It was a dance of respect for Manito, for our lives, and for my grandmother. It was also a dance of grief. For some inexplicable reason, I knew what many were feeling; that a change was soon to occur. This I could sense clearly, for the others it was only a vague idea that flitted in and out of their minds, a general unease, nothing they could grasp with any facility and something they might attribute to an unusual day. My mind was racing. What I began to see where all the visions I had seen before. Only this time I saw something else I hadn't noticed before; a presence that lingered in the background, a little light that glowed in the darkness.
Something gave me hope and the bit of strength to know that I would live my life with a purpose.
I was filled with excitement. And in that moment of excitement. And in that moment of excitement, I wanted to sharte this vision with my sister, my mother, and the entire group seated around the fire. What better way than to stand up and shout out loud to everyone inside and outside the longhouse? Even though as a young girl, not yet a squaw in full womanhood, I had no voice to be heard in a fireside circle; surely they would listen.
Even the drums would be silenced.
They would understand what I saw. I would explain it, carefully and slowly, to all of them. All those I loved, grew up with, and was surrounded by would see the hope of the future and the promise of what that westward journey held, for I had seen the vision of death and what lay beyond.
The white light that glowed in the darkness was comforting, warm, and friendly.