All Good Things . . .(Part 2 of 2)

Continue. . .All Good Things (1 of 2)

I was slow to warm up there and was fixing to leave. Something said, "Stay." Paid $10 bucks for parking and to leave after fifteen minutes would seem to be a waste. No teepees were around and I honestly didn’t get a feel of a Pow Wow. So I walked around again and looked at the wares the vendors were selling. Almost bought a bow and arrow. Wanted to shoot the mini crossbow. Its a bucket list thing.

There was one incident at one of the vendors that struck me. A medium height, brown haired man wearing a Boston Red Sox jacket was holding a buffalo horn he was about to buy. Then he said, “Would you trade for it? This is an Indian store. You people trade things, right?”

Didn’t know why I didn’t say anything. It shocked me I guess that someone would be so blatant—so racist—so ignorant. The vendor, Native American, was obviously taken aback. His response, “Yes, . . .er. . .I will trade it for money.”

It reminded me of a time when I was going to get in a grade school fight. One kid said, “You better not, he might know Karate.” This Boston Red Sox jacket guy was trying to make a funny, but it just got me fuming. This ass reminded me of time when people believed that the Chinese men were good at washing clothes. Domestic labor, i.e., washing clothes was held in the lowest for Chinese men during the building of the railroads. An an old Laundry Soap Television commercial had the tagline “Ancient Chinese secret.” It’s like all athletes and rappers are African American. Forget Pau Gasol, Yao Ming, Manu Ginobli, Matisyahu and Eminem.  

This exchange reminded me to be ever present to the moment. Should have lit this guy up. Moment passed and it made me think of my own ignorance, biases, and prejudices when I first walked in. Decided to stay longer and take it in. Figured that was the Universe telling to shut up and stay. Got an Indian taco and sat. Listened to music and watched more dancing.

Slowly, imperceptibly, I started feeling calmer. Started noticing little things. The singers were three and four in the group. Their songs I never understood. Couldn’t feel it though. Sensed anger. Sensed sadness. Felt Spirit. Yes, it had much Spirit.

When the drummers played, they would sing for ten and fifteen minute stints.  That is tiring. One would lose his voice and the other would pick up. They aided each other to continue. It wasn’t something understood intellectually. The words were foreign. It was touching something basic. Something, Primal. Don’t want to say it was tribal. It would be cliché. There was a Deepness in their songs.

Watching the dancers, their ages ranged. There would be a line of four by two. At first, they were women, young and old. It didn’t seem like they were dancing at all. Just tapping their feet slowly. Up and down.  It was like someone having to go to the bathroom, but with all the stalls occupied.

However, as the drummers increased the speed, the dancers' movements became more dramatic. It was slow measured at first. Then, a couple of ladies with arms straight out and the knees bent as if sitting, would circle left. Then right, and back again.It was like a slow geisha dance.

Overall, the dances reminded me of a junior high dance. At first, the ones on the dance floor can feel every eye on them so there is a much reservation. Then people from outside the arena would join slowly then quick. As the crowds grew, inhibitions would be lost in the crowd. As more people joined, it animated the dancers more. More and more people entered the Arena for all those to visitors to see. A few danced as if they were fighting. The dance would be a battle against one’s fear and personal inhibitions. It was the fighting was against some demons, personal gremlins. Drummers beat would speed and all the inhibitions would fall. The dance remained dignified, passionate.

At times, the Pow Wow leaders would have an “Honorary” Not sure of the meaning and significance, but think reception line at a military ball. Those honored would stand in the Arena. Then people would come up and shake their hand. They had an Honorary for the elders. Another for the singers. Another for a family.

Couple of times, there were calling of gifts. A ceremonial blanket would be placed and people would come up and leave a monetary token. A dollar here and there. Reminds one of collection basket in church.

It was joy that I stayed. After the ceremonial dances were over, there was the Grand Entrance to the Arena. All the people outside the arena, sitting in the canopied tents, came out in their cultural dress and walked/ danced in the Arena. It was something to see. Watching made me really glad I didn’t leave earlier.

Everyone dressed in their colorful outfits was something to see. If you ever been to the New Years parade in Pasadena, you would feel the excitement of the Grand Entry. Well, maybe, not as extravagant as the Parade floats, but it was fun nonetheless.

Not sure I will ever understand the plight of the 500 Nations have faced, but there is certain strength in spirituality that can be felt. Attending these celebrations, these festivals, these Pow Wows, one gains an understanding a respect. One realizes one’s own ignorance and prejudices. This year has been eye opening. Attended Chinese New Year, rode in CicLAvia, Whale watched at the Dana Point, Bet on horses at Santa Anita’s closing day. Drank beer at Oktoberfest. Visited a number of missions. There is so much richness out there.

We pass by all too often thinking what we get from the boob tube is enough. A glance in the newspaper, or click on the internet, can have opening new possibilities. The stuff one read in books and magazines is nice, but this only person interpretation. It is valid, but it can never replace experiencing life one self.

At times, the places we visit does not seem to hold much promise at first. We can get up and leave, but  real treasures can be missed. We need to listen to that voice in all of us and let events unfold. Don’t withdraw too quickly. Something wonderful maybe erupting and you would have missed something life changing.

Life changes happen in every minute, in every second. Slowly, the subtle beats of life quicken and we start realizing we are dancing unabashedly in the Arena. If we can only remember to live life this way, we won’t feel like we missed a thing. In the end, I believe we all would like to feel this way.

All Good Things. . .

All these nations beating as one. Their movements were slow. Reserved, at first. A light tap of the foot here and there. It was as if on the lowest setting on a stair stepper. The beat of the rhythm sped. Grew louder. Upped, the dancers’ movement became more demonstrative, more animated.

 


One man, an older white haired man, had a metal rattle. His arm movements were short, slow, measured. However, as the beat grew stronger his body became more involved. It was violent, there was anger in his movements. 

 

Heard a musician say, “After a concert, he would be exhausted.” After watching this older man, this tribal elder, dance I can see why. There was passion in his dance. Must have been in his 70’s, but his energy would match any twenty year old at a rave. You can pick him out of the crowd. He wasn’t wearing the ceremonial garb as the others. His was the more traditional “White Man” dress. He wore black slacks, leather belt, and a sweater. However, from his movements his Indian heritage was strong. White haired, with a face that would rival any Marine drill sergeant. One could not not watch him dance.

Walking in to the Pow Wow, I wasn’t really impressed. They had the obligatory vendors selling their wares like many—too many—festivals. Fox skins, buffalo horns, and hollowed tortoise shells. There were bead bracelets, bone necklaces, and wooden bows and arrows. Music CDs of Native American were on display. DVDs and books also filled up the racks.

Didn’t think much at first of the whole festival. Wasn’t really large.  It was much like one poor Renaissance Fair I attended. No teepees. Nothing of the traditional Native Indian American decoration I had expected. My mind was expecting something from the Autry Museum. Tents that people used were canopies one buys at Costco, Sam’s Club, and Big Five.

Many attendees wore jeans and heavy metal t-shirts. Young teenage kids dressed in Chollo garb. If I didn’t know otherwise, I would have thought many were from Hispanic descent. Even saw one vendor dressed up in South American Indian attire. I was ignorant and had stereotypes in mind. 

Walked a couple of times around the circle. Sat at different open places trying to get a different feel of the place.  Some wore outfits with Eagle feathers and Native American dress. A few ladies wore proudly Turquoise rings and necklaces.

Tents were arranged in a circle. They called it .  . .the  Arena. Didn’t understand at first, but the circle has great significance. It is held in esteem. It is a sacred place. In time, I learned why it was called the Arena.

Continued. . .All Good Things (2 of 2)