Born Again Indian Born Again Indian each morning he lights the sacred medicines in the abalone bowl and walks every inch of his home with blessings and prayers for peace and prosperity health and well-being and with gratitude for everything that already is he eases the sacred smoke over everything the drum, the rattle, the rocks and everything he’s collected that reminds him of the relationship he has with Earth — Aki in his talk and thanks her for her blessings standing at the window that overlooks the lake nestled in the cut of mountains he feels the sky holding it all in place and the land singing in its grasp so that when he closes his eyes he feels the notes trill within him now and then he goes to the sweat lodge to sing and meditate and pray and maybe cry for things that continue to hurt and to feel the waves of that ancient heat purify, rejuvenate and elevate him to a state where he can carry on he doesn’t dance, doesn’t carry a pipe or wear his hair in braids or a pony tail or adorn his truck or hats or home with displays of eagle feathers, buffalo skulls or the ceremonial trappings that have come to mean native pride these days instead there’s prayer ties in the corners of the four directions of his home and a pair of blankets elders wrapped his wife and him within one time when they brought stories back to the people that visitors wrap about themselves and feel the sacred nature of that gift he’s got an Indian name and he carries teachings that elders gifted him with on his travels and he passes those teachings on in the work he does because they told him that this is how you honour the gifts that come to you and make you bigger inside, stronger somehow and proud so he goes about the process of being Indian oblivious to fashion and any need to present an image of himself with books or art or relics because he’s learned to carry ancient paintings splashed on the caverns of his being and be content in the knowledge that they’re there and all of that’s funny because in the beginning when he finally made it home and surrounded himself with Indian things and learned to talk his talk and walk a ceremonial road and dance and sing and pray his own people laughed and called him a Born Again those voices hurt and cut him deep with shame and a sense of guilt that he hadn’t learned anything about himself while he was growing up even though they knew he’d been swept away and made to live alone with his skin in a world that was not his own so when he made it back against all odds he wanted this living connection to who he was so desperately that he celebrated openly letting the joy he felt flow outward in the dances, songs and ceremonies and the hair he grew out and braided to honour all he’d learned but they laughed and called him Born Again because he fumbled with the pipe and struggled to pronounce his name and pray in his Ojibway talk apple, they said sometimes, with the white inside and the red skin on the outside tacked on almost like an afterthought it took a long, long time to get over that and it was only the elders that came to guide him that showed him that what it really meant to be an Indian these days was to present yourself openly and earnestly to the spiritual way and be “borne again”
