Author: Dena Eakles

I woke this morning before the sun. It is my customary ritual for decades now. Setting my sites on the new day, feeling gratitude, wondering what this moment of life will teach me and how I can dance through it. This morning I cried.

I replayed the last several months of my coming to be part of Oceti Sakowin Camp. My first visit brought my posse and me to Sacred Stone. That is the camp I had learned about and where I intended to stay. On my last day there I walked the distance to Oceti, then known only to me as the “Big Camp”. I was told there were many camps and while I was amazed at the size, it was the call to prayer that touched me. That day it poured rain and I found myself under a shelter around a fire. Blinded by rain, I had no idea that I had come upon the sacred fire and that the words spoken there would galvanize my intention to return.

An elder Lakota man spoke. He spoke about the prophesies, about the seven generations, and about the reuniting of the four colors of human kind, red, yellow, black and white. He spoke softly but with a determination and clarity I have grown to accept as dearer than food to me and as vital as the air I breath.

At one moment he looked my way and said that although the first encounters with whites had been horrible for his people, that now Natives must accept those coming because they come with a different heart. That is in fulfillment of the prophecy. I cried. And I knew I would return to this camp.

My next visit was for a week and I slept on my makeshift bed in my Honda. I continued my learning, moving from the fire to orientations and to meetings on what was needed to keep Oceti going into the winter. And I ate a lot of peanut butter, not wanting to take resources from the camp.

Fifteen years ago, I created Echo Valley Farm out of a need to step away from the main stream status quo that keeps us imbedded in war, in useless wastes of resources and most importantly, in the framework that keeps us in ignorance and hate. In doing so, I altered my course, and have promoted community and sustainability built on peace. It has not always been easy, but it has been rewarding.

Earlier in my life I had lived in an ashram, focused on the pursuit of peace and a youthful attempt at living in community. Coming to Oceti Sakowin Camp, for me, was like coming home.

I called my team at the farm and told what I had found. I thought it a good idea for us to establish a site at Oceti Sakowin Camp, the consensus we seek was agreed upon and so next steps were set in motion.

My first step would be to ask permission. Everyday I had listened to the prayers of Guy Dull Knife ( see video below) before the rising sun. He called us to the sacred fire, encouraged us to pray and reminded us why we had come, to stop the black snake. There is gentleness and strength about the man that is compelling. I approached him and asked and he said, “Yes, come”.

Everything came together as it does when intention, heart and action are united. Lauren and Andy and I came back to Oceti Sakowin Camp with a refurbished army tent a wood burning stove and open hearts.

It was quickly obvious to me that I have been in training my whole life for this moment. I have inherited from my lineages keen awareness of survival and how to make the most of things. I honed that skill spending time with my Navajo mentor and gleaned from my time with her that my education in life is never over and that the end game is, as I had always expected, love.

The Navajo taught me to Walk in Beauty and that the first prayer is for yourself. The Lakota have taught me about community founded in prayer. My studies with Prem Rawat gave me the undeniable and unwavering knowledge that peace is possible. And so I walk.

My time at Oceti Sakowin Camp will soon end. Now I will find out who I have become and what is expected of me. This I know: The mindset of might is right, which permeates all colors of the rainbow, must be laid to rest once and for all. The lure of greed, which has consumed human kind the world over for centuries, is the monster that must be slain. We cannot continue the destruction of the earth and the harming of one another and future generations.

And I know this: when you complain and moan about the way things are and not make an effort to change yourself and your own life’s course, you are feeding the monster. The words we utter, the fears we allow, the doubts we feed, and he confusion we insist on sharing keep us locked in this mess. Each of us has the right, the ability and the duty to find peace and to speak from clarity.

I will depart Oceti Sakowin Camp, but what I have accepted as my understanding of humanity will not leave me. I urge you, my friends, to end the cycle of violence and ignorance within your own being. Make peace. As it is often said here, “You have the right to speak, but you also have the right to be silent and listen.” In that silence, all can come round right. Listen to your heart and follow.

There are many trying to have the last word on this place. Trying to guess the outcome of this epic battle and trying to be clever. Being clever is not wisdom. Being clever is a childish whim. Wisdom is what we need and wisdom is available to each one of us.

We have no more time to waste. If you do not seize upon this moment and give your heart to it, what are you doing? If you go to your churches and mosques and synagogues but continue to lead lives forged on the destruction of the earth and of harming your fellow human beings and Nature itself – what ugly lie are you willing to weave to comfort or cover your crying soul?

Yes. I am serious. There is no more wiggle room. Daily we see the results of our greed and our lust for comfort and all that it has caused. And to those of you who refuse to acknowledge something greater than yourself and mock those who pray: Get over yourself. Do you give yourself breath? Do you not hope? You are confusing the menu as the food and you are starving because of it.

We don’t have time people for petty illusions of separation. We don’t have time to hold ourselves separate from Nature and from all living. We don’t have time to run away from the very thing of which we are made: dirt. And we certainly do not have time to leak oil into the water that is essential for all living to survive.

This is not a movie. This is not an episode of the Apprentice. This is the real deal and we better pull our heads out of the sand or wherever else they may be hiding.

It is up to us, as it has always been.

May the power that is Oceti Sakowin Camp continue to flourish in whatever form it takes. May the power of people united in love, in purpose and in clarity, reclaiming their humanity and their sovereign right to live in harmony with the Earth become the norm in a world that has lost its way.

This is what I can hope for and this is what I will work towards, in the best ways that I can for as long as I can – and I ask you, my friends, to do the same.

The invitation to be part of a community forged in peace and sustainable living is open to those who are ready. It is happening many places throughout the world. One of them is Echo Valley Farm, Wisconsin. It is my home and you are welcome.

It is our time; let’s turn this ship around. Best wishes to all.

“We try to live two cultures…”  The documentary of five generations of the Dull Knives, an American family. Inspired by the book the “Dull Knifes of Pine Ridge” by Joe Starita.

No Spiritual Surrender –  photo compliments of Andrew Robert McComb

Last night, as I lay in my bed, camp stove blazing, I could hear the joyful sounds of drumming and singing from the dome, a space age geodesic donated to Oceti Sakowin Camp. A round dance was happening there.

I flashed back to a few weeks ago, when I watched a group of people sitting in circle where the dome would soon be erected. They were praying. From my distance I felt them calling for help, for guidance, to allow this to become a useful gathering space. It has.

In the darkness of the night, in strange harmony with the joyful song, came the sound of a bugle playing Taps. Not just playing Taps, singing Taps, crying Taps. The juxtaposition at first startled me and then I realized the exquisite beauty of this moment.

Today the “Long Robes” have come to pray with the Lakota people, invited by Chief Looking Horse months ago. The intention of this interfaith gathering is to pray and to invite those of our brothers and sisters, standing in full military gear in opposition to consider a change in heart.

Many of us have met the police and invited their support while on the front lines. I will never forget my moment, talking to each person I met, face mask to face, human to human. This moment when so many will converge for peace will surely be a powerful one.

And now come the Veterans. Thousands of Veterans are arriving to stand in protection of the peaceful. No weapons, no drugs, no alcohol, are the rules of the day. This is a camp of prayer and ceremony.

This morning as I woke before the sun, the sound of Revelry playing in the distance made me smile. So very many of the Lakota are Veterans. For generations all Native people have stood on the front lines of battle by request of their government, the US.Now, the Veterans have come to protect them from the very government they served with pride.

If I didn’t have work to do, I would sit here and weep all day for the reconciliation that is taking place.

I heard, briefly, a sheriff from Morton County in press conference yesterday spinning tales about this camp and about the motivation to invite the Veterans. There is heartlessness to these tales. They are the untruths that the American public is now accustomed to but should never accept. Stories told by those who are being paid and have colluded in compromise to tell them. No one is paying the Long Robes. No one is paying the Veterans. No one is paying me. I am free to tell all who will listen, “This is a good day. This will be a good day. Let us make this a good day. A day of reconciliation and a day when the heart triumphs.”

I have waited my whole life for this moment and all the moments that will follow. My heart is full, regardless of outcome, for the intentions of this day are some of the finest of our collective spirit. Peace will prevail.

photo by Redhawk, who spoke to these men before taking this picture. His account:

I spoke to you today at Turtle Hill. I could see you felt uncomfortable standing up there. I could feel you did not want to be on that hill. I spoke to you about Selma, and the civil and human right violation that have stretched from that era to the day upon us now. I spoke to you about my hometown, of Atlanta, GA. I spoke about how those men do not care about you, and about how you were the only minority on that hill. I spoke to you about how Chief Turner in Atlanta is always looking for good officers, and how I assume he would be very proud to have you in the birthplace of civil rights. I told you I would personally fly with you to Atlanta if you contacted the camp and stepped away from Morton County Sheriffs. I watched you sit down, and think. I could see you felt the words I was speaking, and before you stood up and stepped back from the line, I saw you look me directly in the eyes. I saw you, and not a badge.
I keep my promises. Feel free to contact our camp. We love you for who you are. Thank you for listening.
-Redhawk

Oceti Sakowin Camp

Standing Rock Rising

It’s evening, my tent is warm and there is a buzz of anticipation and activity reverberating outside. Everyone knows that over the next few days thousands of clergy and Veterans will arrive. Wood is being delivered for all to use, the announcer is keeping everything moving at the central fire, and the singing and the voices of the people of Oceti Sakowin Camp echo around me. I have never felt so safe outside of my home. This morning when I hitch hiked to the media center – just a few miles away- two young Native girls gave me a lift. “How do you like it here?“ “ I like it a lot, feels like home”, I answered. There was an appreciation in their momentary silence and then the jokes and playfulness began. That joyfulness is common here. I am at home.

Once in the media center, a spokes person for the elders called us together. “Much love and appreciation from the elders… I have seen such humanity here, from all of you, I will never forget it…blessings to all of your families for all you are doing.” These or similar words come often, as do the tears of gratitude. I am at home.

The next order of the day is to try to find a way to help. I am here, hoping to play a small part in changing the narrative of domination and brutality that has been our country’s legacy towards these people, the first of our land. If you are accustomed to being told what to do, you will struggle a bit here. Here you are expected and needed, to see what must be done and to do it. I wait and I pray. An old friend sends me a link to a prominent NPR show talking about what is happening here, so I took a moment to see what the world is saying. No surprise, the false narrative was stated again and again (the pipeline is not on reservation land) until the very end when someone looked at the 1851 Treaty of Laramie (which binds the US and the Lakota Sioux to an agreement on the land and the waterway). That is where the show should have actually begun. There was the momentary recognition that Energy Transfer Partners and the Army Corp of Engineers should have brought the Standing Rock Sioux into the discussion at the very beginning of the planning of the pipeline, but there was nothing offered to rectify this unconscious blunder (or conscious slight?). Instead we were told repeatedly that the pipeline is 97% completed and, “Oh, well; let’s just finish, now, can’t we?” I am always amazed at how the dominant culture spins on, seemingly unaware that its humanity is trailing in the wake of its “talk”.

There are really two battles waging. One is here, as people from around the world stand with the Standing Rock Sioux, facing unrealistic odds: might to right, weaponry to love, confusion to peace.

The other is in the American public heart and mind. The clock is ticking. Will we take the time to understand the history and the total disregard of people for profit that has led to this moment? Or will we continue to prepare for the holiday spirit that left us long ago?

This is the moment for those who have cried for peace to STAND UP. This is the moment to celebrate our collective humanity and to allow peace to flourish. This is the moment to live. If your soul has quickened with all that is happening here, you are not alone. We are emerging. The children of the sun are emerging and we will not be silenced and we will not be defeated. This is our moment. Stand with us. Stand with Standing Rock. Come home. Wherever you are, be at home.

Photo compliments of Redhawk  Standing Rock Rising

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Seven Lakota Values

You can cover up the fact that you are made of dirt,

But it doesn’t change a thing.

You can wallow in the slimiest of pits,

But the radiance of the sun still shines from your eyes

When you remember.

We Are All Indigenous

A little ball of clay with the sweet thread of breath

Here for a few moments

Not to chop the Creator into little pieces

Or lay waste the Creation

We are here to celebrate

We Are All Indigenous

Placed with love and kindness

To dance with one another

On this floating paradise

Anything less is insanity

We Are All Indigenous

No one is expendable

There is no them only us.

Those who recognize this

Have peace.

Those who uphold this

Live peace.

We Are All Indigenous

Accept it while you are here

We will all be happier when you do

There is no them only us.

“If you are a rock, stand up like a mountain.” Standing Rock by Trevor Hall

I am going back to Sacred Stone Camp to stand with my brothers and sisters in peace. There is no time to waste. The black snake is not just a pipeline. It is greed and ignorance made stronger by hate and fear. We are all indigenous. The water protectors are standing for the water for all. It is time to open our eyes and hearts and end the nightmare of separation we have come to know as “colonializing”.

It is time to let people live in dignity and peace with clean air, water, good food and shelter for all. This is so very possible. There is no them only us.

cover photo compliments of Pat McCabe

Hold on to your innocence.    Hold onto your trust.

The wind whistles through the trees and the leaves are forced from their perch. We come in innocence and how do we depart? Are we withered and bowed, scraping and fighting or are we free to fly?

What a strange time we live. Everything is possible, but we choose not to see.

We have lost the will and the way to discern, so the shiny seems valuable and the dirt replaceable and the air and the water are free, so go to sleep little one.

We have handed over our children to be educated. We have handed over our souls to be saved. We have handed over our allegiance to be mighty. We have handed over our bodies to be toys. We have handed over our love to be labeled like sides of beef. We have handed over our compassion to be right. We have forsaken joy. We have exchanged it for fear.

As surely as we have given away these precious bits of self, they can be reclaimed. It is time to shift the mindset. It is time to come home again.

The battles we are waging inside and out are not our battles. They began long ago and we have inherited their misfortune. We have followed a path of destruction, but it is not too late to change course.

The only battle worth our time and energy is the one that challenges our humanity. The one that tells us there is not enough, the one that promotes the other as less than, the one that insists on raping the earth. We are (all) that “one”. We each carry the seeds of destruction and hate. We feed it with fear and we hide it in doubt.

The solution? It is simple. Love. Love yourself enough to become unshackled. The love of others will then come easily. Love the earth as the sweet blessing of mortality, treat her kindly, for you came from her bosom and will return to her. Acknowledge your sacredness and you will recognize the same in all living.

We have been born into divide and conquer. Those who insist on perpetuating the myth of separation will suffer it.

I am growing older. Time is growing shorter. Each day I pray for wisdom. Each day I pray for peace. I find fellowship with those who know these truths and I find solace in my earthly roots. I still believe we can attain peace and I work towards it unabashedly.

The eternal dance of love is calling. How long can we afford to ignore the request?

I took the cover picture on route to Standing Rock to help the protectors of water. I look forward to my return. They are my brothers and sisters in this great turning.

Please find a way to support their effort.  Thank you. For more visit: Sacred Stone Camp  

There are many viewpoints from which we can see the world, our relationship to it and to one another. There are many masks we wear, many clubs we join, and many beliefs we shoulder throughout our lives. But I have yet to experience one as satisfying, as fulfilling as that of viewing the world thorough the eyes of being human.

We cannot, nor should we, discount or disregard our histories, our cultures or our faiths, but it is crucial that we recognize our humanity first and foremost.

The problems facing us that are provoking fear and distrust are not new. The solutions that have failed us before will fail us again.

There is one solution rarely tried; perhaps it is too simple, perhaps it is too hard. If we could choose to recognize and celebrate our unique and precious humanity and cultivate peace and fulfillment within ourselves, we would welcome a new perspective to the mix.

But there is more. We must also recognize that which robs us of our humanity. It is not our friend and we must have the guts to walk away from these chains that bind us.

Keep to the path that was laid for you before you were born, to the hope that was instilled in and upon you, and to the strength that has never left you.

We are here because of the love of those who have gone before us and the Love of something we may never fully understand but can feel.

We are here today because of what we can leave for those not yet here. Put down the weapons of power and hatred. Pick up the weapons of clarity and fearlessness. It is not as cloudy as you may think. It is not as desperate.

Find the strength in yourself to carry on and find support in those who cherish humanity and the earth.

The tide is turning. Humanity is rising.

Celebrate your part in it.

Welcome to Beaver County Pennsylvania and a very particular place dubbed “Little Italy”. Small town Rochester was a true melting pot of nationalities, large and small industry and people who had not yet forgotten village life. It was for the first 18 years of my life, home.

In this place are the stories, the realities, the lessons and the loves of the composite that began “me”. I leave today, as I always do, mixed with pride, misgivings, sadness and hope that this beautiful place will not forego its beauty for the greed of promised jobs, progress, and the illusive American dream that is beginning to leave so many behind.

I grew up across the street from an industrial park and my not so favorite joke is that I should probably glow in the dark for the places we played as children. Forty plus years later much of the polluted land remains unusable. Thirteen miles as the crow flies lies the Shippingport nuclear plant and now near-by a new “cracker plant” will replace a mountain along the river side… Apparently the good folks of the county have forgotten the strip mining, the defunct steel mills and other industries which promised jobs and progress  – only for the immediate moment in time – leaving the people and the land raped generation after generation until yet another form of “progress” came with yet another story line of promised jobs and…

What I know is that the beauty is being lost, the pollution far greater, the division among people more pronounced as the growth of the individual’s wealth and “rights” have replaced the village caring and compassion that I once knew.

Yes, I did not always like it when the old ladies called my mom and told her when I was  being unruly. But there was safety in that knowing and demands for respect of one another.

Having lunch with a old neighborhood pal I was reminded of just how mixed our neighborhood was and how the lines of race were diminished or even non existent in my young life. Mr. William Douglas was not only one of my greatest mentors of kindness and strength, as principal of my school, he was the authority. And he was Black.

Through the years I have seen an increase in the lines of segregation, I have felt the trepidation and uncertainty of people who never shown concerns of “race”. I have watched the village life be destroyed as strangers replaced the old guard and no one took the time to maintain respect and communication with them. I have watched from afar as the world’s increased isolationism has become the new normal and I am here to tell you, we are losing a piece of our humanity with this climb to the top, to be “comfortable”, to protect, not share, our assets, and the need to find a villain to blame for our woes. We are losing community. We have lost the village.

But true to my nature, which was born of this hopeful place, I was thrilled to step into a memorial dedicated to the Tuskegee Airmen while I await
my plane and happy to learn, yet again, of another piece of my history, our history. I will be forever proud of my people, all of my people. I will wish for them a return to simplicity, an honoring of the earth that holds them and most importantly a respect for one another. These were the hopes instilled in me in “Little Italy” and they remain in my heart as cornerstone to the possibility of peace.

Wishing you a village.

She is a real survivor. She left the coop a few years ago and took a posse with her. They took up in the turkey coop, which is now a duck coop, and lived sort of happily until a raccoon got her best friend and her mate. Then I noticed her missing and I was a bit frantic because she had grown on me. Her independent spirit, her zest for life, her being the one to catch the early worm…

So I looked for her, expecting to find remains. Instead I found her perched on top of a round bale of hay in Beauty’s barn. (For those who do not know, Beauty is a neutered mule.) There she was sitting on a pile of eggs.

The raccoons and skunks have been very busy this year and I was leery of leaving her alone outside, but I came to realize that Beauty was protecting her. I would watch him hanging about his barn more often these days and venturing inside which he seldom did unless it was storming. And on more than one early evening I saw him gallop in that direction of the barn, snorting. I wouldn’t mess with Beauty. I doubt anybody would. So I hunched she was going to be OK.

My next awakening to my chicken friend was when I realized that she was sitting and sitting and those eggs were never going to hatch because they were not fertile – her mate had died earlier in the year. So there I was in the sheep barn and I spied three unattended fertile eggs. What were the chances? Would she be able to sit that much longer? I grabbed the eggs and sprinted to her perch. I had a young friend with me and I noted that with a little luck we might still have baby chicks this year. I carefully deposited the fertile eggs beside her.

We left her not certain the eggs would be accepted, but when I went back a bit later I saw that she had pulled them under her, and that now she continued that direct, blank stare of one who is intent on making something miraculous happen.

Days later I wanted to take a peak and I saw her at a distance pecking and strutting as if she were already a mom. I checked the nest for shells or rotting eggs. No shells. This was simply one of those moments when the chicken mom decides it is warm enough, hedges her bets and flees for a moment’s respite, water and hopefully and insect or two. I had just enough time to pull some of the “dead” eggs before she hustled back to her nest. I didn’t want the smell to tip off a predator.

Each night I reminded Beauty to watch over her, needlessly of course, as he was devoted to his new companion. And then one day, it happened. I heard someone yell, “Beauty is an uncle!” And so he was. Only one of the three survived. I suspect the chick was a few days old when we saw him. Most likely bored waiting on the others to hatch, he had enough of the nest and took a dive over the side of the bale. The mother must have been beside herself and as there was no way to escort him back to the nest, she carried on with that the little one.

If you haven’t witnessed it, there is nothing quite like the devotion of a mother hen to her young. Fierce at the slightest provocation and teaching every step of the way…

We have a small shed for them now, while we build a new one on wheels. She is such an adventurer; I think it only fitting…

Summer’s ecstasy and frenetic pace are slowing now. I hope to use the winter to tell the tales that have been spun. Wishing you well. Let kindness win.

I am grateful to live in a place that is full of cultural exchange and allows for creative interplay of concepts and the weaving of dreams. Today as I sheared the sheep I had a conversation with Willie, a visiting friend. He helped me remember a time, decades ago, when I was in the company of one who had dedicated her life to serving in Love. She had come to a few of us in a bit of a quandary, because she realized she was loving some people more than others…after her “confession” of sorts and thinking it through, she came to something like this: “Perhaps in loving you all more, I am stretching my capacity to love and in that way I might have more room to love others.” This was her reconciliation with the discomfort of her limitations.

I applauded then, as I do now, her relentlessness to love.

Another tidbit that arose with Willie and the sheep was remembering my participation in a conference geared to creating teams. One of the main points of consideration was this: No dark thoughts. How refreshing.

I think I will be practicing that one today.