Fireweaver

A brief story from the mouth of a Native American dancer describing the craft.

The drums sounded in the air like distant thunder as the sun goes down upon the end of the day. It was how I was taught that the Manitou, the great creator within the sky speaks to us all. They pick up, and descend in beat, almost seemingly causing the fire around us to illuminate the dark of the desert night upon the ceremony of passage. And I follow the steps the great god commands in percussion music through the opening of the dance. The drums cease, and I begin.

They say dance was given to us by the animals, and that Fire taught us to refine the motions like it refines coal into diamonds. The movements I make were years of refining discipline burned into the muscles, woven into their memory like the old tapestries the Elders made before becoming part of the web of life. The drums ascend our understanding in beat, and the sounds burns in my veins like fire. I sway like the flames that l feel feed into my veins and soul, and I surrender to the motions. 

The drums crescendo in their demanding call, and in response to my dance, the tribe begins to sing. Unlike the white man's song, ours is free of restrictions; of control. It is feral and primeval, like the wolf in the forest. It is pure sound without restraint.  my heart quickens at the haunting sounds of a time long buried among the graves of our fallen, and it fuels the fire to an inferno. I spin upon my feet and continue the dance, now pounding the ground like the harsh rains greeted by the earth during a drought. 

My body sweats under the face paint and the heavy regalia I created stitch for stitch all those years for this moment. I feel the weight of the deer skin and fox fur from the northern tribes move with me, as if the animals that I asked to let me use their hides live on within them and were here now, aiding me in spirit. I feel the motions, along with the song of my people, the drums reaching the climax of their song and the fire in my veins finally takes me to the level I searched for. This was connection in the purest form. The shaman leading the ceremony smiles. I passed the test; both spiritual and physical.

The drum slows with my movement, and soon like the heart finally ceasing its dance it stops. I feel an almost longing fill my heart; the fire that I grew to adore smoldered away. Yet I could feel the coals still hot; if I wanted to I could stoke that fire once again. I wanted  that fire again. Hence my new name would be FireWeaver, and I will dance to the Manitou's call until my last breath.

Reviews

[Satan]

Good luck on your journey FireWeaver, I can see you've made a decent amount of ground already :)