea that as long as one is asking for the attention of Wakonda or Tawadahut, one really should say what needs to be said and not dismiss what should be a solemn exercise with a few curt mutterings. Very early on in my experiences in the Indian community I was asked to give a blessing at an Omaha Indian gathering. I briefly expressed my gratitude for the company, the food and our good fortune in being together, and in what I suppose was a minute at the most, said, "Amen." As always, my Omaha friends were too polite to mention my inappropriate brevity but I could tell that the reviews were not good. I was not asked again to address Wakonda for many years. As one Pawnee wit explained to me, "An Indian blessing before a feast is never ended until all the food is cold." While there are many styles and forms for Native prayer, when it comes to prayers during Indian events, I now tend to be rigidly orthodox: I want the whole works, spoken in the old way, with nothing omitted. I like to hear a prayer started with a few minutes spoken in a language I know the Great Mysteries understand ... Lakota, Omaha or Pawnee, if for no other reason, just to hear the ancient words spoken again, perhaps words of respect or apology to the Great Mysterious or This Immensity or The One Who Made All This, even if the rest of the invocation is in English. If the older, traditional, most complete format is used, smoke is "thrown" and words spoken – blessing asked and thanks given to the four directions: "The East, where the day begins, the year begins, and our own lives begin; the South, where day is at its highest, the year is at its fullest, and we are in the strength of our lives; the West, where the day draws to a close, year enters autumn and harvest, and we become elders; and the North, where night gives rest from the day, winter gives rest to the year, and where we all eventually find our own rest from the trials of life." But those are, after all, not the only directions around us, so blessings are asked and thanks given downward to Mother Earth, from which all our blessings come and to which we will return, and to the skies, from where comes the light and rain that gives life to Mother Earth. (I am always especially moved at this point and silently offer my own thanks because my Omaha name places me within the KonCe or Wind, Clan, the clan of wind, storm, and sky.) Then comes the part I appreciate most, recognition of all our fellow creatures, with our own kind included with all the others, where we belong, on equal footing since we are all in this together, not separated from all the others who share the earth and sky with us – "the two-leggeds, the four-leggeds, those that fly above us, those that swim the waters, and those that creep beneath the earth." At this point special blessings may be mentioned or mercies asked for others of our "two-legged" species, living or gone "over the fourth hill." All requests and thanks are sent with the sound of an eagle feather "throwing" rich, sweet scent of "white" or "flat" cedar (thuja occidentalis), sweet grass (Hierochlöe odorata), or tobacco (often specially grown "wild" or "Indian" tobacco) smoke to the directions indicated. Depending on the inclinations of the person offering up the prayer, the name of Jesus may be mentioned during the recitation, but for some of us "traditionalists," words in Native language loosely translated "This Immensity," "Great Mysterious," or "The One Who Made All This" pretty much covers the ground. And more. And so the prayer ends with each individual having the opportunity to "bathe" in the cleansing smoke and perhaps say a few words expressing their own thoughts. As a result of all this, when I hear prayers, grace or blessings offered in other than tribal contexts, I find myself wanting to issue addenda because so much seems to be omitted. And because I feel better when I am reminded of all those things around me that are part of my life. And everyone else's lives, for that matter. And those whom my life affects. All the other two-leggeds in my life, and the four-leggeds, those that fly, swim, and creep ... Those that came before and who are to follow ... So after prayers in non-Native situations I often hesitate, perhaps only a moment, when everyone else moves on and I fill in the blanks with my own thoughts about where and who I am in "this immensity." And then when I get home, I may burn some dried white cedar, thanking, by the way, the tree from whom I gathered the incense. It's the Indian way. Roger Welsch is a folklorist, humorist and author who lives in Dannebrog. THE BLESSINGS OF BLESSINGS By Roger Welsch

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