A Fool’s Journey
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(Note: this is a work in progress. Constructive criticism and editorial suggestions are welcome, especially from @Phyllis Unterschuetz, @Your NativeFriend, @Ari Love, @Allison Wiltz, @Keira Fulton-Lees, and anyone else who knows what I’m talking about here. Thanks.)
Once upon a time, around when Miracle the White Buffalo was born, I was backpacking around the country, seeking healing for the horrid visions that haunted me and kept me from living an ordinary life. I’d just crossed the Continental Divide and the Hoodoo Rocks when I met a C., a Lakota Heyoka medicine man. He knew my problem without me telling him and suggested I ask the Thunders for healing.
Yes!! I knew in my gut that, just like the Thunders could turn night into day or day into night, they could change my walking day- and night-mares into a healing force that could help everyone. So I fasted and prayed, and the Thunders pitied me and gave me a Dream. I knew what I had to do and why I had to do it.
YP, an ancestral spirit, approached and bound himself to me. He was a Lakota who had died in his teens during a ceremony. Claimed by lightning. He had some unfinished business and hoped to wrap it up through me.
Why me? I asked. There are plenty of qualified Lakota men around here…
You’re a good fit, he replied.
For seven years, I worked as a gopher for YP and the Thunders. I was an outcast, living in another world where the Thunder Dream was the only thing Real, and the mundane world was a fleeting dream. Never mind the bull in the china shop; I was a T-Rex in a Temple!
Sometimes, when I did what needed to be done, the weather would get… interesting. Sometimes, if someone tried to stop me from doing what needed to be done, the weather would get …even more interesting. The Thunders don’t play.
The Lakota were not amused. They had declared war on Exploiters of Lakota Spirituality and saw me as an enemy. They warned me that I was hurting them and following in Custer’s footsteps, and I must stop. But I didn’t understand the harm I was doing. Anyhow, I could not stop; The Dream was too strong. When words didn’t work, they struck out in defense of their sacred ways. Sparing the details, I’ll say, the Lakota don’t play either.
Things came to a head when T., a young hereditary Medicine Man, pulled me aside and demanded to know how I had become Heyoka.
I told him my Dream. It was the first time I ever told it to anyone. To his credit, he heard me out.
Then he asked if I had “put my hand in the pot,” referring to his people’s ceremony of initiation and purification for Heyoka. There’s a trial by fire and the sacrifice of a perfect young dog. (Traditionally, dogs were not pets but more like livestock.) This complex and challenging ceremony is not a DIY affair; it needs The People’s support. T described the ceremony harshly, as if hoping to get a reaction.
I listened, unfazed. YP had been teaching me the hows and whys of Heyoka and spoken of that ceremony. What of it? All over the world, traditional peoples consecrate their animals before taking them for food. I saw the ordeal’s kinship with the trials that the holy people of many other traditions undergo worldwide. Even the Catholic priests and nuns I grew up with did “self-mortification” to prove and purify themselves. So I knew what must be done and why. As T went on, he started sounding to me like a Stephen King novel. But who am I to judge? He had heard me out, so I returned the courtesy.
When T wound down, I said No, I had not Done That Thing. Felt sheepish, like I’d been caught coming from the outhouse without washing my hands.
Said T., You have not done the ceremony, and you will never do it because We would never allow it. It’s not even about your color. If you were a man we could give you a Name and make you Lakota and make you Heyoka. But since you’re a woman …
…You cannot be…
At this, YP laughed so hard, he would have squirted his coffee out his nose if he had coffee and a nose. Unfortunately, ghosts have neither.
“Dude’s got it the other way around …” said he…
His laughter was so catchy, I worked to keep a straight face for T.
Now you must do something important, T. continued. Take your pipe to the forest and hang it in a tree. Then you must leave this area by sundown.
YP suggested that I obey. My pipe was troublesome without The People’s cooperation, especially during my monthlies. So, I went to the Back 40 and did what needed to be done.
YP still had unfinished business, so I hung out with Pretendians until I saw this was wrong. The so-called “medicine men” had no connection with nearby Native communities. They had no clue about the real issues that Natives face — issues that affect us all sooner or later. They wanted big bucks for crystals, teachings, and ceremonies, while my Catholic past had taught me that selling the Sacred is wrong. Anyhow, I’ve been under a vow of poverty for my past few lifetimes, so I couldn’t do much. Sooner or later, my pockets got too empty, or my weird-itude got too weird. They’d point my feet back out to the street, and I’d go on looking for a people to belong with and a place to belong.
Next, I met TB, who was schooled from birth in Appalachian ways. TB helped YP and I untangle ourselves. YP stuck around as a friend, but he no longer wore me like a shirt.
When Skip, my old black chihuahua, passed away, YP was finally free. The Thunders came, threw a big Light Show, and accepted Skip in place of the usual offering. I wrapped his body, grabbed my drum, and played my heart out. YP danced joyfully into the Light as the Thunder cracked, the rain blew sideways, and the hail brought the ice to the party. I like to think of Skip and YP crossing the Rainbow Bridge together.
As I faded out of the New Age scene, I learned of the horrors Natives have endured and still endure to this day. I admired their beauty and resiliency and saw that this comes from keeping their traditions alive and pure. I felt deep remorse for having misappropriated and polluted their sacred ways. No wonder they compared me to Custer!
I deeply regret the problems I’ve caused to the Native peoples, especially to the Lakota.
When outsiders misappropriate Indigenous practices, this dilutes and pollutes the sacred ways that have sustained The People through all times.
If we love and respect Natives, we must love and respect their boundaries.
This article is my apology.
To make amends and honor the ancestors, I educate myself and others on the history and current issues Natives face and support these issues. To avoid cultural appropriation, I shun titles, claims, and wealth and warn others against this spiritual crime. I found out that I’m autistic, and now I understand that I’ll never really belong anywhere or to anyone in this lifetime. And that’s ok.
If you’ve read this far, you’re probably a sacred fool and probably knew it from early on. I love and respect you for that. There are sacred fools in every culture and always have been — because we are necessary. We’re artists, poets, saints, sages, prophets, healers, teachers, mystics, innovators, revolutionaries, and more. We sustain our communities by defying them. We are the child in every crowd who shouts, The Emperor has no clothes.
However, recently I’ve heard new agers claiming to be Heyoka. And I’m thinking, that’s nothing to play around with. Heyoka is a specific type of sacred fool belonging to a particular people. Every Cadillac is a car, but not every car is a Cadillac. Likewise, every Heyoka is a sacred fool, but not every sacred fool is Heyoka.
To all sacred fools going by any name or no name: I love you and encourage you to sustain and guide yourself by the words and works of your own culture’s sacred fools and your own Inner Light. The sacred fools from other cultures are to be admired but not to be imitated. Find your own place in the Cosmic Dance. It’s been with you, in you, all along.
Thanks and blessings to the Thunders and C, YP, T, TB, and all those who helped me along this way. Even the plastic medicine men. Sometimes, one serves The Good by providing a bad example. We’re all right where we need to be.
The Natives I meet now no longer treat me like an enemy because I am no longer misrepresenting myself and stealing their culture. Instead, they recognize me as a friend and cut me some slack.
As everyone knows, The Lord looks out for the fools.
Readers: Been there? Still there? Please tell us about it! Thanks!
