Reflections
on Wounded Knee
As I looked upon the mass grave I felt
tears well up in my eyes and a helpless anger filled me. I thought of conversation between God and
Cain immediately after the murder of Abel.
“…now you are cursed from the
ground, which has opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your
hand.” (Genesis
4:11)
Is there an act of repentance which could
undo the scar inflicted on this place?
The population of Wounded Knee continues to decline and its people have
scattered. I pondered this as I loaded
my bike, received a blessing from Fr. Harold, and pedaled east.
Twenty miles later, I passed through the village of Batesland, South
Dakota (population 100). I breathed a
sigh of relief that there was a small store which sold frozen sandwiches and
made available a microwave to travelers.
It was air conditioned, and I could feel much of the accumulated stress
cycling from cycling in the heat. The store
had a small table (as do most of the small stores in region) and I sat down and
started eating my micro waved burrito.
There was a television turned in the
dining area. I remember from my youth
that there were classic western movies and televisions showed broadcasted on
Saturday afternoons (in the days before you could watch whatever you wanted to
watch whenever you wanted to watch it).
The show “Raw Hide” began as I began to eat. I have not seen this show in over 50 years,
though the theme song often bounces within my head. It is horribly racist and I could feel my
anxiety rise.
The clerk at the store said I could turn
the channel if I wanted. I asked if it
would be okay if I was to turn it off, and she consented. Her name is Emily and she began to chat with
me as I ate. Though it was over 90
degrees outside, every inch of her was covered in clothing. She wore a long sleeve
shirt and a skirt which covered here ankles.
She even wore a knit cap on her head.
She was intrigued about the possibility of bicycling across the
country. She had never been more than 10
miles from Batesland. Over the course of
our conversation she mentioned that her mother was about to “make her journey.” It was only after a confused silence did I
realize that this was the Lakota term for death.
As I sat there in the cool silence
finishing up lunch, she disappeared to the back room. A few minutes later she appeared with a
baggie which looked to be filled with marijuana and a plant with long leaves
which had been woven into the braids. She
informed me that this was wild sage and braided sweat grass. To breathe the smoke caused from burning such
plants will cause healing. She gave me
the plants as a present and ignited some there on the table in the store. We sat and inhaled the sweet smoke. I was deeply moved, and thanked her.
After
she presented me with these gifts I told her that I was making a photo diary of
the kind people I have met along the way and would she mind if I took her
photo? She looked down at the ground and
said “I don’t look so good in photos”. I
replied “you are beautiful!” One of the
blessings that come from becoming an old man is that you get to say such things.
With some embarrassment, she sat down
and allowed me to take her photograph. I
gave her a hug and proceeded to cycle towards the town of Martin.
“Learn to get in touch with the silence
within yourself, and know that everything in life has purpose. There are no mistakes, no coincidences, all
events are blessings given to us to learn from”- Elizabeth Kubler-Ross
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