By
Ohiyesa (Charles Alexander Eastman)
The Indians were religious
from the first moments of life. From the moment of the mother's
recognition that she had conceived to the end of the child's second
year of life, which was the ordinary duration of lactation, it was
supposed by us that the mother's spiritual influence was supremely
important.
Her attitude and secret meditations must be such as to install
into receptive soul of the unborn child the love of the Great Mystery
and a sense of connectedness will all creation. Silence and isolation
are the rule of life for the expectant mother.
She wanders prayerful in the stillness of great woods, or on the
bosom of the untrodden prairie, and to her poetic mind the imminent
birth of her child prefigures the advent of a hero - a thought conceived
in the virgin breast of primeval nature, and dreamed out in a hush
that is broken only by the sighing of the pine tree or the thrilling
orchestra of a distant waterfall.
And when the day of days in her life dawns - the day in which there
is to be a new life, the miracle of whose making has been entrusted
to her - she seeks no human aid. She has been trained and prepared
in body and mind for this, her holiest duty, ever since she can
remember.
Childbirth is best met alone, where no
curious embarrass her, where all nature says to her spirit: "It's
love ! It's love! The fulfilling of life!" When a sacred voice
comes over to her out of the silence, and a pair of eyes open upon
her wilderness, she knows with joy that she is borne well her part
in the great song of creation.
Presently she returns to the camp, carrying the mysterious, the
holy, the dearest bundle ! She feels the endearing warmth of it
and hears its soft breathing. It is still a part of herself, since
both are nourished by the same mouthful, and no look of a lover
could be sweeter than its deep, trusting daze. She continues her
spiritual teaching, at first silently - a mere pointing of the index
finger to nature - then in whispered songs, bird-like, at the morning
and evening. To her and to the child the birds are real people,
who live very close to the Great Mystery; the murmuring trees breathe
its presence; the falling waters chants its praise.
If the child should chance to be fretful, the mother raises her
hand. "Hush! Hush!" she cautions it tenderly, "The
spirits may be disturbed!" She bids it be still and listen
- listen to the silver voice of the aspen, or the clashing cymbals
of the birch; and at night she points to the heavenly blazed trail
through nature's galaxy of splendor to nature's God. Silence, love,
reverence - this is the trinity of first lessons, and to these she
later adds generosity, courage, and chastity.
