Can I Be Frank With You?

We had been told, by people who know about such things, that it would likely be some years of walking together with Frank and Josie before anything approximating a friendship could be enjoyed. There had been, after all, centuries of broken trust between the native and the non-native people, with the natives commonly on the suffering side of the equation.

I suppose, given the history, that would be a reasonable expectation, but somehow it felt as though we were on a fast track to friendship. Our words were different, which took some getting used to, and our personal experiences with the eternal played out from different vantage points, but we all felt indistinguishably entwined by the same Spirit.

That fact had become quite clear from our first meeting just a few weeks earlier. Clear to us anyway. As for our young Lillyfield-ites…not so much. At the end of that meeting, the Abbas Anna had taken Frank and Josie to see our Selah Hall, our very special space carved out in the middle of the woods, dedicated exclusively to Sacred times with God. The placard on the entryway reads, "With quiet heart, enter ye in, to a wooing place where the veil is thin." I stayed back to debrief with our young friends.

“I'm not so sure about this couple.” One of them said, "They sure didn't talk about God in the same way I'm used to.”

That was true.

“And they never once mentioned the name of Jesus.” Another one added.

That also was true.

“And did you notice they spoke of ‘spirits’ more than a few times?” A third one said, adding “That makes me feel a bit uneasy.”

This also was indeed true. And if I were being honest, it made me a bit uneasy too. Every time I heard ‘spirits’ all I could think of was Ouija Boards.

And yet, for the Abbess and me, it felt like the words were not really the part that mattered all that much.

The group’s confusion was only further compounded when the Abbess related what had happened when they arrived at Selah Hall. Josie had lept from the car and hurried off, not into our special building, but away from it…into the woods. “Oh, there are so many medicines here.” The elder said excitedly, bending down to caress the moss-covered carpet.  When Anna was finally able to corral her into the building, Josie raised a hand to cover her lips as she let out a gasp. She was staring intently at a tapestry hanging on the wall. It was a classic Italian reproduction of the thorn-crowned profile of Jesus. Josie exclaimed, “That's the exact vision I received of creator when I had my first sweat more than 20 years ago.”

Frank and Josie had picked the date for the ceremony they would be conducting to bless us to steward this land, which we had asked them for. October 27th. The date sounded familiar. I thought it might have been around that time that the Abbess' ancestors had first landed in the colonies back in the 17th century. That date was etched in history because her ancestor, a prominent Quaker, if those two words can dwell together, accompanied William Penn on that holy experiment that would become Pennsylvania. We looked it up, and sure enough, it was the exact same day 334 years prior. A coincidence? I think not.

That day is still honored by some, known as the peace treaty under the Elm tree at Shakamaxon, where William Penn said, "We meet on the broad pathway of good faith and goodwill. No advantage shall be taken on either side, but all shall be openness and love. We are the same as if one man's body were to be divided into two parts. We are of one flesh and blood." To which the Lenape Chief Tamanend replied, “Our two people will live in peace as long as the waters run in the rivers and as long as the stars and moon endure.”

Perhaps we were meant to reaffirm these great declarations in our day.  

We all sat around a big table for dinner before the ceremony, about eight of us plus Frank and Josie. We had each made a gift with our own hands to honor the elders. At the table, we asked questions. Frank told stories, to help prepare us for the ceremony. “Are you what they call a medicine man?” Someone asked.

“Josie is a medicine woman.” Frank said, “It has run in her family for generations.”

“And what about you,” another asked, “Are you what they call a shaman?”

“No.” Frank declared emphatically, “I don't like that term. I'm just Frank, trying to walk a good path of Creator, and to help people.” That helps explain why, when one first meets the elder he often quips, “Can I be frank with you? I just want to be Frank with everybody.”

He talked about the spirits again, and how he would seek their guidance for our gathering. There was that word again. I had to ask, “Frank, what do you mean by spirits?”

He replied, “There are good spirits and bad spirits. We want only the good spirits.”

“Tell me more about these good spirits.” I pried.

“Oh they are here to help accomplish what Creator wants to do...They are here to help us on our road.”

“And what about the bad spirits,” I asked.

“Oh, those spirits oppose what Creator wants to do. They are not here to help us, but to hurt us and trip us up.”

I said, “Well, that sounds a lot like what we call angels and demons.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, matter-of-factly, “Angels, and Demons, same thing.”

Well, Frank, would you mind saying angels and demons instead of spirits when my friends are around? I didn't actually say that, but I sure thought it loudly.

Arriving at Selah Hall, Josie unwrapped her eagles’ wings with great care. She would use them to direct the smoke from the pipe. Anna asked if she might dance with them first, which the Elder gladly obliged.

Then we sat. Josie began singing in her beautiful Mi’kmaq tongue while beating her hand-made drum. Frank shook his turtle rattle. Then he lit his tobacco-filled pipe and began to pray. He prayed four times in the four cardinal directions, blowing the smoke up while Josie pushed it higher with her wings. He explained that we pray for the men, then for the women, then for the children, and finally for the medicines.

Then Frank asked the good spirits for a spirit name for each of us. He waited in prayer with the rattle and the drums until he had clarity. Then the sounds would stop and he would declare the name he had been given for one person. He patiently repeated the process until each one of us had received our name. Anna was given the name, Soaring Eagle. Appropriate, I thought. The youngest among us was dubbed Grandfather Sea Turtle, which was also oddly appropriate if you knew him, as he was truly an old soul.

I was called Tall White Standing Bear From The North. Truly a mouthful. It was the ‘From-The-North’ bit struck my heart dead center. Allow me a moment to explain. I had not been born on this northern island yet I had always felt it was my true home. I would often say I am an islander born in the wrong place. But that didn’t fly among the locals, who knew well the unwritten rule that to be from here meant you, and a few generations before you, were born here, where everybody here knew everybody from here. When an islander met someone they didn’t know, they would inquire, “What was your father's name?” If that didn't ring a bell, they would continue with, “And what was your mother's name before she was married?” If that drew a blank, they would confidently declare, “So you're not from here then, are you?”

When our visiting guests would ask our neighbor Louise if she was from here, she would always reply, "Oh no dear I'm not from here, my people are from the South Side where I grew up, but I moved here about 50 years ago.” Now the ‘South Side’ you must understand, is no farther than a mile and a half over the small bluff. If you were a wee bit taller than average, you could see it from where you were standing. But she's not from here. If Louise is not from here then what chance do I ever have of claiming I am from here? Up until now, not much. But now the spirits have declared it so. I am not just Tall White Standing Bear, but I am also From The North. From here. So, from that day forward whenever I'm asked, “Where are you from?” I always proudly and confidently respond, “I am from the island of Ile Royale, off the northern coast of Nova Scotia. I am an Islander.”

Thank you spirits.

Josie had warned us that Frank would likely want to go directly to bed after the ceremony, because it was often a tiring experience, due to the bad spirits opposing what would be happening at every turn. But here Frank sat, sunken deeply into the leather couch, looking comfy and quite happy.

I thanked Frank for the wonderful ceremony and all that he and Josie had given out. I asked if he had enjoyed the time as much as we did. He just rolled his head in my direction saying, “Oh, what a clean place that place. There could never be any bad spirits in that place.”

A naming ceremony, we've come to learn, is a very special and sacred thing among the Mi’kmaq. And we non-natives are extremely honored to have been invited in to such a wonderful experience.

Just one bit more, if I may.

I feel this story wouldn't be complete if I didn't give you a glimpse into the lighter side of our beloved Frank. As the story goes, one day in his community of Elsepogtog, Frank was approached on the sidewalk by a local tribal politician. Now the politicians and the spiritual elders didn't always see everything eye to eye. This man said to Frank, “I hear you did a naming ceremony last night.”

“Yeah.” Frank said, “So…”

The man said, “Well how about you give me a name, Frank?”

“That's not how it works,” Frank responded, “You need to come to a ceremony if you want to get your name.”

“Oh, come on Frank.” The guy pressed in harder, as a politician might, “You can give me a name, Frank, I know you can.”

“OK, you really want your spirit name?” Frank asked.

“Yeah, I really do.” The man said with anticipation, seeing that Frank seemed to be warming to the idea.

“OK,” Frank said, “You are Walking Eagle.”

“Walking eagle!?!” The guy complained, “What kind of name is that?”

“It's a perfect name for you,” Frank declared, “Cause ya know, you’re too full of crap to fly.”

That too, was Frank being frank.