Four Baskets

Eight Baskets

Two sides were lined up at the table with the doctor in the position of power at the head. The decision to turn off life support for our Brother was being debated. He was only two weeks into treatment and even though one doctor felt this wasn't long enough for him to be allowed to heal, those on that other side were determined to be finished. 

To make a long story, short. We loved ones on our side of the table were, no match for the doctor, his bevy of hard-nosed nurses and family members who had been coerced by them. We couldn't communicate to make them understand about our tribe's respect for life, even though my sister plain out stated the fact to bring it to a cultural place of respect for our values.

"East meets west and never the twain shall meet," said Rudyard Kipling, twain meaning "two."

The phrase especially describes my feeling about the two cultures of Anglo and, not the East, but the Native American. Couple that with the thought that every tribe is a distinct entity all to itself to make us wonder how they are able to gain attendance to the international pow-wows with many tribes present. When the cultures come into conflict over a very important life giving issue the matter is suddenly a great problem.

So now, we who are of that tribal persuasion go about our business with sacrifices because these lives were lost. Four baskets for Mother, and an added four baskets for my brother.

The tradition isn't all that bad, though. In Mother's baskets there is: a pin cushion with a golden safety pin; a fist sized, net covered, lavender-potpourri; a salt shaker; the book I wrote called Velma;

a roll of fabric, a pot-holder in a fine, Indian blanket fabric, a sack of peanuts in the shell, a sack of Tootsi-rolls; Minute Maid juice with a little green man on the front to remind us of "Shrek." She loved to watch him with the great grandchildren.

Her life is summed up in a small basket but as the gifted one carries the basket away from her grave a strange feeling comes over us.

Truly the thought of resurrection is played out before our eyes and is made visible.

So it is with our tribe. How much more clearly can one make the acts of peace available to be learned. These respecters of life live on through all the ages of every form of genocide and persecution. Surely this must count for something.

Brother's baskets holds a pair of work gloves, a tube of hand cleaner for mechanics, a long stemmed wine glass, a sack of peanuts in the shell, a pair of men's socks, his favorite reading material bound in a large book, some sandpaper.

Those who opted to let my brother go by turning off the machine will, of course, not be in attendance and are freed up from the old ways of sacrifice for our part in not being able to fight off death. Kind of reminds me of the words of the actor who played the part of the King on his death bed while his young son told those around of how things would be different in the realm.

"There will be no more".............. and on the boy went as he one by one passed over the old ways.