Great Spirit

The First Warrior looked out on the land that was his home. He saw the hills, and the stars, and he was happy. For giving him this home, the First Warrior told the Great Spirit that he would fight and win many battles in his honor. But the Great Spirit said No, do not fight for me. Fight for your tribe. Fight for the family born to you. Fight for the brothers you find. Fight for them, the Great Spirit said, for they are your home.

This came from an episode on the TV series "Longmire" when Ada Black Kettle asks Henry Standing Bear: "What did the First Warrior say to the Great Spirit?" In "Longmire" the Native Americans are Cheyenne for the most part, and this is supposedly a Cheyenne legend/myth. I don't know if it is truly part of the Cheyenne culture at large. 

This scene is, for me, one of those perfect moments you occasionally come across in a movie: the melancholic and wistful music underlying the two-part scene, the way Henry Standing Bear recites the legend to Ada Black Kettle in a measured and respectful tone, and when Sheriff Longmire sets a wild horse free, but who stops, turns and comes back to Longmire just as Henry is saying "fight for the brothers you find." 

It talks to me of how we run around all day, driving here, driving there, working, shopping, and all that human busyness that we've created, and I think we sometimes forget that we do this for our families -- we are fighting for the family born to us, we are fighting for our tribe, and let us not forget the people who come into our lives who are not our blood but who we connect with on a spiritual and physical level. We do this madness to put a roof over our head, food in our bellies, and we are too tired to be at home with our lives, ourselves, our families. Sometimes, like me, we can't even find our home. We are never at home anywhere we are. For some undefinable reason, people like me are restless and always searching for a place where we can breathe and be at peace. I have read about people who found that place. I hope that place exists for me.

But all is not desolate. When I look out my sliding back doors, I am happy: Trees arching over my backyard from neighbors on both sides, lots of green potted plants, a birdbath loved by all sorts of birds, a tacky pink plastic flamingo (I am sooooo Florida), the dark green swing bench my white cat Denali used to love to lay on, a garden flag with the colorful flowers I can't seem to grow, squirrels scampering in the trees and along my one neighbor's fence, and a cat statue memorial to Tiger who died too young.

So, I ask the Great Spirit -- Where is my tribe? Where is my home? Where am I? I am fighting to find my purpose, my sense of belonging. I hope I'll know it when I find it, like the wild horse, like the First Warrior.