We drove to our tiny country church in gleaming sunshine. As our little car turned off the paved highway onto a rock road leading to our house of worship we were thrilled to observe a Bald Eagle! He was vigilantly keeping watch from the top of a very tall tree.
We occasionally see eagles, but whenever we do, it is a special treat. As we made our way, my mind wandered to the observations my good Mohawk friend, Ralph Brown has made about eagles.
He once wrote about character...Ralph says that character is the way you live your life when you think no one is watching. Most people are good. When they look into a mirror, they want to see a good person reflected in that mirror. People, generally, want to work at self improvement so they can become their best selves.
But we all suffer from the human condition. Sometimes we let go of our good intentions, our best selves and fall into behavior that is less than stellar.
So, this begs this question: How do we hang on to our good intentions, our best behaviors? How do we keep from falling short of being who we really are?
Consider the eagle. The eagle has a wonderful built-in feature in his talons that keep him from falling or being blown off a branch, even as he sleeps. There is a pair of tendons that have ratchet-like teeth the eagle can lock into position as he sleeps. That very mechanism stays closed when the tendons are locked. This is the eagle's way of holding fast.
We humans have a mechanism for holding fast to our ideals. That would be our AWARENESS. We must be as vigilant as the eagle concerning our behavior. We would be wise to make virtues and values a part of our being. As we grow, develop and mature, our ideals will grow with us and we will have greater understanding of our selves and ways to apply our new found wisdom in daily living.
Be vigilant. Be as watchful and steadfast as the mighty eagle.
If this gem from Ralph Brown interests you, his website will certainly strike your fancy. Please visit his site and see for yourself what tremendous wisdom this man has expressed through his pointillist art work. Be prepared to be astonished! http://www.mirroredwindows.com/
Connie Baum
Showing posts with label pointillistic Ralph P. Brown. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pointillistic Ralph P. Brown. Show all posts
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Monday, November 3, 2008
Do You Know What Month It Is?
November is Native American Indian Month.
We observed this occasion in Grand Style: we attended a Powwow at the invitation of the Native American Social Club Association (NASCA) on the campus of the Tecumseh State Correctional Facility near our home.
Our Indian hosts were as gracious as ever, if not moreso. We were greeted warmly as we arrived. We were offered hot chocolate and soda until it seemed to drizzle out our ears, and the men seemed genuinely grateful we chose to spend Saturday evening with them.
There was the traditional drum, of course. My son, who is of Cheyenne and Danish descent, was honored to sit with the drummers for the entire Powwow! He thoroughly enjoyed his time with the men and although he knew some of the fellows, he made new friends around the drum.
One lone dancer wore regalia. Sometimes I grieve that the inmates are not allowed the regalia from their own tribes...it must feel to them like being a priest and not wearing a collar. But the dancer who did have regalia had a bustle and a headdress. There were shiny silver earrings with beadwork on them dangling from both his pierced ears. He also had bright blue mocassins, which had been made for him by the artistic hands of an Indian brother. That artist was not dancing that night, for he is in mourning. The dancer also carried the Dance Stick and the Feathers. He wore colorful beaded wrist bands and his knees were covered with bells which jangled as he danced and moved. He danced with passion from the beginning drumbeats to the last.
The Master of Ceremonies announced there would be a dance to honor the women of the group. Each woman was to choose a partner with whom to dance. I chose a tall man with long dark hair and a brightly colored shirt with the club's logo on it. He seemed embarrassed and told me that he really could not dance. I laughed and responded, "Hey! I'm PINK; what would I know about how to do heya?" He grinned and took my hand. We stepped into the dance circle with the others. The dancer who wore the regalia held his Dance Stick over each woman and danced near to us as the song was drummed. It was a high honor for each female there, to be recognized as a woman, as a guest, as a dancer.
At the appointed time, the guests were invited to the buffet table. The men in charge of serving the food had carefully and patiently opened individual packets of chips and placed bean dip and cheese spread over the middle of each. They looked like square plates from a fancy-schmancy eatery, replete with tri-fold paper towels from a dispenser. There was a host for each guest to fetch soda, spoons, more napkins--whatever was necessary for the perfect dining experience. Just in case we'd not had our fill, someone came around to hand out individual packets of peanuts! Our hosts lingered to chat as we ate together. It would have been difficult to distinguish who enjoyed themselves more-the hosts or the guests.
The hour approached when the party had to end. The announcement came that there would be one more song. The entire company of people drew close to the drum for the Freedom Song. The drum was louder than it had been all night and the singing was not only louder, but was also higher pitched. The passion and love and energy that filled that gymnasium could have lit the whole of New York City for a week!
As the drumming and singing filled the air, the Dancer handed me the Dance Stick! I wasn't sure what it meant, really, but I knew I had received a great honor. Tears stung my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. The Dancer smiled at me and nodded. I smiled back but I could barely see for the tears. They were tears of joy. Later I learned that the feathers in the Dance Stick had belonged to the Dancer's ancestors. He had honored his ancestors and me by allowing me to hold the Dance Stick at the high point of the Freedom Song! With that information, my heart melted.
There were goodbye handshakes and hugs and last minute thank yous. Then we walked out of that environment into a still and starlit night. The air was cool and the wind had been hushed. Hearts had been healed that night. Honor had been given and received. Love was all around. It was palpable.
Here's hoping you can observe Native American Indian Month with joy and passion. If you are looking for some way to make it meaningful you could view an Indian art exhibit. Give yourself the treat of visiting the website of one of the most amazing artists on earth. You will be honored for your effort. This site features the pointillistic impressions of portrait artist, Ralph P. Brown, a Mohawk Indian: Mirrored Windows .
Connie Baum
We observed this occasion in Grand Style: we attended a Powwow at the invitation of the Native American Social Club Association (NASCA) on the campus of the Tecumseh State Correctional Facility near our home.
Our Indian hosts were as gracious as ever, if not moreso. We were greeted warmly as we arrived. We were offered hot chocolate and soda until it seemed to drizzle out our ears, and the men seemed genuinely grateful we chose to spend Saturday evening with them.
There was the traditional drum, of course. My son, who is of Cheyenne and Danish descent, was honored to sit with the drummers for the entire Powwow! He thoroughly enjoyed his time with the men and although he knew some of the fellows, he made new friends around the drum.
One lone dancer wore regalia. Sometimes I grieve that the inmates are not allowed the regalia from their own tribes...it must feel to them like being a priest and not wearing a collar. But the dancer who did have regalia had a bustle and a headdress. There were shiny silver earrings with beadwork on them dangling from both his pierced ears. He also had bright blue mocassins, which had been made for him by the artistic hands of an Indian brother. That artist was not dancing that night, for he is in mourning. The dancer also carried the Dance Stick and the Feathers. He wore colorful beaded wrist bands and his knees were covered with bells which jangled as he danced and moved. He danced with passion from the beginning drumbeats to the last.
The Master of Ceremonies announced there would be a dance to honor the women of the group. Each woman was to choose a partner with whom to dance. I chose a tall man with long dark hair and a brightly colored shirt with the club's logo on it. He seemed embarrassed and told me that he really could not dance. I laughed and responded, "Hey! I'm PINK; what would I know about how to do heya?" He grinned and took my hand. We stepped into the dance circle with the others. The dancer who wore the regalia held his Dance Stick over each woman and danced near to us as the song was drummed. It was a high honor for each female there, to be recognized as a woman, as a guest, as a dancer.
At the appointed time, the guests were invited to the buffet table. The men in charge of serving the food had carefully and patiently opened individual packets of chips and placed bean dip and cheese spread over the middle of each. They looked like square plates from a fancy-schmancy eatery, replete with tri-fold paper towels from a dispenser. There was a host for each guest to fetch soda, spoons, more napkins--whatever was necessary for the perfect dining experience. Just in case we'd not had our fill, someone came around to hand out individual packets of peanuts! Our hosts lingered to chat as we ate together. It would have been difficult to distinguish who enjoyed themselves more-the hosts or the guests.
The hour approached when the party had to end. The announcement came that there would be one more song. The entire company of people drew close to the drum for the Freedom Song. The drum was louder than it had been all night and the singing was not only louder, but was also higher pitched. The passion and love and energy that filled that gymnasium could have lit the whole of New York City for a week!
As the drumming and singing filled the air, the Dancer handed me the Dance Stick! I wasn't sure what it meant, really, but I knew I had received a great honor. Tears stung my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. The Dancer smiled at me and nodded. I smiled back but I could barely see for the tears. They were tears of joy. Later I learned that the feathers in the Dance Stick had belonged to the Dancer's ancestors. He had honored his ancestors and me by allowing me to hold the Dance Stick at the high point of the Freedom Song! With that information, my heart melted.
There were goodbye handshakes and hugs and last minute thank yous. Then we walked out of that environment into a still and starlit night. The air was cool and the wind had been hushed. Hearts had been healed that night. Honor had been given and received. Love was all around. It was palpable.
Here's hoping you can observe Native American Indian Month with joy and passion. If you are looking for some way to make it meaningful you could view an Indian art exhibit. Give yourself the treat of visiting the website of one of the most amazing artists on earth. You will be honored for your effort. This site features the pointillistic impressions of portrait artist, Ralph P. Brown, a Mohawk Indian: Mirrored Windows .
Connie Baum
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