My Grandmother's story was recorded in Oklahoma history, yet because of the connection to the Choctaw and Chickasaw tribes, there was such low self-esteem in my family that it was never spoken of in our home. Our ancestors had been driven from their homes down the infamous Trail of Tears to Oklahoma Territory to live with the other "Civilized Tribes" of Native Americans.

We had been named this in Washington, D.C. because of the fact that we had our own government. Even with this recognition, all of the tribes suffered greatly and there was tremendous loss of self-respect. My Grandmother also carried the shame and great grieving of having her father assassinated while in office and her mother dying in jail soon afterwards from a self-induced abortion because she had been raped by a white man. At the age of 11, she left Oklahoma to save her own life.

She and my Grandfather, who had been abandoned by his family because of his love for this Indian girl, fled to Texas, where they worked as farm hands in order to earn enough money to buy a Conestoga wagon and homestead in New Mexico. Their first child was born when my Grandmother was 13. There were eight children in all, the knowledge of their Indian background carefully hidden away.

Native Americans were not allowed to homestead legally and my grandparents were constantly threatened by the possibility of exposure. Once, a man came on the property and threatened just that because he wanted the mineral rights. It came to a show-down and my Grandmother killed the man with her shotgun. She was acquitted easily because it was proved the man was trespassing, but the threat haunted her. Only after many years of hiding the truth, when the rights of Native Americans was becoming clearer to those in Washington, did my Grandmother begin to tell her story.

I tell my story from the beginning because of the great shame that came along with it into my own family through my Mother. On one hand, she was incredibly proud of her ancestry; on the other, because of the ridicule she was subjected to as a child, she, too, became hesitant to embrace it.
After acknowledging my background by applying for and receiving a scholarship to medical school from the Bureau of Indian Affairs, I wanted to learn more about my history. I began to feel more and more, the cellular memories of my past.

The opportunity came when my husband, Norm, introduced me to Wakan in the fall of 1992. I'll never forget the frightened, nervous tension that flowed through my body at the opening circle of my first community retreat. Here I was learning the ways of my people from those who truly cared about my history. Could I live up to the expectations I had of myself understanding the process?

I feared it would be a difficult journey. Then the beautiful sweat lodge ceremony began and I felt connected to a part of myself that had been hidden away for years. The sweat was easy, in the sense that I felt like I had done it many, many times before. But it was difficult in the sense that I was discovering the newly felt seriousness of my past. My fear continued to diminish as I swam alone that night in the icy cold pond in the moonlight. In the opening circle, I had begun to expose my past and everyone had been so supportive, my heart danced with relief.

The weekend continued in sharing circles: passing the staff and honoring one another with the truth of ourselves; a drum journey that brought me an answer I had needed on this path; and the creation of a death arrow. I prayed with every decorative element I added to the arrow that I would shed the pain, hurt, violence and shame of my background; that my people and my family would finally be free of the torture the horrific stories had brought to each member in their life.

As each person presented his or her arrow to the fire, I gained the courage I needed to do my "dance of freedom." It started with the arrow "stuck" in my heart, my dancing body bent over in great shame. As I pulled the arrow away from my heart, I felt an incredible release - an explosion of energy revived my "crippled" body. I consciously broke the arrow and drove it into the fire with the renewed strength.

I cried tears of release and felt the love and acceptance of everyone supporting my healing. I had fasted for the weekend, yet I felt incredible energy soaring through my body, which continued through the night when I had the chance to learn and dance the Huichol "Dance of the Deer" with others around the fire circle. It wasn't new. I felt I had done it before, just as I "knew" I had gone through the sweat lodge ceremony before. I felt safe and strong in my exposure to this remarkable group of people. The commitment was there and I was learning from these new teachers.

During the next year, my heart continued to open as I felt more and more trust. The fear I had exposed at the fall retreat was that there had been so much violence in my life and in that of my ancestors that I was terrified of my anger and rage. Would I, too, be violent if I did not consciously control these feelings? I also worried that, if I truly let my anger and rage out, I would hurt someone badly.

As the year progressed, I learned more about this "dark side" and its importance in my life for balance. I began to see that in denying its existence or trying to push it away, I made it stronger and more fearful. I needed to fully embrace it. Finally, the opportunity came to create a ritual acknowledging this side of myself.

I made a ceremonial dress and prayed with my drum. Held in a loving circle of my Wakan brothers and sisters, I "became" a magnificent energy able to confront and battle any violence that came my way. I visioned a blue light of love and power meeting the blackness with full force. I was "witnessed" in the strength I had to face the black energy. It would no longer intimidate me.

I realized that it wasn't just because of my ancestry or my family dysfunction that there was violence in my life. It was because I was human. By acknowledging the possibilities and presence of the darkness, I can now face it with the necessary focus and not be annihilated. I can be angry and responsible for my actions. And the discovery of the wondrous connection of love between us all caused the fear to dissipate completely. No longer do I feel shame or judgment. I feel whole.

Experiences in Wakan have continued over the years. They have helped me open my heart in so many difficult, strenuous and beautiful ways that I continue to feel deeply blessed knowing I am a part of this community of souls searching, searching.