AUGUST THUNDER
The Pine Ridge teenagers exited the transport vehicles at the trailhead parking area and began the short hike to the ledge directly beneath a cliff array.
As they found available rocks for seating, Gideon Yellow Thunder was introduced to the eleven juvenile detainees who either sullenly stared at him or inspected the ground.
After introductions, Gideon stood to his full height, and the chatter started after Gideon opened with, “You may not have carried the knife that injured my best friend, Jimmy Lizardeye, but you did nothing to stop the attack.”
“Why should we listen to you? Some call you heyoka, but you’re a real estate agent. You’ve got money, wheels, and income. How can you relate to us?”
“If you’re one of us…, shouldn’t you be wearing our bear claw sign? You’re nothing like us.”
Gideon sighed. “Of course I’m not. Gangs are family. You have each other’s backs, right? But families grow up, and kids move on with their lives.” There was some shuffling in the ranks. “Think about your own future families.”
“So, Yellow Thunder, what do you want from us?”
“Nothing. You are warriors. You should want to protect your children and all other tribal children. In fact, it is time to think about protecting all the children of our planet.”
“Why should we listen to you?”
“You’re an outsider, see those rain clouds forming? It’s a sign that we don’t need to listen to you. I hear the clouds saying, ‘chase him away.’. The clouds respect us – you do not!”
Policeman Clive stood and sighed. “Let me ask you something. At the moment you die, will egotistical power and perceived street respect seem more important to you than submission to the Great Being when
He calls?” After a moment of stunned silence, Gideon began again, “Shift your vision a little to the side to get a clearer view. I speak only to the purity of your beings, your souls, not to the scars placed on you in this world.” His eyes glowed with a magical intensity.
Some detainees became uncomfortable; they sneered and shuffled around as they listened to him speak of this sacred matter. But a strange wind began to rise, and through it a wail, a piercing shriek was heard. Those who looked to the sky saw an enormous bird descend to a nearby crag, flapping her wings neatly into place.
The effect on all present was a shocked silence, jaws gaped in fear or awe. Three boys even fell to their knees, touching their foreheads to the earth. “It is the Great Thunderbird.”
“Maybe he is Heyoka.”
Gideon wasn’t at all surprised. He focused inside himself, recalling the voice of the ancient Wakinyan Tanka, and the changes her words brought within.
“This bird is known as ‘White Feather’, but my first vision experience was with her mother, the Great Thunderbird, Wakinyan Tanka, the Winged One, the Thunderstorm. Wakinyan’s glance was lightning, her voice, thunder. She used the night and clouds as robes to hide herself, but if you saw her, she was terrifying to behold.
“At first, I was traumatized, but I believe now that she was calling me to become ‘akecheta heyoka’. Grandmother Ursula told me that heyoka is the alternate personality of Wakinyan, a contrary warrior called by the sacred Thunder Beings. Sometimes, those individuals did things in reverse, laughed inappropriately, or acted like clowns during serious situations to get people to think outside their ruts.
“Each heyoka finds their way to serve a spiritual purpose – to look with a different slant, to free themselves from outdated traditions – spiritual doubts, and religious superstition with its deceptions.” Responding to the rising undercurrent of disagreement, Gideon continued, “Not all traditions should change – only those that keep us attached to failure instead of moving us into a better reality.” He paused, then said, “You kids get me? We’re all spirits living here in an illusion.” Gideon sat on his heels and practically whispered. “One dark night, I felt drawn to climb a scree slope and struggled to look up at the cliff top in front of me.
Something shimmered, almost like it was cloaked. A huge beast dropped silently from its eyrie, and I saw something like a four-foot snake sliding through the stars, spiraling toward me. I froze in terror. Closer, closer, the thing came, until the end of it drove into the rocks in front of my face. I was confused and squinted as the object flopped lamely back and forth next to me in the night breeze. It was a tailfeather. Recently, this bird, White Feather, has also given me a plume as a gift.”
Yellow Thunder turned to look at White Feather, whose glare was withering. “I remember Wakinyan Tanka said something like this: “For your kind, change is difficult. Two-leggeds hold onto vestiges of the past as sacred, often with total disregard for the sacredness of the now. It is not wise for you and me to cling to remnants of our pasts until shriveled meanings become useless, senseless, or lost in mythical dimness. All times and places are sacred.”
Gideon couldn’t tear his eyes from the stunning young bird that was three times the size of a large male ostrich. Shoulders around eight feet tall, head at nearly twelve feet. A band of blue-black skin ran from behind the beak to encompass her bright orange-gold eye. White Feather returned Gideon’s stare, raising quills as long as a man’s forearm.
The crest ran from the top of her head down two-thirds of her sooty slate-gray neck. Her black and white crest feathers were tipped with bright crimson as they extended to their full height. Her beak opened, and she nailed each of the offenders with savage eyes. An ancient croak rumbled from a beak the size of a grizzly bear’s skull. The teens, one and all, got up and backed away.
“Now, each of you has had an encounter with this enigma. Like us, she is only a servant of the Creator. What will you do with the little piece of life that is left to you? How will you help our Oglala people, our children?
Your eyes have seen things around you that must change; now, make those changes while there is still time. People here are willing to assist in your efforts. You hold the future of our people in your minds and hearts. That is all I have to say.”
Rain began to fall. The teens stared as the giant bird, a rare Argentavis Magnificens, spread her thirty-foot wings and soared until she caught an updraft, and then disappeared from sight. Like her mother before, she sent back a shriek of departure as she vanished.
**********************
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