Lakota

A young girl listens as her grandmother tells her a century old story about the origins of dream catchers.

Lakota

　

In front of me stands a large willow tree, its long branches worn and dragging themselves across the grass to the billowing of the wind. Its faded white bark shows its many years just as its scratches show its many wounds. As the wind picks up the branches begin to sway faster but remain uniform. With them move the trees leaves, giving the invisible air shape. For a moment the tree seems alive, trying to communicate and tell me a story of its own with the rustling of its dried leaves. The tree soon settles once more.

The sun, which is barely visible from the outreach of the trees limbs, begins to set. I've spent many sunsets here. Before the willow grew to its current height and before I grew to be this tall, I would climb to the top of the tree and allow its steady arms to hold me. I would sit and watch the sun make its way into the ground as if it were running away from the moon which was chasing it across the slowly approaching night sky.

However, as soon as a moons light began to overpower the suns fading rays, my mother's voice would make its way through the air, reaching my ears at a much lower volume than that at which it escaped her lips. At that point I would make my way to the base of the tree and head towards my grandmother's house.

I am removed from my daydream when I hear someone calling my name, "Winona!" It takes me a second before I turn and see my mother, her head popping out of my grandmother's front door. "Coming!" I call back to her and take one last look at the tree and the fading orange hues behind it before making my way across the lawn to my grandmothers house.

　

* * *

　

My grandmothers cottage isn't large. It consists of two rooms, a kitchen and a decent sized bathroom. All the (so called) nearby houses are pretty spread apart, leaving my grandmother a decent amount of land surrounding her home. It's been several months since we've come up to the reservation. Ever since my brother, Chatan, was born 7 months ago it's been a bit more complicated. No one wants to sit in a car for hours from Pierre, where we live, to the Pine Ridge Native American Reservation in southwest South Dakota with a several month old in the back seat.

My mother was born and raised on the reservation. The sun and nature of the Lakota is visible in her eyes and skin. Somehow , through a series of strange circumstances, she met my father who is businessman breed in the heart of Pierre. Soon after they got married meaning the migration of my mother to the city. Then came I, and some 15 years later my brother.

I enter through the front door of the house which leads me directly into the living room. Automatically the smell of dry herbs and years of storytelling and memories attack my senses. The walls are lined with veins of dried flowers woven into wreaths, handmade quilts and dream catchers of all shapes and sizes. Beside the wall decor on the right side of the room there is a couch, its old red leather old and torn. A coffee table is placed on the opposite side of the room beneath the window. There is a door on the left wall of the room which leads to the kitchen. I see my mother through this door, chopping away at some vegetables, preparing dinner. I stand at the entrance of the room taking it all in.

On the couch is my grandmother who is playing with Chatan. She speaks to him, her mouth forming each word calmly. He reaches his small arms up towards her face. I watch my grandmother. She has been living alone ever since my grandfather died several years back. She's an old woman though one may not think so by the looks of her. She is thin, her dark skinned face bony and wrinkled by many years of laughter and joy. She wears traditional Lakota garments, beaded sandals and a tunic, though she sports a new pair of Levis which my mother brought her last time we visited. Her hair is gray and weak, yet her braid reaches down to the small of her back. Her arms strong yet frail looking lead down to her wrinkly hands which slightly tremble as she plays with the chubby hands of my brother. By now the sun has set and the artificial light provided by the light bulb hanging from the ceiling illuminates the room in a sour yellow color.

"Winona?" says my grandmother, turning her attention away from my baby brother. "You see that chest in the corner of the room?" she points to a large wooden chest into which are carved intricate flowers. I nod.

"Great darling. Now go to it and take out one of the branches I have there, make sure it's a willow branch so it's nice and flexible. Also, grab me some of that leather there. Make sure its a longer piece. Oh, and some feathers."

I walk over to the chest and open it, releasing a small cloud of dust. I collect the items my grandmother requested and hand them over. Beside her my brother's eyes begin to close slowly. I see him trying his hardest to keep them open. Always curious, always awake, or at least struggling to be. His little nose flares as his breathing settles and he drifts off into sleep.

I turn my attention back to my grandmother who has started weaving the branches I gave her. I sit next to her.

"Are you making a dream catcher?" I ask.

"I happen to be doing just that."

"Would you mind telling me the story again, about the dream catchers? It's been a while."

"Of course darling" she says, a smile making its way across her face. "It goes like this..."

She looks back down to her work and begins her story as if it were her own, her voice full of pride and confidence. It was in these rare moments I saw my grandmother not as old woman she is now, but as a young Lakota girl, searching and seeking out anything new and amazing this world has to offer her.

"A long time ago, one of our old Lakota leaders had gone to the peak of a mountain, and there he had a vision. On that mountain top appeared one of our people's greatest gods, Iktomi. Now Iktomi was a trickster but he had also many times helped the Lakota people. He appeared before our leader as a man which was unusual for him. He normally took the shape of a spider and used his webs to connect to people and stories. The leader was weary for he didn't know what the wise god had in store for him. Were they to play one of his games, or would Iktomi pass along some of his great wisdom?"

Her voice is tender, eyes glazed and concentrated on the dream catcher in her hands. She had finished the circle part and has started to weave the web in the center. The willow branch forms a perfect circle which the web has begun to fill. She crosses the leather in a simple manner, without a doubt in her mind as if she had been weaving her whole life. Her hands shake slightly but her fingers remain calm. Despite her many years she is agile.

"Iktomi then made a loop of willow, similar to the one I have in my own hands. Within the circle he began to weave a web. While he spun he added beads feathers and horsehair. As he did this he spoke to the leader. "This loop represents the circle of life. We are all brought into this world as infants, move on through life until we become children only to continue on and become adults. However, no sooner than later do we become elderly and most once again be taken care of as if we were infants. This completes the circle which every man must live through." The leader watched the wise God spin and weave quietly but with open ears. He soaked up every word, memorizing his every syllable. He watched as Iktomi finished weaving his web and accepted it when it was handed to him.

"As we move through life we are faced with many challenges and encounter many forces which aim to tear us down. Forces which aim to lead us in the wrong direction. Regardless, every bad force is opposed by a good force. Men who listen to these good forces, who do the right thing even when it is hardest, are headed in the right direction. These forces can be clearly seen in our dreams. Nightmares can be interpreted as bad forces while dreams and visions, which are positive, are good forces." The leader looked at the web in his hands. "That catcher is a perfect circle," said Iktomi, "good is captured in the web and follows man through life. All of man's dreams and ideas are caught and then they follow the path created by the web and remain there as long as man lives. On the other hand, bad forces are caught and are then pushed out through the hole in the center."

My grandmother traces the web with her finger then stops where the hole is in the middle. "Finally, Iktomi told our great leader that man's choices are what make them. What one allows to influence them will ultimately shape them and the path down which their lives are meant to go. Man's dreams and visions will always be his most powerful tool. From that day on people of the Lakota tribe have hung dream catchers above their beds and in their homes to help sift through the bad forces which loom in the air." As she says the final words of her story she finishes the dream catcher.

"This dream catcher I am making for your brother will follow him through life, guiding him down the right path." My brother stirs, throwing one of his arms up into the air as if he knew we were talking about him. "Dinner!" my mother calls from the kitchen. I stand up and lend my arm to my grandmother, which she gratefully takes and stands up. She lays the dream catcher on the couch before we make our way into the kitchen, leaving my brother behind to sleep.

　

* * *

　

Later that evening, once we arrive home I walk upstairs to my room and open the door. Hanging above my bed is a dream catcher. More specifically the dream catcher my grandmother made for me when I was no older than Chatan. The size of a circle is large, the stringed web a shade of white, on its routes loosley hang dark beads which are glistening in the moonlight coming in through the window. From the bottom of the dream catcher hang several strings with feathers tied to the ends. The feathers sway left and right with the slight draft that blows through the room.

I watch the dream catcher and think of my grandmother's words, think of all the choices I've made and wonder if my dream catcher has influenced me in any way. In that moment I decided to let my life follow the paths of the dream catcher. As well as to let my life become a part of the web which creates the circle of life and the web that shapes my destiny.

Author's Note

Enjoy :)

Reviews

[Marie]

A very good story, very interesting. The Navajos also had a trickster, but I have forgotten his name.

[Mirjana Ilic]

Most tribes, at least the ones that believe in dream catchers, have their own stories about its origins. This one happened to be the most appealing to me!