Chapter from the Antelope book Pam and I wrote
by Ross LewAllen & Pamela Jensen ©1998
"Go along until you come to the Grandfather trees and take a left. Keep going until you see three crosses and turn there," Gray Antelope, the healer, had told Ross, giving him directions to the medicine house. Following metaphoric landmarks instead of street signs, Ross found the house easily. Other seekers had gotten lost, could not tell a grandfather tree from any other tree and had spent a great deal of time driving around in circles, creeping along up and down dirt roads that crisscrossed the landscape looking for the trees. Still others found their way to his house, but never found him at home.
Antelope’s house, the medicine house, was a small adobe rectangle, simple and unpretentious. But like a gift wrapped in plain brown paper, the outer wrappings gave no clue as to what treasure was hidden inside. The treasure inside the medicine house, the gift of the medicine house, was not in its humble appearance or in its furnishings, which were plain and utilitarian, or even in the beautiful and powerful ritual objects kept within. The true gift was in the experience of being there, of taking part in whatever happened. Crossing the threshold into the cool dark interior, sitting to listen to the drum and the old medicine songs, you could not remain an outsider, a mere observer. It was impossible to remain detached. The energy of the medicine man and his house seeped into one’s body like the warmth from the fire in the wood stove.
The yard around the house was swept brown earth. Large cottonwood trees towered near the front door. Antelope hung many objects from the branches of those old trees, skulls, bones, pieces of deer hide, pieces of wood. The hanging objects changed according to some secret calendar known to Antelope, their purpose was never explained. Long cedar posts stacked vertically like silver-gray ghosts of tipis stood behind the house. An irrigation ditch ran to the South and in the East was a corn field and a view of the Sangre de Cristo mountains. To the West lay surreal high mesa cliffs and to the north the mountains of Southern Colorado.
"The relationship of a person to the land and of his house to the land is very important. Set yourself within the four directions," Antelope told Ross as he turned and pointed to each mountiain. "Turtle mountain, Eagle Beak mountain, Spotted mountain and Triangle mountain." Pointing to the spot upon which they stood, he added,"The children will always gather and circle in the center."
Whenever Antelope left the medicine house, he would turn the radio on, close the blue wooden door and then latch the screen door with a simple metal hook that was on the outside of the door. If you arrived, heard music and saw that the hook was latched on the outside, you knew that he was not on the inside. (But then again, maybe, he was.) Ross had a friend that often visited from out of town. His friend really wanted to meet Gray Antelope. Every time that he came to visit Ross, he would drive out to the medicine house. Five times he drove out to find no one home. But still he persisted, soon the count was up to ten and every time he found the screen door latched and reported that no one was home.
Each time when questioned about a particular time, Antelope would say, "Hey, brother, I was home that day, all day in the medicine house." When Ross pressed him, explaining that his friend was a very busy man, that many times he had driven to the medicine house and that each time he had come a very long way, Antelope merely shrugged.
"If the meeting is supposed to happen, it will. No need to call ahead on the telephone. If he is supposed to find me, he will find me."
That was the way Antelope’s world worked; his time was not regulated by the needs and pressures of a fast paced tightly-scheduled, highly-organized corporate existence. Time was measured only by the constraints of nature. Antelope’s time flowed easily like a river in its bed taking its twists and turns, flowing smoothly over sand, and then racing over rocks and boulders. It contained both rapids with churning white water and quiet shallows.
"The river is an avanyu, a water snake," he said. And the snake, Ross knew was a symbol of change and renewal. In Antelope’s world, things happened when they were supposed to happen, not just because one made an appointment and scheduled in an hour for a meeting. It happened when spirit called you together. Everything had significance. There were no accidents. There were signs all around you if you choose to read them.
One day when Ross went to the medicine house, Antelope met him at the door with a turtle shell. It was his grandfather’s medicine. Ross knew it was a kind of blessing and it made him feel welcome. He brought roasted chicken and strawberries for lunch. Antelope loved strawberries. Before they sat down to eat, Antelope asked Ross to smudge the room, a purification before they ate. Taking a small pinon branch from the wood pile next to the wood stove, Ross prepared for the simple ritual. The small branch was still green with fragrant needles and it burst into flame when he held it close to the fire in the stove. He walked around the room gently blowing the smoke into every corner. Antelope picked up his drum and sat in the big arm chair.
"Ho!" Antelope shouted and began drumming and singing. He sang until Ross had covered the room. When Ross was finished, he placed the branch in the stove adding it to the fire that warmed the room. He then followed Antelope into the kitchen to get plates for their feast. Antelope nodded at the corner of the room where several open-ended pipes stuck out of the wall and said, "Some people came over yesterday. Their hot water heater was broken. They did not have enough money to buy a new one. So, we unhooked mine and I gave it to them to take home. They were very happy."
"Ho, brother," Ross said, "I bet they were."
Ross had brought enough food to feed whoever might show up for their impromptu gathering. When he visited Antelope, there were often many unexpected guests. (Unexpected as far as Ross was concerned, Antelope never seemed surprised by anyone’s unannounced arrival.) Sometimes these guests were members of his family or friends. Sometimes tourists would find their way to his house, looking for his beautiful black pottery. That day was no exception, three German women, Helga, Lena and Ellen, knocked on his door. They wanted to bring some native art back to Germany and had been told by a friend how to find Antelope’s house. The meal was postponed and Antelope displayed his work.
Antelope held up each pot in turn, "My grandmother taught me how to work the earth with my hands. She taught me these designs. This is the symbol for lightning, this one is rain, here are clouds, steps, children and avanyu, the water snake," he said as pointed to the glossy patterns etched on the matte black surface of the pots. Each pattern had been chosen to compliment the shape of each pot.
"We stay connected to the ancestors and keep their spirits alive by using the traditional methods and designs that have been passed down to us," he added. "Since I was six years old, I have made a pilgrimage to the Rio Grande River. There, we gather the white sand that we use to make our black pottery. The clay we use is a gift from the sacred mountain. We mix the clay by hand," he explained. He showed the women how each pot had been hand polished with a special stone that had been handed down through the generations to the each one who worked the clay. He passed the stone around. Each guest held it and felt its smooth surface. It seemed to tingle slightly in Ross’s hand, perhaps the spirit touch of an ancestral artisan.
Antelope explained that the pottery was fired in an open fire using chips of cedar or pine. When the fire reached the right temperature, the fire and the pottery were covered with manure which smothered the flames and created the smoke effect.
"Sometimes," Antelope said, "I speak into the pots to give them a special blessing. I call these pots, talking bowls." Pointing to the decorative edge around the mouth of a pot, he said "All the children sit around the rim of my pots. And my pots are with my children all over the world." Everyone that came to see Antelope became one of his children.
The women made their selections from the many pots and clay animals that sat on the low coffee table. There were small black turtles, beavers, and buffaloes. On a small blanket on the floor were gourd rattles of varying sizes. They were trimmed with turkey feathers and daubed with earth pigment that made abstract patterns of spots on the front of the gourds. Some of the pots held dried corn.
After all decisions had been made and transactions completed, everyone sat and ate. The women talked about Germany and the town where they lived. They confided about their families and their problems. The woman named Helga spoke little. She seemed fragile and nervous. Antelope listened to them talk and nodded encouragement, sometimes giving advice and sometimes remaining silent. During the meal, Antelope took a small portion of each kind of food and wrapped it in a napkin. Without explanation, he placed the napkin in the pocket of his shirt. The women exchanged glances but made no comment.
After they finished eating, cleared away the dishes and stored the left-over food in the kitchen, they returned to the living room. Antelope unwrapped the turtle shell and held it out in front of him. He said a few words in Tewa. He then looked at Ross and handed him the shell.
"Tell Helga what you see for her," he said. She jumped at the mention of her name. Taking the shell, Ross felt slightly anxious to be put on the spot, but was not surprised by Antelope’s request. It was one of his ways of teaching. Ross held the shell and looked at Helga. He looked into the eyes of a stranger and felt he knew her and that she was no stranger. He told her about her life. She nodded in agreement with his comments and insights. Her friends shook their heads in surprise and smiled with delight. Ross told her about changes that were coming and that she had no reason to be afraid. She and her husband would grow closer in the next few months. She smiled shyly and said thank you, but Ross could see the worry in her eyes. He handed the turtle shell back to Antelope.
Shell in hand, looking at Helga, Antelope said bluntly, "You have a tumor, you are afraid of the cancer. We can do some medicine if you want." Helga looked at him with tears in her eyes and nodded in agreement, unable to speak. Her two companions, Lena and Ellen, were very quiet.
"Let’s go outside," Antelope said as he stood. Everyone went outside, still caught in the spell of the turtle shell. As they walked around the yard, the air was crisp and the sky intensely blue. Everything seemed to have a sharp-edged clarity. Helga leaned against the fence railing and gazed across the yard. Her two friends stood nearby watching anxiously.
Antelope took the napkin bundle from his pocket and went to the lady named Lena. Opening the napkin until it lay flat on his hand, he said "This is a spirit plate. We want to shareour bounty with Spirit and ask for a blessing. You take this and find the right place to leave it."
Lena did not ask any questions. She took the napkin and nodded her head in affirmation. She was a take charge kind of person and would do her best to honor his request. After looking around, she headed into a little grove of trees. Ellen followed quietly after her. Antelope crossed the yard to a post that held a deer skull. He reached into his pocket and drew out a small leather pouch which held dried corn, blessing corn. He scattered the corn around the post. Helga remained by the fence looking at the mountains. Antelope crossed the yard and he stood next to her. He waited.
"I found out about the tumor, about the cancer, just before we left on our trip. The doctor wanted to operate right away. He was very insistant. But we had been planning our trip for a year and I decided I would rather travel before the surgery, before the chemo-therapy, while I still had some strength. It just felt right to take the trip now and I thought, well, that this might be my last trip. So, we came. Since I found out about the cancer, every day seems so important. Everything is intensified, everything that I touch, taste or feel is vibrant. I look at the brightness of the sky and it is so beautiful that I feel like weeping." She held her hands out in front of her and they were shaking. "Sometimes, I think I’ll just shake to pieces."
"Sometimes," Antelope answered, "It only takes one touch. One touch from Spirit to be healed." Helga looked at him, hope filled her eyes. Antelope said almost in a whisper, "See the deer skull on the post?"
"Yes," she answered.
"Go to it," he commanded, his voice a sharp bark.
Helga jumped at the sound of his voice. "What?" she asked.
"Go, pick up the corn," he commanded.
Helga did not speak but crossed the yard to the deer skull post and bent and picked up the corn. She squatted and gathered all the kernals until her hand was full and she placed it against her breast. Kneeling, she closed her eyes as if in prayer and then stood, losing her balance. She grabbed for the post to steady herself and then looked up at the skull that hung just above her head. Corn still clenched tightly in her fist, she reached up and placed her free hand upon the skull.
Antelope watched and then said, "Breathe, take in the medicine of the blessing corn. Corn sustains, corn gives life." Helga stood with her eyes closed and took several deep breaths. Lena and Ellen returned from placing the offering and watched and waited patiently.
"Take the corn and plant it. Watch it grow. See the first tiny sprout, then watch the green leaves reach to the sky. See the beauty of the yellow corn against the blue sky. Every year, save some kernals to plant the next year. Each harvest will give birth to the next. Each kernal is a blessing, a renewal of life, a pledge from you to go on and live life fully."
Antelope reached up and took the skull from the post and handed it to Helga. "Take this skull back to Germany," he demanded, "It wants to go back with you. You will need it. Hang it over the blessing corn."
"I knew I was supposed to come here," she said simply. "Thank you."
Ross could see that she did not question Antelope’s instructions. She seemed embued with a new confidence; her nervousness was gone, replaced by a sense of peace. She hugged the skull against her chest. Antelope walked back into the house. When he returned, he was carrying two fabric bundles and he gave them to Lena and Ellen. The fabric bundles contained two yards of brightly colored cotton cloth. Gathering their pottery and their gifts, the women said their thanks. In turn, each one hugged Antelope and said goodbye. Having become his children, they would extend his family across the sea to Germany, taking with them some of the magic of the medicine house and the blessing corn.
Six weeks later, Ross received a letter postmarked from Germany. It was from Helga. She had returned home and undergone surgery. The doctor removed the tumor, but found no trace of the cancer he had previously diagnosed. He was, she said, mystified.
The corn is a symbol of renewal. Its yellow kernals represent the sun and its life-giving warmth and its green leaves, mother earth that sustains us. Corn reminds us that spirit is powerful enough to heal in one touch. Planting the corn symbolizes a recommitment of your belief in spirit, the possibility of miracles and a pledge to live fully
