3-2 Floating on Rose Petals

August 1-2, 2014

Black Hawk Park - Mississipp River

Desoto, WI

My memory cries out in pain and begs my soul to take its hand,

And sullen clouds replete with rain cast shadows on a sodden land.

No more, say I - Be gone!  Depart!  Let solace grow, and comfort feel.

Take shelter now, my aching heart.  The rain is gone.  It's time to heal.

Brock Jansen

There are days on the calendar that cause people to remember the past.  Some days bring a collective joy - birthdays and holidays.  Some bring pain - December 7th, 1941 (Pearl Harbor), November 22, 1963 (John F Kennedy died), September 11, 2001 (World Trade Center terrorist attacks).  These dates exist on the calendar to mark the passage of time, but they also serve to remind us of important events that have occurred, and to bring them closer to the present.  For Native Americans time is circular and the events of the past are no further behind now than they were 100 years ago, and 100 years from now the stories and their lessons will remain just as fresh.

August 2nd, for me, will always be a day of remembrance.  I liken it to the day that my father died - a date I will always remember, and remember with sadness, but a date that will bring to mind for me ALL the stories of my father, and all that he was and is.  My father's story goes on, and no single date on the calendar can diminish the incredible sphere of energy that radiates from his existence.  Even now, no matter how tragic were the events that happen to coincide with this date, it helps me to remember both the joy and the sorrow.  What I choose to do with these memories is of my own doing.

Today is August 2nd, and today I choose to celebrate.  I am celebrating the lives of a band of people I have come to know and love.  They were a hardy people, who lived difficult and uncertain lives in a time of unstoppable change.  Theirs is a story of challenge, heroic struggle, and untimely death in the face of a relentless and merciless foe.  Should Hollywood ever choose to make a movie of this story, August 2nd would be the day when the orchestra would play its most moving, most inspiring, most dramatic and saddest music in the whole score as the weary and bedraggled protagonists succumb to their enemy.  So - in the midst of the tragedy - why is the music in my head of the inspiring category?  Why do I feel hope instead of despair?  It is because as I stand here, in front of the sign that commemorates the horrific massacre that took place on this soil, I am surrounded by people who are laughing, playing and enjoying life.  It is because life and love go on, and they are precious.

Yesterday I was excited to learn that every year there is a gathering of Native Americans here at Black Hawk Park on August 2nd, and that they would be here today.  After visiting the park this morning and offering my prayers, all within view of the nefarious Battle Isle, I went over to the place where the Indians had started to gather.  I didn't really know what to expect.  Drumming?  Singing?  A commemorative speech?  I found none of that.  They weren't there to be sad, or angry.  Instead, I found families having a large picnic.  Children were running around playing together - some parents were fishing with their children, mothers were busily preparing the food and beverages for the many more who would be coming to the event and bringing their own laughter and joy.  This was not a day of mourning for them, it was a time to get together and make new memories - it was a day to celebrate life.  There was a children's fisheree going on, where parents helped their children compete in fishing contests, seeing who could catch the most or the biggest fish.  With games and laughter, they were passing on skills much the same way Black Sparrow Hawk and his band had taught their children to coax sustenance from the water in more peaceful times.  There were people swimming - splashing around in the warm water as it eased down the sandy shoreline.  Some of the children were digging for clams.  They playfully tossed them back into the water after the patient mollusks squirted their indigence out at their would-be predators.  Nothing has changed but the faces. 

There was certainly no question why they chose this date to gather in this place, but it was what they chose to do with that opportunity that filled me with such hope.  I would have loved to have joined with them, listen to their perspective, heard them tell their story from their point of view.  Instead, I felt privileged just to be nearby and to learn from them.  They were here to celebrate survival.  They were here because even though a tragic blow had been dealt to their people, they ultimately survived, and survive still to this day.  They taught me that it is not always necessary to mourn the past.  Mourning is the period where lessons are taught and truth is learned.  Then - life and love go on. 

I left them in peace, with no more than a few shared smiles.  I am glad they could be happy. It gave me courage and strength to meet this day with at least equal measures of happiness and grief.


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Grandfathers of the North - who hold the secrets of life's beginning - we honor you and call you to our sacred circle.  Bring to us the healing energy of new life to strengthen us for the journey we must all travel. 

Grandfathers of the East - who hold the passion of youth in your breasts and guide us until we come to know ourselves and our life's purpose - we honor you and call you to our sacred circle.  Bring to us the untamed enthusiasm for new paths and new things, and the wonder to enjoy the miracle that is each dawning day and every being that wanders the earth.

Grandfathers of the South - who hold the richness of reward for skills well-learned and life well-led - we honor you and call you to our sacred circle.  Bring to us the confidence and strength to do the things we must do, knowing that we and those around us will continue to grow and thrive as a result of our hard work.

Grandfathers of the West - who hold the wisdom gleaned from life's lessons - we honor you and call you to our sacred circle.  Bring to us the vision of a peaceful nation where honesty, truth, humility, love, respect, courage and wisdom guide our paths and our people.

Grandfathers of the North - who span the bridge between ancient wisdom and all that is new again - we honor you and call you to our sacred circle.  Bring to us the serenity of the elders and hope for our future, so that our footfalls may be made softer by the influence of those who have gone before us.


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On my journey, I collected items that spoke to me in prayerful whispers, asking to join me.  I collected nuts and seeds, sticks, rocks, feathers and even water, always mindful to give an offering whenever such items were taken.  Some of these items were given back in thanks along the way - burned in small ceremonial fires, affixed to the prayer sticks - but many were stored and saved for today.  Saved for the time when I would release back to the sky and the river the accumulated pain and suffering I had experienced along the way and allow the healing water to refresh my spirit. 

For our final ceremonial fire, we drew a medicine wheel upon the sandy shores near the water, and placed our burning vessel in the center.  The fire was made with sticks and leaves and bark that we had gathered along the way, and fed with natural materials close at hand.  As the ceremonial fire burned, carrying our prayers to father creator, we gave a portion of each of the items we had collected, placing each in turn upon the flames.  As water slipped slowly past on the shore, the fire crackled and converted each such offering to ash and smoke.

One item, a paper zentangle meditation drawing given to us by our friend Joni, was meant to be burned in this way, but after leaving it on the open flames and coals for over thirty seconds, we pulled it from the fire, unblackened.  And so, we sent it down the river.

This was my signal that it was time to release everything else we had collected to the waters.  Most items had been collected along the way, but there were also things that had been given to us to use as a part of the river ceremony, both to help us in our quest and to give as a prayerful offering.  I knew, too, that the offering to the sky , the earth, and the river would not be complete without objects that were personal and meaningful to me.  Before I made this final trip, I gathered up the dozens of dried rosebuds that had been given to me over the years by my husband.  Each fragile flower, withered but somehow still perfect in its beauty, held a precious memory for me that could not be replaced with all the gardens of the world.  Each tiny bud was a chalice full of the love I have received in abundance throughout my life.  Now, they were a gift for the spirits, floating vessels of hope and healing to carry them down the waters of the Great River back to their home in Saukenuk.  As my sage stick smoldered we placed all that we had to give into the lapping waves, finally ending with the roses, whose dried shells rode high in the water, defying gravity with the lightness of their love.

When the fire had burned to ash, we gave the ashes to the river and returned to the shore.  Moments later, waves washed high on the sand and wiped away the memory of the medicine wheel.  Everything had returned to the way it was.

Oh great Mississippi - you are the waters of birth and the waters of death for the souls of the Sauk and Meskwaki people who have traveled here.  If any remain in your care, treat them with gentle kindness and lead them to a place of safety, where they can live with their ancestors and once again be in the familiar loving arms of their families.  Ah-ho.

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(Key Terms: Ma-Ka-Tai-Me-She-Kia-Kiak, Black Sparrow Hawk, Black Hawk, 1767, Saukenuk, Pyesa, Rock Island, Black Hawk’s Watch Tower, Black Hawk State Historic Site, Hauberg Museum, Sauk, Sac, Meskwaki, Fox, Rock River, Sinnissippi River, Mississippi River, War of 1812, British Band, Great Britain, Treaty of 1804, Treaties, Ceded Land, William Henry Harrison, Quashquame, Keokuk, Fort Armstrong, Samuel Whiteside, Black Hawk War of 1832, Black Hawk Conflict, Scalp, Great Sauk Trail, Black Hawk Trail, Prophetstown, Wabokieshiek, White Cloud, The Winnebago Prophet, Ne-o-po-pe, Dixon’s Ferry, Isaiah Stillman, The Battle of Stillman’s Run, Old Man’s Creek, Sycamore Creek, Abraham Lincoln, Chief Shabbona, Felix St. Vrain, Lake Koshkonong, Fort Koshkonong, Fort Atkinson, Henry Atkinson, Andrew Jackson, Lewis Cass, Winfield Scott, Chief Black Wolf, Henry Dodge, James Henry, White Crow, Rock River Rapids, The Four Lakes, Battle of Wisconsin Heights, Benjamin Franklin Smith, Wisconsin River, Kickapoo River, Soldier’s Grove, Steamboat Warrior, Steamship Warrior, Fort Crawford, Battle of Bad Axe, Bad Axe Massacre, Joseph M. Street, Antoine LeClaire, Native American, Indian, Michigan Territory, Indiana Territory, Louisiana Territory, Osage, Souix, Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Ottawa, Ho-Chunk)