Native or American

There are secrets kept within the lodge of the Cheyenne reservation in La Junta, Colorado. Our folklore is hidden in oratory only spoken to those with the proper blood. The faith of the Medicine is flawed, beautiful and before its time. It haunts its followers as they come to know it more and more. It is only in the vision quest that the truth is revealed; there are two paths.
The men of animals receive their name by triumph. My brother, Biuantan, received his in the plateaus. A bald eagle soared above him and he put his arm out and the eagle landed it on it. It is said that my brother became the eagle as they gracefully stared at one another. At the end of his quest, Biuantan received a feather to represent his spirit; the sight of an eagle.
The second path is that of prophecy ordained by Medicine. It is given at birth but realized during the quest. Only the Medicine Man is aware of the prophecies. He gives a special ceremony in the prophecy’s honor. But this ceremony is tragic as the history of the tribe is displayed on the walls of the lodge. The people of prophecy are given hand-made trinkets that display their path as well as their duty. I was given a dream catcher.
It is three circles woven together with twine, leather, brown beads and buffalo tusks. And molded tin and feathers hang from it. The outer ring represents what is beyond; that which cannot be told. The inner ring is the earth, the beads are the people. And the ring suspended in the center is the secret. The secret the Medicine Man and I only know. I do not share the secret but not because I am bound by duty. I do not share it because I am embarrassed and ashamed. I am not full-blooded. I left the reservation and entered into the American World. I am not a prophecy. I am just a girl born in March.
This dream catcher does not capture bad dreams but is said to amplify them. But I don’t believe it. It is normal to have dreams of bloodshed and of war. These are just nightmares. It would be unnatural to dream of utopia or a world full of unconditional love. I hang it only out of tradition. Just as an atheist would hang his dead grandmothers cross out of respect.
***
I was in the lodge when my grandfather, the Medicine Man, showed me how to inhale from the peace pipe. The hallucinogen filled my lungs and the lodge began to change. The smoke curled and became the ancestors. As my grandfather spoke I watched the Massacre of Sandcreek. I could see the blood pouring from the men. The women were raped. And the children were scalped as if they were Apaches. It was as if no one ever knew that the word Cheyenne means “Peaceful People.” I ran out of the lodge screaming and crying. My grandfather followed but not to console. He handed me the old dream catcher. He told me it has been in the tribe for many years. And for the first time he called me “Malia Nahala Hateya.”
***
There is no magic in the dream catcher. I do not follow its meaning. I am not a prophecy. I am just a girl born in March.