FORGIVING THE UNFORGIVEABLE

This is one of the most powerful gifts that the Hoop teaches us. You can only forgive when you are ready but you need to do certain things to prepare yourself. Until you acquire this gift you will never be who Tunkashila, or whatever you call your spiritual power, wants you to be. It is essential that you learn to face your demons head on and the sooner you do this, the sooner you will experience the freedom that comes with it.

F is for fulfillment. Once you forgive the person, place or institution you will come full circle and you will no longer carry that baggage of resentments around with you. You will gain peace and serenity in your life in a way you have not known previously.

O is for openness. You have to be open to the healing spirit of letting go. Once you surrender your right to hate and resent whatever it is, then you will be open to the beauty and love that is all around you.

R is for recovery. By the act of forgiveness you will learn what real recovery is all about. First we recover, then we rediscover who we really are. This is a process and not an event, so once you do it you must continue to forgive others in order to progress in your healing journey.

G is for God, Creator, Tunkashila, Jesus, Higher Power or whatever you call your spiritual source. By forgiving the unforgiveable, you will become closer to your Creator and learn how to maintain conscious contact with him/her. Sometimes you may feel that you cannot forgive someone or something. But remember that God does for us what we cannot do for ourselves.

I is for the individual. One of the hardest things to do is to forgive yourself for what you have done. My Creator is a loving spiritual power and I know she forgives me for all the wrongs that I have committed. We need to learn to love ourselves. Once we forgive ourselves for everything we have regretted doing then we will experience this love.

V is for vision. Once you forgive in all areas of your life then you will become clearer on what your purpose is. One of the things that holds us back and keeps us from doing the Creator’s work is that we sometimes hold onto that one thing we are not able to ask forgiveness for.

E is for emotional well-being. In the teachings of the Medicine Wheel, we talk about being in balance mentally, physically, emotionally and spiritually. When you learn the gift of forgiveness you will become happy, joyous and free. Those mood swings, which have been a part of your life, will disappear.

Willie Wolf

A Jewish survivor of the Holocaust once told me that anger and hate are two of the strongest emotions. I would add a third: bitterness.

Anger is an emotion that we all feel, an emotion that flares up suddenly or builds over a period of time. It is a feeling that puts us on edge and colors our perceptions. It comes when someone does something that you don’t like, or disagree with. It comes when we do something that affects others or ourselves.

Hate is an extension of anger, only deeper, stronger, and it distorts us and harms us. Once it takes root, it spreads like a cancer of the soul, a cancer of the spirit. And more, the hates that rule us affect our action, and our action, like a widening ripple in a pond, reach out to encompass others and the world. But more, the hate becomes a part of us, a part of our personality and soul.

Bitterness is the third emotion that sets in, coming in step with anger and hate. By recalling memories and actions, we fuel the fire of bitterness. Bitterness burns brighter, burning into us until it becomes our constant companion; until bitterness becomes us.

I am a full blood Choctaw, the second generation of my family to be adopted and raised in the white middle class world. All I knew of the Indian world, other than famous names and battles, was taught in comic books, Saturday Western movie matinees and television. I grew up, joined the army, married, and ultimately, after 13 years of marriage, divorced.

It was a bitterly fought divorce that lasted almost two years. The ultimate pawns, and casualties, were my daughter from my wife’s first marriage and my two sons from this marriage.

At the same time five Native Americans entered my life and through them I began to learn of the Native American world. One of the many things they told me, over and over, was not to fight my battles with hate and anger. “Give it to the Grandfathers,” they said. They reminded me not to blame or judge my children––children always choose sides in a divorce. They told me of the Medicine Wheel, and the need to grow, to become a whole person. It was hard, but I listened and tried to apply it to my life. Except where my daughter was concerned.

For three years she was my enemy and then she was my defeated enemy. I never spoke to her or of her. In the anger, hate and bitterness that consumed me, she was nothing. I forgot the years I read bedtime stories to her; the times of going to school with her; the times of going to school recitals with her; of having a radio station dedicate a song to her on her birthday. I forgot about being upset and comforting her when her brother, who was mad at her one day, told her she wasn’t part of the family because her skin was white.

Months after the divorce ended and I had custody of my sons she came to see her brothers. Now, I remember the look in her eyes, the uncertainty as to what reception she would receive, and my own coldness toward her, my enemy. And I remember a small, unexpected pang of regret.

She wanted to know if her brothers could spend the afternoon with her before she returned to Denver. It was Denver March Powwow weekend and suddenly I suggested her brothers spend the night with her and I would meet them at the powwow. I remember her cautious smile and the happiness of her brothers. I remember the next day the way her brothers explained to her the many things they had begun to learn of their own heritage; they too had been raised white.

I remember her wedding day when I stood in the back of the chapel after the ceremony. I watched her and remembered the past and with great effort, I told her, “You aren’t my own flesh and blood, but I raised you as my daughter. And I’m sorry for the years of silence.” And she cried while tears filled my eyes.

Even now, it has been hard for me to say, “I’m sorry,” and I never say, “Forgive me.” Forgiveness can take many forms, but it begins with each one of us. It begins with forgiving ourselves and somehow expressing that. And then, we can receive the forgiveness of another.

Author Anonymous

You Are All There With Me

He sat at the front of the room describing how he’d lived on the streets, then went home and asked for spiritual help.  The medicine people told him alcoholism was the white man’s disease and the white man had the cure.

I didn’t want to hear that.  I didn’t want white people to have anything I wanted or needed.  Needing was dangerous.  Wanting was worse, it made me vulnerable.  So I sat in the back of the room with my arms crossed, my legs crossed, my eyes crossed (my way of living was making me very attractive) and snarled.  Nobody wanted to shake my hand after that meeting.  I made sure of that. 

His words stayed with me.  I’d gone to sweat lodges trying to get straightened out.  I was too chicken to try the church (white man or ours). I’d hung around the AA meetings and judged their noise, their smoke, their ignorance of spiritual ways, their coffee.  I especially found their laughter annoying.  I checked out the parking lot for the nice cars, ‘cuz I didn’t want to go near this thing unless I could get a nice car out of it.

It took a while more for me to come back to those meetings, torn open enough to listen. And Creator spoke to me.  I heard my story in those meetings.  I heard my feelings,  I heard my hopes.  And I started to get better.

I went to a sweat and talked to my friend who was pouring water.  He’d been sober 20 years.  He was gentle and encouraged me to just show up in the lodge and pray with my heart.  I cried that night.  No one told me what to do into my ears, but I heard in my heart that I needed to go back and listen and work the program.

Not too long after that I went to a Native sobriety convention.  It was awesome. The speakers were great, I felt amazed at so many sober Indians, and I was thinking about drinking.  Then I heard this guy talk.  He blew out my favorite excuse; I could never get sober because I’m Indian.  He was sober.  For a long time.  I finally wanted that.  I went home and really worked those steps, made a plan for my life, and started dancing.

Now I dance my own private sobriety dance.  For grand entry, you are all there with me.  I pray for you all and we dance together.  My regalia honors all of you in a quiet way.  I dance with pride.  On the honor beats I look down and think of those who died so I could live this way, sober and healthy.

Life is good.  Just for today I practice our ways as a sober person.  I want to be someone the kids look up to and remember when they are tempted.  We are such a beautiful people.