Ghost Dance

Hands on our neighbours’ shoulders, we encircle the decorated pine, my chanting father at the centre. Faces painted, dressed in white, hair adorned, we march, chant and wail, throwing dust over our heads. Then stand, hands clasped overhead, eyes heavenwards. Holding hands, we sway, moving in time to our chants. Faster, faster. Everything blurring, the ground becomes dust, my neighbours drop, twitching, quivering, but we don’t stop. Faster, faster. The ground’s coming up to meet me… Finally, we sit in a circle And come out of the trance. Each stands at the centre, and relates an experience. I say I saw an eagle flying high, and then swooping low, but when I reached for it, it wasn’t there. About Sioux