Web of Life

I have decided I am destined to stumble through life with a perpetual look of ignorance plastered across my ruddy mug. I say this because I have begun to notice my family and friends constantly pushing educational and self-improvement opportunities my way. For example, I often find copies of Discover and Popular Science magazines stacked neatly in the bathroom my fifteen year old son and I share. I know they are not for Spenser, because, according to him, he is up to date on every imaginable subject. The accompanying high powered reading glasses resting neatly on top of the stack are yet another clear indication the magazines are directed at me. Taking the not so subtle hint, I recently picked up a Discover periodical and began to read an article by Michio Kaku, entitled Testing String Theory.

The article began, "One of the most remarkable claims made in modern times comes from string theory, which holds that everything in the universe is composed of tiny vibrating strings of energy. The strings in string theory are tiny---about a billionth of a billionth the size of a proton. In this view, every particle in your body, every speck of light that lets you read these words, and every packet of gravity that pushes you into your chair is just a variant of this one fundamental entity. Advocates say vibrating strings underlie every particle and every force in the universe. String theory may achieve what Einstein could not, a unified theory that explains how the universe works. But will anyone ever be able to prove this theory? The concept that everything is made of tiny vibrating strings stretches human imagination to the breaking point."

"The math behind string theory is extremely sophisticated and beautiful, and the equations have survived every mathematical challenge. People who have worked on string theory often walk away with a powerful, yet unquantifiable, feeling that it must be true. In an attempt to prove the principles through variations in gravity, scientists are going to attempt a particle accelerator test. The Large Hadron Collider, which is located outside Geneva, Switzerland and is the world's most powerful particle accelerator, is to be put to use. The super collider may be powerful enough to test one of the most bizarre predictions of strung theory; that there are many physical dimensions. Recent versions of string theory hypothesize that there are actually seven spatial dimensions beyond the three we can sense." The article on string theory ends by suggesting, "The remarkable proof of the theory might not cost years of effort and billions of dollars. It might come instead from the most basic tools of science; paper, pencil and a human brain."

The brain I rely on, which I believe to be human in origin, was hurting horribly after my third re-read of the article. I think it was Michael Covey who said that if you read and/or listen to a story three times it will soak in to even the densest gray matter. I have faith in this principle, but, as it relates to me, have not proven it to be totally true. When I arrived at work the next morning, I found a note from two psychologist friends, Jon and Dawn. Jon and Dawn are thoughtfully intelligent people, who have provided me a great deal of positive insight through the years. They too seem to be concerned with my educational and self-improvement opportunities, or lack thereof, and recommended an audio book by the Dalai Lama. I promptly purchased the suggested material and began to listen. The Dalai Lama's essays contained remarkable insight into the connecting web of life, which this wonderful individual calls "Dependent Origination".

In a nutshell, "Dependent Origination refers to the nature of reality and the close connection between how we perceive ourselves in relation to the world we inhabit and our behavior in response to it. In the course of our daily lives, we engage in countless disparate activities and receive huge amounts of sensory input from all we encounter. How we interpret and react to that input effects everyone and everything around us, in one way or another. In beginning to understand phenomenon and reality, we become aware of the infinite complexity of our relationships to all things." Cool!!!! There are three levels to understanding this model: "1. All things and events arise on a complex web of interrelated causes and conditions. From this we can see that no thing or event can be construed to exist in and of itself; 2. Understanding the mutual dependence which exists between individual parts and the whole, without the whole the concept of parts makes no sense; and 3. All things and events can be understood to be dependently originated, because when we analyze them we find that ultimately they lack independent identity." I began to see parallels all over the place. String Theory and Dependent Origination were sounding very similar. There is at least one other facet to this story that must be considered, that of Spider Woman in Navajo mythology. Spider Woman's spiritual power, as seen in her silken web, joins the realms of Earth and Sky. As a deity, she is given credit for weaving and placing human arteries, and is thus at least partially responsible for human beings. Spider Woman is the central figure that relates to supernatural power in the quest of the Hero Twins to search out and build a relationship with their father, the all powerful Sun. This relationship provides security of life and sacred protection for the Navajo people. Spider Woman's interwoven web connects all things to a rich and diverse culture on multiple levels.

It sounds to me like String Theory, Dependent Origin and Spider Woman are all part of the same fabric of life. As human beings, we are all connected, and, on another plane or dimension, we are dependent on the natural world for survival. I do not know what anyone else will think, but, to me, that does not sound so far-fetched. There are times I go away from these studies feeling that I have made a profound personal discovery and gained insight into the web of life that maintains our mental and physical well being. As I recall, in a recent movie, Spider Man, remembering his deceased uncle's words of wisdom, "with great knowledge comes great responsibility and sacrifice", as he turned and walked away from a rejected and confused Mary Jane...what the heck should I do now?

Sincerely,

Man Made

When we first opened the trading post, I was constantly amazed by what our customers said and did. If it wasn't the tourists, it was our Navajo patrons doing things that made me shake my head in wonder. Often, as I relived the day's events later that evening, I laughed out loud or mumbled to myself about the comedy or humanity of what had occurred that day. Had anybody witnessed these evening episodes, I may have been subject to commitment in the big white house with large lawns and nicely padded guest rooms.

In the early days, we did a small pawn business, so there were more elderly Navajo people in the store. Pawn has, for many decades, been an important part of the trading post tradition. Many of the older Navajo people use it as a means of safeguarding their valuable possessions from marauding children or grandchildren, or to ensure access to small amounts of quick cash. As our arts and crafts business grew, however, pawn became more and more complicated.

It wasn't that the revenue was bad; the problem was more practical than anything. Because pawning guns was a substantial part of the business, I began noticing the customers becoming more and more nervous as someone carrying a rifle climbed the stairs to the trading post. For many of our patrons, the obvious conclusion was that an armed robbery was in progress and their lives were in danger.

When the customers realized they were not in harm's way, they became immensely curious and wanted to know what was happening. As these events unfolded, their interest in rugs, baskets and jewelry quickly dissipated, and any possibility of a sale disappeared. So, we finally decided pawn was no longer worth the effort and closed that part of our operation.

One disadvantage of ending our pawn business was that many older Navajo people stopped coming to see us. Initially, when we told them we were no longer pawning, they would wink and say, "Well, just for me, okay?" Eventually we stopped altogether and the grandmas and grandpas faded away.

The other day something happened that reminded me of the older Navajos we used to see all the time; people like Espee Jones, Wooeyboy's Son, Nellie Greyeyes and many more. A Navajo woman was browsing through the shop inventory when she spotted the arrowheads we have in the display cases. This particular item is made by Homer Etherton, a man in his late eighties. After I put the basket containing them on the counter, the woman picked up a few points, inspected them closely, and, admiring their craftsmanship, turned them over and over in her hand. After carefully scrutinizing them, she asked, "Are these man-made?"

The first time I heard that question, I was completely baffled, and almost blurted out, "Of course they are man-made. What else would they be?" My long tenure in retail and the gentle demeanor of the man, however, told me I needed to be more cautious, so I asked, "What do you mean?" The elderly Navajo gentleman quietly said, "Are they made by Horned Toad?" At that point, I explained that the arrowheads were produced by Homer, which seemed to satisfy him, but left me with several burning questions. Our cultural differences, and my desire to avoid looking overly foolish, stopped me from pursuing the matter further, so my inquisitor walked out the door without satisfying my curiosity.

Not long after that incident, a younger Navajo man came in, bought one of Homer's arrowheads, inhaled four times, patted his chest with the point and seemed to whisper a prayer. He then placed the item in a small leather bag that hung around his neck. Since we were contemporaries, I felt comfortable asking him what it all meant. He explained that Navajo people believe horned toads chip arrowheads with their breath and that the points are protection against evil spirits.

The brief ceremony allowed him to breathe in the protective essence of the arrowhead before placing the talisman in his medicine bag. He explained further that it is the "nonman-made" points; those from the ancient Puebloan culture, that are most powerful and offer the most protection from evil. Unfortunately, incidents like those are more and more rare. Navajo culture is rapidly changing, and many of the old ways are no longer observed by the young people of the tribe.

A few days ago, a biologist for the state of Utah wandered into the store. Her department was conducting a study of the local vegetation to determine how it compared to their baseline study from the 1970s. She said their findings indicated that the more substantial bunch grasses like Indian rice grass and buffalo grass had, to a large extent, given way to cheat grass. I could not help thinking this was very much like Navajo culture; the strong traditions are being replaced by television, backwards baseball caps and baggy pants. It makes one long for more "non man-made" items.

Sincerely,
Steve

Badgered

On a brisk, fresh, starlit morning, my son Spenser and I carefully and quietly made our way across the frosted rows of crested wheat grass stubble, towards the hideous form of an ancient pine tree. This particular snag was perched on the edge of a group of evergreens, on an east facing rise which overlooked a small reservoir. It was late October, 1996, and we were out and about before dawn, looking for a monster buck. It was hunting season and, with his enthusiasm for the outdoors and newly acquired taste for venison, my six year old son had re-ignited my passion for this customary fall event.

We gained our desired location, against the skeletal remnant of the once majestic tree, and settled in to await first light. Our position seemed perfect, we would be difficult to detect among the branches which surrounded us and broke up our form. A slight breeze blew directly into our faces so our scent would not give us away. If we remained quiet, and if the Gods of the hunt granted us their favor, we would be home before noon with fresh meat on the table and a trophy rack for the wall. I was feeling quiet proud of myself, thinking, "Oh what a good hunter am I!"

Spenser came over and made a nest of my lap, cuddled up to my chest and promptly fell asleep. As far as I was concerned, it didn't get any better. The memory of that morning with my son so near is one that I hold in my heart, and will cherish as long as I exist. Spenser has been blessed with the ability to sleep anywhere, anytime. I once witnessed him roll his sleeping bag out on bare sandstone; with its attendant humps, depressions and awkward angles, sleep like a baby for the entire night and awake refreshed the next morning. I, on the other hand, am not so lucky.

It was getting brighter, and I began anticipating the sun's appearance on the clouded horizon. I was certain our trophy animal would soon manifest an appearance. The first rays of sunlight broke free and lit the landscape with a rich golden glow. At that instant, I sensed movement from both sides of my field of vision. I tensed and slowly prepared to wake Spenser from his slumber. My senses were on full alert; the game was in the bag. On my right hand side, padding through the tall illuminated grass, appeared a large coyote. On my left, jogging through an obstacle course of burned out stumps, came a badger.

Relaxing a bit, I decided not to wake my son for such insignificant animals. The fact was, I was enjoying his closeness and did not want to lose the moment. The two creatures pulled up to the water at approximately the same time. Without taking much notice of each other, they drank their fill and moved on. The coyote headed almost directly away from us, nonchalantly making his way towards a tangle of deep brush a few hundred yards distant. The badger, however, took a different tack; one that would deliver him to our tree in short order.

Again I stiffened, remembering just how tough and aggressive these mighty mites can be. I was familiar with badgers, and knew just how much trouble they might cause. I also knew that, if not provoked, they were generally quite calm, cool and collected. The beast came on like a line backer; his muscles rippling across his chest, his short legs pumping like pile drivers. At about ten yards out, he pulled up, raised his snout into the air and sniffed. Instantly the badger focused in on us, snorted loudly and stomped his feet.

I could smell his musky odor and make out the silver tips on the black hair of his back and sides. The badger looked us over closely, licked his nose and sniffed again. He must have decided we were not a serious threat, because the brute altered direction slightly and moved away with confidence. Watching the badger strut the other way, I breathed a little easier, and began to think back on a book I had been reading about Navajo myths and legends. The book, by Paul Zolbrod, was titled Dine' Bahane, The Navajo Creation Story. In the book, its author speaks of an occurrence similar to the one I had just witnessed.

In Navajo teachings, Badger and Coyote came into being on a day very much like the one I was experiencing during that fall hunt. The Navajo people believe they emerged through four different worlds before arriving here. An upward moving way occurred, complete with a great deal of learning, experience and metaphorical lesson plans for understanding life and love. The genesis of Coyote and Badger is explained this way; "The people had not been in the fourth world long when they saw Sky bend down and Earth rise up until for a moment they met. At that instant Coyote and Badger, now considered to be children of these two deities, sprang out of earth at the point of contact. At once Coyote skulked among the people and began to educate them through outrageous acts and reverse psychology, where as Badger went back down into the hole which led to the lower world and maintained a hidden, unobtrusive existence. Badger is powerful though, both physically and magically, and not to be dealt with lightly."

Spenser soon awoke, stretching, yawning and causing all sorts of commotion by pelting me with pine cones. Soon an all out battle ensued, and the opportunity for surprising our trophy buck dissipated. We agreed to leave and search for some bacon and eggs. A far cry from grandma Rose's batter fried venison, homemade biscuits and cream gravy, but it would have to do. As we drove away, I looked back in my rear view mirror and wondered at how, as human beings, we are constantly looking for answers to explain our creation. Some choose the scientific approach, some the spiritual; still others look to the natural world. I am sure truth can be found in all those places. Looking over at my young son, thinking of his sisters and their mother and marveling at the miracle of it all, I realized why the questions arise.

Sincerely,
Barry

Hey Ya Ya Ya

My recent morning runs can only be described as slogs. I worry that my wheel bearings may be worn out and my left leg ready to separate from its axle, leaving me to jog in circles the rest of my days. This mechanical malfunction is probably the result of a sore right knee cap, which has caused me to rely more heavily on my left side. In any case, I am beginning to pay the price for years of running on pavement, and am also starting to realize the complications of being middle aged. Whoever made up the advertising tag line, "You're not getting older, you're getting better," was clearly not referring to me.

Yesterday morning, I was well into my run when Johonaa'ei, the Sun God, sire of the Hero Twins, Monster Slayer and Born for Water, and illicit lover of Changing Woman, crested the horizon, riding his blazing yellow steed. As I ran east towards the sunrise, I had to pause a few times to realign my slightly askew frame and marvel at the majesty of Mother Nature. As I approached my turn around point, I heard a strange sound and began searching for its source.

It took a while, but I finally realized the noise was internally generated. I often find that fragments of certain old songs stick in my mind and play incessantly as I run down the road, but this was something altogether new. Tumbling out of my head and pounding through my chest was an unending string of, "Hey Ya Ya Ya"s. Never had I experienced such a occurrence, and I began to wonder whether it might be a sign of early onset senility.

After thoroughly considering the possibility that my brain had gone soft, I decided the more acceptable explanation was that old Westerns and the trading post were to blame. I had recently purchased two large drums for the store, and our customers regularly use them to bang out Hollywood Indian rhythms. The drums are in constant demand by both children and adults, and the music our visitors make is almost universally reminiscent of the faux Indian drumming found in John Wayne and Tom Mix movies.

After a few miles, the chanting stopped, and I remembered a conversation I recently had with one of our customers. The customer wanted to know how the Indian Arts and Crafts Act affected our business. One sure way to get my hackles up is to mention the statute that created the Indian Arts and Crafts Board. Jana was President of the Indian Arts and Crafts Association at the time the legislative debate heated up, and she and I had many spirited conversations about it.

The law is basically a federal consumer protection statute which includes both civil and criminal penalties for those deceptively marketing products as "Indian made" which are not produced by Native Americans who have been properly recognized by their tribe. The underlying premise of the statute is that the making and selling of Indian arts and crafts are restricted to tribally affiliated members, because such items represent ancient tribal traditions which must be protected. No accommodation is made for Native Americans who choose not to be affiliated with their tribe. These individuals, despite their heritage, have no legal right to market their work as Indian made.

To me, it is more than a little ironic that the entity doing more to destroy Native culture than any other is all of the sudden interested in protecting and ensuring its continuation. It also troubles me that there is no similar statute protecting African Americans, Jewish Americans, Hispanic Americans and a whole host of other ethnic groups that have ancient traditions in need of protection.

What bothers me most, however, is that, as an outside culture, we rarely know what is tradition and what is not when it comes to Native Americans; thus the Hay Ya Ya Yas and a variety of other stereotypes we commonly promote. I have often wondered how the federal government can ensure and protect a culture it neither understands nor embraces. Not that the government's stance is unprecedented.

As I sat there stewing in the summer heat, a young family walked into the store. The kids immediately snatched up the drum sticks and started banging out Hey Ya Ya Yas. Climbing down from my soap box, I noticed the children smiling broadly. It is hard to know whether their misunderstanding promotes or demeans Native American culture. What I do know is that the children were happy to be making "Indian" music, and were extremely proud of their Native American brothers and sisters. Maybe the federal government can learn a thing or two from those kids. Honesty, integrity and even a nontraditional beat is more effective than statutes and court orders when it comes to protecting and preserving Native American culture.

Sincerely,
Steve