Stories from my Grandfather – The Tale of the Wind Horse (Part 2) as told by Tipi Pinti

WHAT’S PLAYING: Emeli SandéNext to Me

 

(Continued from Monday, August 26)

As they traveled, Wind Horse listened to the Boy’s hopes that someday he would run with the leaves that blew across the ground. He felt the Boy’s yearning for someone to love. Yet who could ever care for a nameless, little Boy with a bad leg?

As he listened, love for the Boy grew in his heart, and Wind Horse knew that this would be his last rider. He nuzzled the Boy with affection and slowed down, for the end of their journey was near.

1-searching-for-the-sun-resized

The Boy looked up and saw the home of those who had gone before. He realized that this journey was the last one he would ever make, and trembled with fear. But as Wind Horse finally stopped, the Boy realized that all his wounds, hunger, need, and hurt were gone. And since Wind Horse made no move to leave, the Boy knew that at last, he had found the companion he had wished for all his life.

As Wind Horse and the Boy walked into their new world, the Choctaw felt great sadness. Even though they did not know what was happening, they felt the last Wind Horse pass from this world to the next, and wept with grief.  

 native-amercian-horse-2

Wind Horse heard their cries of despair, but he had made his last journey. He knew that with the passing of many suns and moons, they would soon forget him and his race. He prayed to the Great Spirit to send a reminder of him to the Choctaw to comfort them.  

And, that is how horses came to us as gifts from the Great Spirit and the last Wind Horse.

Stories from my Grandfather – The Tale of the Wind Horse (Part 1) as told by Tipi Pinti

WHAT’S PLAYING: Fun. feat. Janelle Monáe “We Are Young”

Once upon a time, when Day and Night were still deciding who comes first, there lived a horse—the fastest and gentlest of all Indian ponies—called Wind Horse, and his kind will never be seen in the world again.

The story begins this way:

storytellertribestars

 

One day, when Wind Horse was feeling good from being free, he heard a cry for help. He ran to the edge of the forest and found a little boy who had gotten his foot caught in a bear trap. The child had managed to free himself but could not move, for the trap had crushed his foot. The Boy, who had no name, could not believe such a beautiful horse would come to him as a friend. He gave thanks to the Great Spirit and prepared himself for death.

Knowing the wound was fatal, Wind Horse bent to let the boy get on his back, so he could take him to the Sacred Hunting Ground, where he would no longer know pain, fear, or need. The thought of one so young going to the Sacred Hunting Ground made Wind Horse sad, but he did not want the boy to suffer.

 

wild mustangs

The Boy clung to Wind Horse’s back, the pain in his foot forgotten. All his life he had lived alone, for his parents were dead and no one else wanted him. Riding Wind Horse, he felt whole, as though he had finally found a family. They rode through time out of mind, the trail shifting to reflect the Boy’s life. The Boy saw himself caught in the bear trap, alone and weeping. Then the scenery changed and he saw himself smiling and happy with his parents. Soon, they travelled back to before the boy was born ad he didn’t recognize anything. As his life passed by, the Boy clutched Wind Horse tighter, frightened by what awaited them at their journey’s end.

Wind Horse was the last of a great race of horses who could share the feelings of their riders. He had never allowed anyone to ride him for too long, for once a bond was forged it could not be broken. He knew that if he continued this run, he would never again be free.

Stay tuned for Part 2 coming up on Wednesday!

Writing Isn’t Always Champagne and Violets

WHAT’S PLAYING: Alicia Keys “Tell You Something (Nana’s Reprise)”

So, I’ve put my first novel aside for a bit and started work on a new book. It’s not going well.

The words are coming, but the little tingle I get when a story finally clicks into place is missing. With my first book, most mornings I’d sit down in front of the computer and the words would just tumble out of my head, one after the other, like some sort of shimmering fountain of awesomeness.  

Awash with inspiration, I’d write for hours, stopping only to answer the demands of my coffee-filled bladder. I’d get up, only to discover that my legs had fallen asleep, and lie there, trying not to piss myself or scream as the pins and needles worked their torturous way through my lower extremities.

*Sigh*

Those were the days.

bad_day

When it comes to this new book, instead of a shimmering fountain of awesomeness, I get a viscous deluge of shit. It’s depressing. Like I need a nap after every 2-3 thousand words type of depressing.

Dead moms, madness, ghosts, monsters, trauma, prejudice, all my personal demons are in there. Add to that the knowledge that I’ll have to go back and tease some kind of hope out of all this despair, and you have yourself one tired, morose writer.   

Don’t get me wrong. The book is good, probably the best thing I’ve ever written. (Which, at this point, is not saying much. But I’m saying it anyway. So, shut up.) More importantly, it’s the story I need to tell now.

Still, in the words of the immortal B.B. King, the thrill is gone.

Frustrated_Writer

I love writing, but days like this remind me that it’s a job, which requires work. That’s why I spend six hours a day slogging through this first draft, pushing through resistance, and forcing the words out when they refuse to emerge on their own.                                            

Because I’m a writer. And that’s what writers do.

In the meantime, if I want thrills and tingles, I’ll call my boyfriend.

Stories from my Grandfather – The Redbird as told by Tipi Pinti

WHAT’S PLAYING: Slash feat. Fergie “Beautiful Dangerous

Once, when time was not quite old enough to be counted, there lived a lovely Choctaw maiden, who was very skilled in house and fieldwork. She could do all the things needed to keep her lodge in order, but lacked the one thing she longed for most—a mate.

One day, she spied a red bird sitting in a tree and sighed. “Redbird, will I ever find the one meant for me? Someone to care for, who will care for me?

Young-Native-American-Girl

The Redbird had no answer for the maiden, but heard the loneliness in her voice. Every morning for the passing of seven suns, the Redbird came and listened to the maiden’s story. As each day passed, the maiden’s loneliness filled the Redbird until he decided to do something about it.

One day, during his travels, the Redbird came upon a handsome Choctaw brave. The brave called to him and began to speak. Redbird heard the same loneliness in the brave’s voice that the maiden had shown and realized that these two lonely people had the same wish, to find another who would love and care for them, as they would care for their mate.

choctaw brave

On the fifth day of listening to the brave, Redbird feigned an illness. The brave became concerned, for the Redbird had become his friend. Each time the brave would approach Redbird, the wily beast would hop away, leading him further and further away from home.

In this way, the Redbird led the brave to the maiden’s lodge, where she sat outside. As soon as Redbird saw the maiden, he flew away. The brave realized that he had wandered far from home, and so went to the maiden to ask where he was.

The Redbird sat in a tree and watched the brave and the maiden. After their initial shyness, they were soon talking and laughing like old friends.

arenal-red-bird

Redbird saw this and thought that it was good. He had done all he could and now it would be up to the brave and maiden. As Redbird flew away, he thought of how Great Spirit had known that someday the two would find each other.

Now it was good that Maiden had someone who would see for her and Brave had someone who would hear for him and that they finally had someone who would care.

I Want My Mother

WHAT’S PLAYING: Alicia KeysDoesn’t Mean Anything

A couple of months ago, my mom died. She passed away the day before Mother’s Day and two days after my birthday. I’m not sure what I feel at this point. Shock? Yes. Grief? Sure. Along with a heaping measure of guilt for not being a better daughter.

angel-crying

And then there’s this weird mix of exasperated amusement. My mom was what most people would call “a character.” She was blind, deaf, old-fashioned, and at times, a huge pain in the ass. She was the kind of person who would pick the day before Mother’s Day to shuffle off this mortal coil, if only to get back at me for forgetting her birthday for the last twenty years.

Some days, she drove me crazy. I’m talking claw-your-eyes-out-hair-on-fire-bat shit-crazy.

Other days, she was kind, loving, and fiercely protective. She handled life’s disappointments with humor, grace, and a kind of get-‘er-done-and-fuck-the-rest attitude that I’ve tried so hard to emulate in my own life. Most importantly, she was mine. My mother. And I would give everything I have in this life and the next, to have her back for just one more day.

madre-consuela

Grief hits me at unexpected times, like when I’m driving or in the shower. One minute, I’m fine. The next, the pain is so great that it’s all I can do to keep breathing.

 I don’t have the best track record when it comes to dealing with grief. When my twin brother died, I handled it by quitting my job, running away from home, shaving my head, and joining a cult. I wound up in Arizona a month later, married to a man I barely knew. My dad had it annulled while I went away for a few weeks to “rest” in a glorified booby hatch.

(Don’t worry. As of today’s post, I am still unmarried and not bald, so I guess that’s a good sign.)  

I know the last thing my mom would want is for me to spend the rest of my life mourning her. If she were here, she’d smack me upside the head and tell me to get on with it. So, that’s what I’m doing.

I love you, Mom.

I’m Back!

WHAT’S PLAYING: PrinceU Got the Look

It’s been a long time since my last post. Not because I didn’t have anything to say, but because I didn’t know how to say it. 2013 has been hard. Kick in you the crotch and piss on your neck hard. I needed to clear my head before trying to connect with other people.

stress

After a few months away, I’m ready to rejoin the living. Out with the old and in with the new! Insert-positive-outlook-new-beginning-cliché-of-your-choice-here!

The point is that I’m ready to move, so strap in and hold on to your assless chaps!

If you don’t own ass-less chaps, then WHY THE HELL NOT?