 | Walking Buffalo Talks
Buffalo Talks, and boy howdy, He Can Talk !!!! |  |
 | | | | Sep 06, 2010 - 08:42 PM | |  |  | |  |
This is Category: Stories
Following are the News Items published under this Category.
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| Stories: Merry Christmas |  European Christmas for Native Americans actually started when
the Europeans came over to America. They taught the Indian
about Christianity, gift giving, and St. Nicholas.
We are raised to respect the Christian Star and the birth of the first Indian Spiritual Leader. His name was Jesus. He was a Hebrew, a Red Man. He received his education from the wilderness. John the Baptist, Moses, and other excellent teachers that came before Jesus provided an educational foundation with the Holistic Method.
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| Stories: Pow Wow Etiquette | Pay Attention And Listen:
The EMCEE also known as Master of Ceremonies will be the person informing you what is happening and when. He/She is coordinating the Pow Wow. He/She also advises everyone of rules and comon curticy. Everyone is welcome at Pow Wow and/or Gatherings to learn and share in our multi-cultural and social traditions, but everyone is expected to show respect and understanding for these events.
modified 10-07-2008
Never Refer To A Dancer’s Clothing As A Costume:
A dancer’s clothing may also be called their Regalia. These beautifully handcrafted outfits are not costumes! A lot of thought, time, energy and expense goes into the making of each outfit. Some parts of the regalia often are family heirlooms. Regalia’s are created by the dancer or by a family member or friend and given to the dancer. Sometimes years have gone into the creation of a dancers regalia.
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| Stories: POW WOW DAY ! | It's powwow day. A friend has invited you to see "the Indians dance”. You pack up the car, the kids and some sandwiches, apprehensive because you have never been to a Pow Wow before. You drive to the sight, still not knowing what you will see. The kids are restless and are asking too many questions for you to answer. You tell them "wait, we will see when we get there".
Finally you arrive. You are let to park on the grass and you get all the kids out, get the food together and head for the gate. You see booths arranged in a circle with all kinds of neat "Indian" things for sale. You look for your friend but she is nowhere to be seen.
"What do I do now?” you think.
Then you hear a sound. A sound like you have never heard before. You know it's a drum but you have never heard a drum quite like that one before. You stop to listen and the kids get quiet. It speaks to something inside your spirit that until now you have never been aware of.
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| Stories: Honoring WWII Veterans - please read it all! | The elderly parking lot attendant wasn't in a good mood!
Neither was Sam Bierstock. It was around 1 a.m., and Bierstock, a Delray Beach , Fla. , eye doctor, business consultant, corporate speaker and musician, was bone tired after appearing at an event.
He pulled up in his car, and the parking attendant began to speak. "I took two bullets for this country and look what I'm doing," he said bitterly.
At first, Bierstock didn't know what to say to the World War II veteran. But he rolled down his window and told the man, "Really, from the bottom of my heart, I want to thank you."
Then the old soldier began to cry.
"That really got to me," Bierstock says.
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| Stories: On Behalf of the Wolf and the First Peoples | He came out of the dark line of trees and walked to the cool mountain stream, standing for a moment in a small eddy, cooling his feet. He was big, gray, and old, but still powerful. A breeze ruffled his gray coat. He was magnificent.
Coming out of the water he walked slowly to a mossy bed on the stream bank. Fatigue showed in each slow, careful step. He lay down with his forepaws in the water and looked in my direction with old eyes that had seen much. The wisdom in them was easy to see. A slight smile of reassurance passed through them. He had sensed my fear.
He lifted a foot out of the water and methodically licked the pads. Now the other forefoot. That done, he looked at me and spoke. "Grandson, I have walked far," he said softly. "And my feet are tired." There was kindness and strength in that old voice. "But I am close to my journey's end. And I am glad."
I gathered courage to speak, not certain if I should dare lift my voice to this magnificent, old warrior. "Grandfather," I finally said. "Who are you? Where do you go?"
I saw a smile in his eyes again. "My name does not matter. What matters is that I am here, now. That we have this time together is why I have come, because we all share this journey: four-leggeds, two-leggeds, and those-who-fly. We are all related. And where I go, you may go also. Take heed."
The old warrior sighed. With narrow eyes he tested the wind. Then he leaned forward and drank from the cold current. Sitting back, he stared off into the forest, but into some other place as well. His eyes reflected everything he saw. Suddenly, tipping back his head, he began to sing. Sharp and rhythmic barks at first. Then a long, high wail that died away softly. He sang again and again.
After he stopped I said, "Grandfather, this is a sad song."
He stood. "Yes. It is the song of my people. It is the song of my life. The song of my death." He looked off again into the far line of trees.
"You will leave?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "My journey is almost over. I am glad for that. I am weary."
Walking into the stream, he stopped to cool his feet one last time. Crossing to the far bank, he turned to look into my eyes. Into my heart. "Grandson," he said. "I must ask something of you."
I waited.
"Sing my song," he pleaded with a tired voice. "Sing the song of my people. For I am afraid....." His voice trailed off. "I can give you nothing in return. Only that I will be with you in spirit."
I could not refuse. I nodded. "I will, Grandfather. I will sing your song."
"Good," he said. "You will come to know the ways and powers of my people as your own. Sing my song. Sing it well."
He looked long into my eyes. In his there was sadness, wisdom, kindness, and strength. But courage most of all. He turned. Without a sound he went into the forest and was gone.
From the words of Joseph Marshall III ~ Lakota
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| Stories: A Lesson From The Swan | on the Eastern shore of Maryland, the gentle waters running in and out like fingers slimming at the tips.. and they curl into the smaller creeks and coves like tender palms.
The Canada geese know this place, as do the white swans and the ducks who ride an inch above the waves of Chesapeake Bay as they skim their way into harbor.
In the autumn, by the thousands, the Canada Geese come as they travel home
for the winter.
When they do the swans move toward the shores in a stately glide, their tall heads proud and unafraid.
They lower their long necks deep into the water, where their strong beaks dig through the river bottoms for food.
And there is, between the arrogant swans and the prolific geese, an indifference, almost a disdain for one another.
Once or twice each year, snow and sleet move into the area.
When this happens, where the river is at its narrowest, or the creek shallow, there is a freeze which hardens the water into ice.
It was on such a morning, near Osford, Maryland, that a friend of mine set the breakfast table beside the huge window, which overlooked the Tred Avon River.
Across the river, beyond the dock, the snow laced the rim of the shore in white.
For a moment she stood quietly, looking at what the night's storm had painted.
Suddenly she leaned forward and peered close to the frosted window.
"It really is," she cried out loud, "there is a goose out there."
She reached to the bookcase and pulled out a pair of binoculars.
Into her sights came the figure of a large Canada goose, very still,
its wings folded tight to its sides, its feet frozen to the ice.
Then from the dark skies, she saw a line of swans.
They moved in their own singular formation, graceful, intrepid, and free.
They crossed from the west of the broad creek high above the house, moving steadily to the east.
As my friend watched, the leader swung to the right, then the white string of birds became a white circle.
It floated from the top of the sky downward.
At last,... as easy as feathers coming to earth, the circle landed on the ice.
My friend was on her feet now, with one unbelieving hand against her mouth.
As the swans surrounded the frozen goose, she feared what life the Goose still had might be pecked out by those great swan bills.
Instead, amazingly instead, those bills began to work on the ice.
The long necks were lifted and curved down, again and again, ....
this went on for a long time.
At last, the goose was rimmed by a narrow margin of ice instead of the entire creek..
The swans rose again, following the leader, and hovered in that circle above, awaiting the results of their labors.
The goose's head lifted, Its body pulled, then the goose was free and standing
on the ice.
He was moving his big webbed feet slowly.
And the swans circled in the air watching.
Then, as if he had cried, "I cannot fly," four of the swans came down around him.
Their powerful beaks scraped the goose's wings from top to bottom, scuttled under its wings and rode up its body, chipping off and melting the ice held
in the feathers.
Slowly, as if testing, the goose spread its wings as far as they would go,
brought them together, accordion- like,... and then spread them again and again..
When at last the wings reached their fullest, the four swans took off and
joined the hovering group.
They resumed their eastward journey, in perfect formation, to their secret destination.
Behind them, rising with incredible speed and joy,
the goose moved into the sky.
He followed them, flapping double time, until he caught up,
and joined the last end of the line... not unlike a small child
at the end of a crack- the-whip game with older boys.
My friend watched them until they disappeared over the tips of the farthest trees. Only then, in the dusk, which was suddenly deep, did she realize that tears were running down her cheeks and had been... for how long she didn't know.
This is a true story. It happened.
She did not try to interpret it. but said she thinks of this during these terrible times of war and all that is happening in the world, and makes her ask the hopeful question:
"If so for birds, why not for man?"
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