s e i r o m e M f T o l a i n o m e Cer
By Bill McCarthy The year was 1988. I had come into Gallup green and inexperienced. Having been born and raised in Mission, Kansas, my home was right on the spot of a Pawnee village. That noble tribe, now sadly extinct, left a remnant in a museum right down the street, just a walking distance from my front porch. That was the extent of my knowledge and interaction with Native Peoples and Native Cultures. One of the perks of coming to work at the Southwest Indian Foundation is that we have one of the few multi-story buildings in downtown Gallup. Facing the south out of large windows, one has a perfect VIP vantage point for the Ceremonial Parade. Not really knowing what to expect, as our family waited, the three girls all under the age of reason, and John just an infant, we faintly heard the beat of the drums and the rich voices chanting. I couldn’t really tell you much about that day, except I know it was generally a good time. But there was one aspect I do recall. I couldn’t tell you the tribe or the particular dance, but there was a young man, who was maybe 16. He was absolutely stunning in his fluid, graceful motion and art form. The ripple of his muscles, the handsome regalia, the focus, and concentration, it was pure poetry in motion. Then it occurred to me that it was really more than artistic expression in dance. It was a prayer. It was a glorification of God’s creation. For many of the Native ceremonies, dance is a central feature. Keeping a dance all night, a sacred manifestation of the spirit, the good, the true, and the beautiful. The expression of prayer, purging, and purification. Keeping the discipline of the action, cadence, and beat as the muscles ache, and fatigue sets in. It is no wonder the Native People are such great distance runners. Certainly worthy of admiration.
August 2018
15
