“We have to learn to reconnect with ourselves so we can stand for something greater than ourselves.” —Dawna Markova, from I Will Not Die An Unlived Life
Christopher has invited me to share some thoughts about the wasp who entered Home Land. I am grateful for this opportunity to express my admiration for Home Land and to acknowledge the collaborative gifts of its writer, director, cast, crew and production team—gifts given generously so that through Home Land, the theatre could offer its gift—the living of greater life.
I asked if the wasp had emerged before or after the writing of Standing Bear’s new line: “Do you realize what’s been set in motion?” The answer was: “After.” The wasp’s appearance suggests to me what Home Land has set in motion—and what was set in motion long before the play was penned.
Home Land has arrived in a time when Elders of many native nations are sharing their wisdom, knowing their respectful relationship with all of life is crucial for others to understand. How we live with each other and with Earth is determining our future. The flow of energy between the native and non-native worlds has many rivers, including Ancient Voices – Contemporary Contexts—forums created by the American Indian Institute (www.twocircles.org) to answer the Traditional Circle of Indian Elders and Youth’s request to share their perspectives with the non-native world. (To watch a 14-minute video of Elders speaking at the September 2008 Ancient Voices Forum at Flathead, Montana, visit: www.ancientvoicescontemporarycontexts.org/)
At the Forum community dinner at the Flathead reservation, Bob Staffanson—now age 87—told this story of how he came to create the American Indian Institute. More than 30 years ago, he attended a Blood Nation medicine camp in Alberta, Canada. A guest of friends from the Blackfeet Nation, Bob was the only non-native in the camp. During a ceremony, a bird appeared. It was black, with burning red eyes that emanated intense energy. The bird hopped around the circle, landing on the foot of each participant; then vanished.
Shortly after Bob returned home from the camp, he was mowing his lawn when something landed on his head. It was the red-eyed bird. When Bob reached up to touch it, the bird hopped onto his shoulder and stayed there as Bob worked; then vanished.
Around 6:00 the next morning, Bob rose and went downstairs. It had been a cold night and all the windows and doors in his home were shut tight. The same bird was now sitting on the back of his sofa, energy pouring from its red eyes. It regarded him steadily; then vanished.
Bob realized this was no ordinary bird. He understood he had to do something in response to his experiences in the medicine camp. His decision changed the course of Bob’s life and the lives of many when he founded the Institute to support the traditional knowledge and cultures of Native North America. What was set in motion by the visiting bird with red eyes has impacted thousands of Indian people, and is now expanding into a wider circle—one including all peoples.
In some cultures, recovery from snake bite or scorpion sting is considered an initiation. In the Peruvian Andes, a person who survives being struck by lightning often becomes a medicine person. In Nebraska, everyone present was touched by witnessing the wasp who chose to visit, not to sting. Perhaps this unusual behavior acknowledged the unusual powers of the play.
Perhaps this stinging insect, who chose not to sting, suggests how we can choose to live with what is home, with all our relations. The wasp’s home—for its nest was in the tree that became the set—became a home for the vessel of radiant energies named Home Land.
“We make a home for each other, my grandfather and I. Do you know what I mean by a home? I don’t mean a regular home. I mean I don’t mean what other people mean when they speak of a home, because I don’t regard a home as a . . . well, as a place, a building . . . a house . . . of wood, bricks, stone. I think of a home as being a thing that two people have between them in which each can . . . well, nest—rest—live in, emotionally speaking. Does that make any sense to you…?”
—Hannah Jelkes, in The Night of the Iguana by Tennessee Williams
