thing that helped assuage this overwhelming pain was the personal pipe she carried. Reaching out, she found the deerskin bag that lay on the pillow next to hers. Hal’s pillow. He was gone, but the Nighthawk Pipe had given her solace on nights like this. Pulling the pipe bag to her breast as she rolled to her side, Dana closed her eyes, tears matting her lashes.
“Nighthawk, help me. I hurt so much,” she whispered, pain making her voice hoarse. “My heart feels as if it’s going to burst with loneliness.”
Dana felt a warmth begin to emanate from the long, rectangular bag. From the spirit that lived within the pipe, she knew—the one she had bonded with when she was young. The spirit answered her plea and sent waves of healing warmth into her heart. Holding the pipe bag securely against her, Dana mentally gave thanks for this unconditional love.
Like rivulets, the warmth spread from the center of her chest outward, flowing throughout her body. With the healing energy washing through her, Dana felt an incredible sense of peace and wellbeing. Nighthawk’s love was dissolving her fear and her anguish.
Dana released a tremulous sigh. Sleep would come now, and with it, escape from the awful feelings that had inhabited her since the loss of her mother and Hal.
Cetan, the Lakota word for Nighthawk, had been her friend, teacher and companion since she was twelve years old. Twenty-nine now, Dana never took for granted the energy the pipe had, the power from the Great Spirit that flowed through it to her. It was always a miracle, and she felt humble and grateful to have such a comfort in times of great suffering. Her mother had taught her that the ancient ways would always sustain those who walked the Red Road of the heart. Now, Dana’s faith in those beliefs was healing her bit by bit from the terrible trauma that had occurred two years ago.
Cetan was her best friend, a spirit companion on the unseen levels, and had supported her through this tumultuous time. Dana gently squeezed the pipe bag where the head of the pipe rested in a white rabbit-fur pouch to protect it from being broken. I love you so much, Cetan. Thank you and the Great Spirit for sending me this healing energy. I don’t know what I’d have done without your help and love.
No less than I love you, Cetan replied telepathically.
Dana smiled tenderly as she snuggled into her goose down pillow. When the pipe spoke to her, it brought feelings of love and nurturance, plus a rich texture of other emotions. Over the years, Dana had come to realize that mental telepathy was more than a concept. When a pipe was given to a human being, an energetic umbilical cord of trust and love was forged between that individual and the spirit within the red, carved stone.
Cetan possessed marvelous powers of healing. It was a pipe of purpose; anything Dana had requested of it over the years had been granted. Sometimes, Dana had allowed an ailing person to hold the pipe bag, and miraculously, Cetan would send the healing energy of the Great Spirit to the patient. Dana had witnessed many beautiful moments of healing and cure with Cetan’s help.
A pipe carrier was there to serve her village. Since the White Man had come to Turtle Island—North America—the bands had been disbursed. But those who knew Dana was a personal pipe carrier sought her out and asked for help.
Dana understood the privilege and responsibility of being a pipe carrier, and she always smoked the pipe for each person who requested that she do so. Connecting through ceremony and prayer to the other worlds, she could help direct special energy to that person, place, animal or thing. Her clients were always grateful and would contact her afterward to tell her of the wondrous changes in their condition. All Dana asked of them in return was to share food, blankets or clothes with those who had less than they, as payment for the pipe’s services. Pipe carriers never took money for what they did; they were emissaries of the Great Spirit, and all requests were met with compassion and love. Dana needed no personal reward, for just being a pipe carrier was a reward in itself. She took that responsibility seriously.
Another sigh slipped from her lips as she spiraled down into oblivion. The wings of Cetan beckoned her…. Dana knew what would happen as she nestled in the soft, warm, downy feathers: sleep, blessed sleep without dreams or nightmares, would come. Just to sleep deeply, undisturbed, was a great gift.
This time, though, was different. As Dana slept, she did dream. But this was no ordinary dream. In it, she watched the purple color of dawn approach. Soon, Father Sun would rise—a sacred moment she always absorbed with joy. Dawn was one of the most powerful times of the day.
Out of the red-violet dawn, a dark shape came, flying directly toward her. The wings of the bird were curved and long. Dana watched in fascination as the winged one drew closer. Her heart beat in anticipation, not fear.
As the great blue heron materialized from the shadows, a strange sense of elation soared through Dana. The red-and-gold colors of sunrise were filling the sky when the blue-gray water bird called to her.
Come, Daughter! Ride upon me! I will take you west. Come, mount me and we will fly together!
The heron cocked its head, its black eyes sparkling with life. In the dream, Dana moved forward to mount its broad back. Without fear, she settled astride the bird and gripped the soft feathers of its long, thin neck. The great wings flapped, and Dana felt the power of the heron thrumming through her as it turned and began its journey toward the southwest. Where were they going? A sense of adventure and happiness filled Dana.
The landscape changed remarkably beneath them. Dana gasped as she recognized the red desert of the Four Corners area. It was the Navajo Reservation, where her adopted grandmother lived! How many times had she come here to visit Agnes Spider Woman? So many, especially when she was a child growing up. Every year, her family had driven from South Dakota to Arizona to visit her Grandmother Agnes. How Dana had looked forward to those warm, happy visits.
As she saw the red desert dotted with juniper, cypress and piñon trees, an ache started in her heart. An ache of loneliness for her grandmother, who loved her fiercely. Since the murders of her mother and Hal, Dana had run away, and hadn’t once gone to visit Agnes. No, like a coward, she’d run east and immersed herself in teaching children, trying to forget her pain, to forget her past….
The heron flew over an eight-sided hogan, built of long timbers with mud in between. It was surrounded by tall, mighty cottonwoods to give it shade from the brutal summer heat. Dana instantly recognized the box canyon with its red-and-white sandstone and limestone walls. This hogan was where Grandma Agnes lived. And standing outside, in a long, dark-blue cotton skirt and long-sleeved red velvet blouse, and a heavy necklace of turquoise and silver, was her adopted grandmother. She was waiting for Dana.
The heron landed gently. Dana slid off the bird’s back and she thanked it. Turning, she saw her grandmother smiling warmly, her arms opening.
“Grandma!” Dana cried, and she ran up the red clay slope to where Agnes stood.
In the dream, Dana felt her grandmother’s thin, strong arms wrap around her. As soon as they embraced, Dana began to cry—deep, wrenching sobs welling up from within her. Agnes murmured her name and, with one trembling hand, gently caressed her hair. She understood Dana’s grief.
For the first time since Cora and Hal’s death, Dana felt totally loved and protected. She had had to be so strong after their deaths. All the paperwork to fill out, all the meetings with the county sheriff, the detectives…It had been an endless nightmare of ongoing pain for her. No one knew who had killed them. They still didn’t know. That bothered her all the time.
“Grandmother…” Dana pulled back from her embrace to gaze at her. “It’s so good to see you again. I’m so sorry I didn’t come home after…well, after.”
