This was the first United Indians of All Tribes Foundation Pow Wow, held in the summer of 1975. I was doing some Fancy Dancing with Brother Sam Windy Boy Jr. of the Rocky Boy Cree. Brother Sam is a Grass Dancer here, but he could dance all styles.
From 1975 to 1980, Brother Sam was one of the great cultural mentors in my life. He taught me Fancy Dancing, introduced me to the healing ways of the Native American Church, and passed on to me what he called the “Cowboy Sweat.”
In a Cowboy Sweat, you use only cedar and water—no Pipe. A different person pours the water in each of the Four Rounds. I always loved a Cowboy Sweat. Once the rocks were red-hot, we would place cedar upon them, pour the water, and go deep into our songs and prayers.
Each person poured their Round as the Spirit inspired them. There was equality, with no single leader.
You never knew how hot it would become. Sometimes someone—including me—would pour so much water that the only way to make it through the songs and prayers was to curl into the fetal position, with your face as close to Mother Earth as possible.
If you didn’t humble yourself before Mother Earth, your shoulders and arms would blister. I learned very quickly to humble myself.
Brother Sam had also gone through hell in the Vietnam War—a deep wound he carried but seldom spoke about. He once told me that while on R&R in Hong Kong, he and several other Native American Church brothers had some medicine sent to them. Together, they held an NAC meeting overlooking Hong Kong. It helped carry them through that bloody war.
From my perspective, it was a war that never needed to happen. In the end, our relatives of that land—who had first endured colonization by France—prevailed.
It all seems like yesterday, yet those days were more than fifty years ago. Although my days of Fancy Dancing, Sun Dancing, and Cowboy Sweats have passed, I remember them as clearly as if they happened yesterday.
At 82 winters, you begin to understand that your whole life is a Sacred Dance—and some parts of that dance can be very difficult. As my beloved father always told me:
“Son, the Red Road is a Good Road—but it is a tough road!” Many others and I can testify that he was absolutely right.
Brother Sam passed into the Other Side Camp early one morning this past spring, from smoke inhalation during a house fire on his beloved Sacred Lands of Rocky Boy. When my own time comes, I know that Brother Sam and I will dance together again.
There is no death—only a change of worlds