Clear Sky and Cloud story
“Sometimes, I do enjoy conversations with different aspects of myself, and one of these aspects showed me the experience of a nameless native shaman-like elder.
I saw the wisdom carried by his eyes and years on his shoulders, and we talked, laughed, and shared stories, enjoying the light and warmth of our imaginary companion, the Fire.
It is amazing to gaze at the night sky and see more than just the clarity of the stars and a few clouds around the Moon.
He asked, ‘Do you know what clouds are?’
I said, ‘Yeah, of course. Some vaporized water drops or something like that…’ I didn’t feel inclined to get into the scientific aspects of it because I know myself. I have an analytical mind used to questioning, splitting, and scientifically and logically proving any and all thoughts and ideas. So, I opted for the short, simple answer…
He said, ‘Well, you are probably right, but do you know what clouds are?’
Then I understood the meaning of the question – whether I know what clouds are from his side, whether I understood clouds from his perspective, his vantage point, his wisdom and experience, his knowledge and experience. He’s testing me to see if I’m connected, really connected.
Ah… Clouds are…
“Cloud is the brother of the Winds and the thought of the Water. Cloud is the messenger of the ground for its sky friend.”
Kind of makes sense in my mind, as I do picture clouds as being in some sort of interaction with winds, and of course, everybody knows where rain comes from, so it makes sense. But why change the plural? Because it is weird.
“Tell Cloud to clear the Sky,” and he blew breath towards the clouds, and a tremor from within him, from all around him, seemed to touch the sky, gently pushing the clouds aside.
It is not just a story; it is not just imagination. It was as real as me typing the words at this very moment and you reading or maybe feeling the pictures in your mind’s eye.
That aspect of myself started to sing a native song, and I was slowly pushed away from his Fire, and those sounds really followed me back into me. They were translated like this: Hey’ya ya ya, Hey’ya, Hey’yah With beautiful sound variations (adding some sort of meaning), but I’m no musician, and I don’t have native roots, but it plays genuinely and truly in my heart, and that’s all that matters.
I’m sure one day there will be a time with a magic sky and two of us sharing stories.
PS: It’s not my story, as I’m not native. It’s the story I carry with that Hey’ya chant, but you’ll never find this story anywhere else, as we all chant our own stories or our ancestral dreams in our chants.”
