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Crow's Caws
Sundance in Vermont
by Crow Cohen
On the first full moon in July, a handful of Native American women right in our midst were dancing their hearts out for us and for the precious planet we live on. Did you know that? I didn’t until I happened to drift up to HOWL (Huntington Open Women’s Land) on June 30th to camp overnight. On that day, several women from all over the country were converging at HOWL for the third time to hold a women only annual Lakota Sundance ceremony also known as “Grandmother Turtle Land.”
I was so fascinated with this event that I decided to ask the founder if she would grant me an interview, which she graciously agreed to do. Beverly Little Thunder is a 54 year old Lakota lesbian who is registered at the Standing Rock Reservation in North Dakota and currently lives in St. Paul, Minnesota with her 11 year old granddaughter and cats, dogs, ferrets and other beloved creatures. Sixteen years ago she had a dream that there were women of all colors dancing in this ancient ceremony handed down to her people. Since she was taught to honor her visions, she has worked hard to create this offshoot of the Sundance ritual to pray for the strengthening of all women and the healing of Mother Earth.
Her ceremony is considered a radical departure from the Sundances she grew up with. She feels privileged to have been taught Lakota traditions. To be true to herself, she made a decision not to give up her sexuality for her spirituality or vice-versa. The straight Sundance ritual is about suffering for the people. The theory is, the more you suffer, the stronger the ritual. The men would tie a rope to a tree which they cut down, pierce the muscles in their chests with eagle claws tied to the rope, and dance moving further and further away from the tree until their flesh ripped. This dance and suffering was a way to pray for their people in order to give back to the tribe, reenacting what they imagined might be the pain of childbirth suffered by women as their contribution to the tribe. Beverly believes this ritual is an indication of how much men fear women’s powerful capacity to give birth.
Beverly’s assertion of her lesbian identity and subsequent decision to create her more woman-centered Sundance enraged some members of the tribe, which is not exempt from the patriarchal stranglehold that plagues the rest of civilization. There were even threats to her life, but she was blessed by two women elders who told her that in the Lakota tradition, gays and lesbians were accepted in the tribe before the advent of Christianity. Traditional anthropologists used the term “berdache” to describe a Native American homosexual who was integrated into the tribe. However, the word “berdache” is a Persian word meaning “boy prostitute” which was brought over by the French. A more acceptable term which was created in 1990 is “two-spirit people” – meaning they more fully accept both sides of their beings. For example, if they are male, they are more in touch with their female spirit within than most men are. Male two-spirit people used to be regarded as valuable caretakers of orphans and elders while female two-spirit people were often midwives.
The women-only Sundance is not violent, but it requires enormous physical endurance from my perspective. The handful of Native American women dance for four days (approximately eight hours per day) with no food or water and sit in a sweat lodge for close to two hours three times a day. To qualify as a dancer you have to be a Native American women, attend four Sundances as a support worker, and train during the year. These eligibility requirements evolved over the years by trial and error. When she first started, Beverly said she let anyone dance which is how the vision came to her initially, but that turned out to be too chaotic. She said women who are disempowered from the culture are often “polluted by the quest to be recognized,” which contaminates in turn many women’s spirituality circles. The notion of undergoing rigorous self-discipline in order to pray for others requires a humility that is not generally fostered in our society (the land of immediate gratification and me-first-ism). Beverly felt she had to set limits in order to allow her vision to evolve gradually. She is confident that Grandmother Turtle Land will include many more dancers in the coming years.
Meanwhile, Betty continues her full life as an activist in her community between full moons in July. She is the chairperson of the Indian Health board in Minneapolis, she works with P-FLAG to develop programming for families of color, she was the first Native American to be asked to be the grand marshal of the Twin Cities gay pride parade this year, and she is active in the national organization for two-spirit people.
Beverly feels HOWL is a propitious place to hold the ceremony. Instead of cutting down a tree to use in the ritual, she has planted a tree that is thriving at HOWL which she considers a good omen. She has attempted to hold the Sundance in Arizona and California, but the trees and the women’s communities who attempted to support the gathering withered. There was a lot of dissention, especially about racism and classism, that made it difficult to focus. Beverly finds HOWL peaceful and accepting even though she was apprehensive at first because HOWL is run by an all-white collective. Nevertheless, she feels there is a “commitment to communicate.” She first came to HOWL a few years ago to facilitate a sweat lodge, and since then she feels “the energy has shifted.” This women’s land trust, blessed with an exquisite natural setting, is peaceful and well maintained. Its good condition has not always been the case. Like most community projects, they (I should say “we,” because I was once an active participant) had our ups and downs. But these days, with the beautiful gardens and the constant renovations of the house and barn, HOWL looks “well loved” as Beverly Little Thunder says.
For more information about being a support worker for Sundance or to utilize HOWL for your own ceremonies, festivals, gatherings, or recreation, feel free to call (802) 434-3953 (or 434-DYKE as we like to say.) And, if we experienced a particularly noticeable sense of well being the first full moon in July, we now know who to thank.
Crow Cohen is a lesbian feminist from Winooski.