The fire is dancing tonight and the winds are talking
Dancers from past lives enter the circle
Leading me back and forth through the history of myself
The mind searches as the spirit dances

The drums...dancing to the heartbeat
Memories of long ago insights to the future
I hear the winds whispering my sweat lodge dreams
I see Sungmanitu tanka (the wolf) my guide

He shows me the ancestors, not mine
They are not Lakota, or Tsalagi, or Iroquois
But they are all Nations, one Nation
Speaking with wisdom to share with each other

Yesterdays create todays and promises of tomorrow
The lies will die with the smoke
And the whispers of the winds are clear and loud
And we shall all see the return of the buffalo
AHO

© LonelyWolf Kane 04/02/2001

Father Sky is gray
As the new light appears
And the laughter of the birds is still
the clouds shed their tears
and the land drinks of this heavenly dew
puddles replace the dust
irresistible temptations for little feet
Turning my face to the sky
and feeling the gentleness of the mist
washing away my cares
filling my heart with happiness
Lifting my spirits
like the quenching of the crops
Raising my arms
I turn to the four winds
and give thanks for this
gentle Summer Rain.

© Teardrop Anderson 04/02/2001

I call to the East, where the Father ascends
to all Mother Earth where life begins.
And the laughter of the birds is still
I fly through the cedars, pines, willows, and birch
as animals below me wander and search.

I call to the South, to the land down below.
Turtle stands silent, as man strings his bow
to hunt food and fur for his kin before snow.
A life will end so others will grow.

I call to the North, that yansa once knew.
filling my heart with happiness
I follow their path til it disappears from view.
Once vast in number, there stand but a few.
I hear only ghost thunder of millions of hooves.

I call to the West, to the ends of the lands,
to the Tsalagi, Kiowa, Comanche ... all bands.
Unite for the strength. Teach the young and demand
that you are Native Americans.Learn your tongue and stand.

My name is Freedom... I fly through this land.
I call to the Four Sacred Winds of Turtle Island.

© Beckie & Dean Trudell 04/02/2001