(photo of Zenju’s mocassins and drumstick)

The dirt of the New Mexico desert is still on my mocassins. The ancestors spoke to me the first day of the dance. I did not like what I heard. But I listened. I am more than thirsty and hungry on day four. I am happy and plain tired. I feel complete with the ancestors of the Opelousas Indians on my father’s side who have been nagging me in my dreams to honor them. I do. As African as I am, I do. I dance. I carry Simbwala’s chanupa. Next year I will go out into the arbor with 405 prayers just as last year.  The cottonwood tree will witness me. Ah ho, Mitakuye Oyasin, all my relations.