Lightning’s Gift
Lightning stayed with us for a time during which he told us of the many characters he met and the adventures he had on his journey from his mother’s house to the land of the Storm Clan where his father lived.
Along the way, he met both saints and sinners, people and spirits both good and bad. Gamblers and hustlers, adventurers and fortune hunters. He gave us enough stories and legends to keep Rabbit’s place buzzing for the next century or two. But, as he prepared to leave, he became quite serious and told us of the gift he would bring to The People from the land of the Storm Clan.
It is important to note here that gifts from the Spirits, gifts that are at once both sacred and practical, are not like the gifts we give each other at holidays and ceremonies. No, these gifts must be understood and cared for in a proper way, for if they are not, these gifts will do more harm than good.
Lightning told us to keep watch on an old Sycamore tree which stood on an island in the middle of the river. In one moon’s time, he said, he would deposit this gift there and at the proper time the one who learned to respect and care for it properly would be allowed to retrieve it. Lightning then bade us farewell, prayed to the Great Spirit for an eternal blessing upon his mother’s people and straightaway took his journey.
We were sad to see him go, but the main topic of conversation was what exactly his gift might be. We awaited the next moon with eager anticipation.
With the coming of the next moon we waited, but Lightning did not return. The cynics among us made their pronouncements as non-believers always have done towards the faithful, but the rest of us waited to see what would become of Lightning’s promise. That night a deep rolling thunder announced the arrival of the Storm Clan to our corner of the Cherokee country. Soon the island that Lightning told us to watch was covered by the Cloud People. We could not see the island, much less the old Sycamore, but we could see magnificent flashes of light from within the cloud.
In the early pre-dawn of the following morning, when the clouds were gone and the Morning Star glowed brightly on the eastern horizon, we could see the glow from within the old Sycamore, and when the wind blew just right, we could feel the warmth coming from it. Like a favorite blanket, it warmed us in the cold of the early dawn. When the sun was up, Bear, who was Principal
Chief once again, summoned us all to the council house.
In the council, there was a general consensus that Lightning’s gift was now in the old Sycamore on the island. At this point, the discussion degenerated into an argument over who would have the honor of going to the island and retrieving Lightning’s gift. As is often the case among men, the leaders and warriors forgot Lightning’s admonition that we must learn to care for his gift before retrieving it.
Bear settled the matter stating that as he was Chief, and a mighty warrior, he would be the one to have the honor. He put on his beautiful white coat (for his coat was white in those days) and took a swim to the island. He swam to the backside of the island and, thinking that he eluded the guardians Lighting put there to guard it, he ran to the tree.
The tree was hollow, and inside of it Lightning placed the Sacred Fire, for the fire was his gift.
As Bear slipped into the tree, the fire flared up and scorched his coat black from head to toe. Bear quickly fled back to the river and back to the council house, huffing and snorting the whole way. And his coat is black to this day.
Many other warriors, eager to take advantage of Bear’s failure, each took their turn swimming to the island to steal the fire. They all knew that the one who was successful would be Chief and would be greatly honored. In their eager vanity, they too forgot Lightning’s admonition.
They all failed of course, and many to this day bear the marks of their failure. Raccoon’s eyes are still black from where he peeked into the tree. Buzzard’s head is still bald from where the fire singed off his topknot. And many others too failed and bore the signs of that failure.
Through all of this, Grandmother Spider sat in the back of the council house weaving her baskets. No one paid her any mind; she was so old and frail. As the warriors and wise men became discouraged, the question was asked who would go next. The loudmouthed warriors, seeing the shape of their comrades, sat in silence. Their vanity suitably shaken.
Then from the back wall of the council house, a small voice.
“I will go” Grandmother Spider said. Join us here next week for “Grandmother’s Wisdom.”