Vision Quest
February 2002
by Maria Yraceburu
as written for ANGELS AMONG US anthology

The long trek into the mountains on foot took me two days.  As my grandfather, an ancient Quero Apache Holyman had instructed me many times before his death, I ran most of the first day, only slowing when my body could endure no more.  When I had caught my wind, I would again set  out in a sprint.  The following day, my body much wearier, with neither food nor drink, and exhausted from the exertion from the day before, I forced myself to go higher, ever higher into the mountains, until with the onset of dusk, I finally came to the sacred place Grandfather had described.  This would be the place where I would humble myself before Spirit, the sacred Changing Mother, All My Relations, and cry for a vision.

At 17, my life was lacking direction.  After Grandfather’s death, I was floundering, stagnating slowly.  Every time I would close my eyes, I would see the eyes of Kato’ya, the great rattlesnake, and I would cry out.  During the day I would sit listless in my classes at the college, and think of the many things that had happened in my life.  I didn’t really think much, but images of those numerous family members that had died would enter my head, and they all seemed far away, as  though I had lost them all.  I had begun to wonder about my role as Grandfather’s successor in the clan.  Had I done something wrong?  I felt a day-to-day barrenness of spirit relieved only by moments of pleasure at the antics of my friends.  I knew I would never see my Grandfather again, and that thought gave me great sadness, and I would dwell on the times we had climbed the Spirit Cliffs to pray, the pride in his eyes each time I would stand before the Council of Elders and relate one of the clan’s stories of evolution and prophecy, and I would become consumed by a restless, quiet fury. 

I struggled in this manner for a long time.  The strangeness in my voice seemed a cry for help, even to my ears.  Finally I had gone to my grandfather’s friend, Rolling Thunder, a Cherokee-Shoshone Medicine Man, and told him what was in my heart, and my thought of renouncing my role as future diiyin.  He had advised me to search for guidance during vision quest. 

The most powerful thing about Vision Quest is the return to nature.  In nature, I could find what was real.  Away from the clashes and clangs of daily life, there was always a quiet place where I could find out who I was.  Being is nature is healing.  Being in nature took me home. 

And so came the first evening, alone in the quiet of the desert mountains.  I crouched upon a flat span of smooth rock, hundreds of feet up, overlooking a valley.  With a grudging pride I reflected that the first part of my journey was now behind me.  Sitting there upon the rock, while I waited for the evening to pass, my thoughts were filled with the image of a dream spirit that I had come to know as Toho’ma, the Black Coyote.  The dreams had been the most incredible I had ever known.  I could well remember her sweet voice, and with this thought a type of peacefulness settled around me.

As I had nothing to do all night, but think, I thought a lot about her.

Shaking my head slowly, I knew that it would do me little good to ponder this woman’s existence and fell into an exhausted sleep.

When the first rays of Grandfather Sun’s bright light filtered down between the tops of the tall pines, I awoke.  Shivering, I opened the parfleché (a type of leather carrying case)  I had inherited from Grandfather.  I took out a small piece of snakeroot, lighting it, I captured the smoke in my free hand.  I began to chant and to rub the smoke over my body.  I chanted with my eyes closed, and the steady rhythm of my voice, like a heartbeat, seemed to produce a euphoric sensation within my being.  I chanted, “I take heart from the sacred diamondback.  Where I walk, the grasses touch my feet.  I stop with my medicine.  The ground where my medicine now rests is sacred...” 

Taking a small pouch of pollen dust from the parfleché, I threw  portions of it high into the air to the four directions on the morning breeze, beseeching Yusn, the Giver of All Life, to be with me, bless me with a mighty vision.  Then taking some small sticks and a tinder box from the parfleché, I placed the sticks in a  circle, and set them afire.  I then took a gourd of water and lifted it above my head, offering it to the Changing Mother Earth.  Lowering the gourd, I slowly allowed the water to hiss and steam over the flame until naught was left but wilts of heat’s passion.  My hands directed the shimmering plays of energy towards my body, and I inhaled deeply of the wood and herbs as I chanted out the prayers of my ancestors.

For the rest of that day I beat on my small drum.  My stick was of cottonwood, rounded at one end, feathered at the other.  I accompanied the slow beat with a  monotonous song,  “Snake of blue eyes walks with me.  Snake of blue eyes is my brother.  Snake of blue eyes enters me.  Snake of blue eyes is my guide.”

I sang this song over and over.  The day passed slowly.  I felt the coldness of the mountain air chilling my body.  I sat cross-legged  upon the smooth foundation, my shirt and jeans, and the little heat from the small fire, my only warmth.  My prayers the only sound coming to my ears.

For two more days, I remained upon the rock, denying myself sustenance and sleep, constantly directing my thoughts to remain upon the mumbled prayers I spoke aloud.

On the fourth day, I thought surely that all strength had left me; but slowly a feeling of calm spread throughout my body and spirit as the brightness of the warming sun shone down upon me.

“Oh Yusn, what trick are you playing upon my mind?”  I called softly, as I began to feel my body warming and my head  spinning.  Slowly I rose up from the smooth surface of the rock, and with the wind I was lifted high into the sky.  “Yusn, hear me!”  I excitedly called aloud, holding in my heart not fear, but joy that filled my entire being as the peaceful haze of a type of non-reality circled me.  “I am Naylin iskiñihí, daughter of Tuma’chí, and granddaughter of the powerful Ten Bears.  I seek a  vision that will help me guide the people and bring about the ancient prophet’s dream.  I call upon the wisdom of the Ancients and the courage of a people long past.  Show me what you would have me know.  Teach me what you will.”

Having uttered  this plea, I looked about the clouds where I now seemed to be standing, and in an instant images began to fill my mind.  Bright spots of pain danced before my eyes  as I rose  to my feet.

In my mind I was two years  old and I heard my grandfather’s voice echo through the mists of time, “Do not be afraid,” he had said the first time he had lifted me onto the back of his horse.  “You are Quero Teñeh Chiricahua Chihinne Tlish Diyan.  You were born to ride with the wind...”

Then I was four years old and going to school for the first time.  “Do not be afraid,” chided Grandfather.  “You are  Yracébûrû, Snake Heart.  The knowledge you will receive will help you.”

I was six  years old and my knee had been broken, my tailbone shattered, when my horse fell on me.  “Do not be afraid,” admonished Grandfather as the doctor prepared to put my kneecap back in place.  “You are Naylin iskiñihí, Moon Fire Painter of Visions.  A nadlé, a two spirit of great  destiny...”

I was thirteen and my father was dead, my step mother lost in her own little world, and Grandfather was there, as he had always been.  “Do not be afraid,” the old man had said, his own grief heavy  in his voice.  “We are  Quero.  Birth and death are but two halves of the same whole, part of the great circle of life.”

I danced, my moccasins raising little clouds of dust at my feet.  Head thrown back, I stared into the sun, lost in its light.  I was weightless, mindless, and as I stared into Grandfather Sun, it changed shape, becoming a small white room that closed me in and shut out the rest of the world.  I was alone.  There were tears in my eyes and an ache in my heart.  My arms were  empty, my heart was  empty.  I went to the window and gazed out into the total darkness, and it too was  empty, like my life.  I was  alone.

I stopped dancing and opened my eyes.  It was a beautiful day, bright and clear and warm.  I paused to watch a sparrow dusting its feathers  in a shallow depression that held  minute  drops of water, and smiled as I saw  a large yellow butterfly alight on the petal of a lavender flower.  A chipmunk scampered across my circle and disappeared in the underbrush.

My troubles began disappearing as I lost myself in the beauty of my surroundings.  Then I gasped, my fingers flying to hold my nose, as  a skunk strolled past, its tail held aloft.

I breathed a sight of relief as the striped  creature ambled past.  The air smelled of pine and sage and earth, the sun was warm on my face, the stone solid beneath  my feet.

The land around me showed the life history of the region, with its ancient strata, the old fossilized stone rested  upon younger strata rich in fossils of clams and oyster shells, and the backbones of fish and ferns.

I looked at the glistening rock formations that guarded this place.  My eyes moved from the different kinds of trees and red paint brush flowers to the belt of pinyon.  A jay scolded a lone pipit.  I breathed in the invigorating air and knew that this place was something certain and enduring, something in which I could believe when there was uncertainty in my life.

I felt a sense of peace, a new depth of love and respect for the man I had called “Grandfather.”  He had been part of the earth, the sky, the trees, and the grass.  The song of the wind was  in his blood and in his heart.

I cried out to the spirits of the land again, and as I did so, I began to feel a presence.  I cocked my head to one side, listening, and I heard my father’s voice, like a whisper in the wind.

He was there.  I could feel him.  A breeze stirred, and its touch on my cheek was soft and gentle, like a caress.  He was tall.  His face had strong lines, and an expression accustomed to authority... handsome.  With a proud hawk nose, high cheekbones, and a strong mouth set in a firm line, his expressive eyes - black as obsidian - burned right through me.  His presence was overpowering. 

“I have come to you in your hour of need and want, my daughter.”  He stepped forward, his voice ringing, the sound vibrating as his words touched my ears.  As I stood in awe, my gaze roamed over the mighty man.

“Be strong and brave, for the Ancestors are at  your side always.  You will always be  guided by the hands of those long past, if only you ask.  Fear not, for when you reach out, your path will be true.”

I watched, then, as my father vanished, turning and stepping into a haze of clouds.  “Papa, where are  you?”

“I am here Naylin.”

“I am afraid.  My life has no direction.”

“Listen to the one who calls from the dream.”

“Wait, do not leave me!  Papa...”

Staring after  him, I found myself upon the very edge of the smooth surface, which jutted over the valley from the side of the mountain.  My hands were stretched high above my head, and I humbly cried out my gratitude to Yusn.

Slowly I slumped to the coolness of the rock, my body weak and my head  light.  Even my breathing was barely discernible - I felt my breath lightly touch my hand  as I held it near my face.  For a moment I shut my eyes in exhaustion, but I felt a soft  touch upon my forehead and, looking up, I saw standing before me, with the sunlight around her, Toho’ma.  She bent and lightly caressed my cheek with her lips.

“Toho’ma,” I softly gasped aloud, still unable to move my body.

“Lie still, love, and let me tend you.”  Her voice seemed a part of the whispering wind in the treetops.  I did as she told me as she brought water to my lips to quench my thirst, and meat for my hunger.

My despair was  quickly at an end.  As I watched, Toho’ma seemed to lift up on the clouds.  “No!”  I shouted, and pulled myself up to my feet, my arms outstretched as though I could keep her at my side.

“Do not be sad, Naylin.”  Her soft words filled my ears.  “When you finally find me in the state of awakening, your destiny will be clear.  Live, Naylin.  Our time will fill the Dream.  There we will await the shift that will make possible the physical manifestation of the Dream’s reality.”  And with this she vanished into the clouds.

I felt tears  stinging within my eyes.  But as  I took a deep breath, I knew something was different.  I knew the promise of the future.  Then, near total exhaustion, and with the image of Toho’ma filling my mind, I slept.

Twenty years later, I would look up in class to discover the face I had known so long within my dreams.  The experience of that interim faded to reflection.   We laugh now, she and I.  The Dream now Reality, a breath of life that soothes our lives, removing fear’s illusion from our minds.  A home of love has been created that is filled with the loamy scent of earth and oak, with the rustling leaves flickering outside in the moonlight.  And we hear voices: from time  long past, a chorus of Ancients’ laughter mingles with our own, ringing off tall trees, echoing in our canyon.

In the mornings, Toho’ma and I lean back in our kitchen chairs and watch the fog evaporate from the mountain air.  Around us, songs of promise whisper on the breeze.  Above us, the spotted branches of the old, Grandmother Oak, shelter.  We have been together seven years now - still in love.  We are content in our purpose, sharing Spirit’s enduring promise, the wisdom of ageless circles awakening in those we serve.  A cool gust whistles from the north - the Winds of Change are  upon the Earth.  Tree limbs dance their waltz, leaves shiver in the nurturing rain.  And Dahitaa, Grandmother Moon, so full of our transgression, smiles.  Prophecy complete.


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