The Flame & The Buffalo

Praying for direction

Dear friend,

Have you ever looked at fire before? Like, really, looked at it and saw it?

A few days ago, I lit a candle that my co-worker gave me for Christmas. For some reason, at that moment I felt compelled to lay the dead match on the kitchen counter, rest my elbows there, and hold my face in my hands as I watched its three wicks burn, the melted wax releasing a sweet scent into our home.

I saw the little puddles suddenly forming at the very base of each wick where the dry wick met the wet wax. My eyes were drawn upwards then, to the blue base of one flame — magically disappearing and then reappearing underneath the bright, yellow-orange flame. This magical blue fire seemed to be playing a mysterious game. This color contrast amazed me. The flames on the charred wicks just danced — getting taller, shorter, wavy, and tall, with each millisecond.

As lovely as each of these flames were, I also respected their power. I was careful when lighting them. I knew that, given the chance, these tiny flames could set our whole house on fire, destroying everything we own in a matter of minutes.

Yet, for the time being, their job was to bring light and comfort to our home.

I hope that I can be like those tiny flames. I hope that I can always shine bright, contain within myself a boggling dichotomy, and ultimately fulfill the mission I’m given in the moment by my Creator — whether that duty is humble or mighty.

I don’t always feel up to this task, though, and that realization helped me understand something about our indigenous ancestors and cousins: Over thousands of years of observation, they have noticed certain qualities represented in fellow members of Creation (like fire), and in their prayers they ask that they might possess these valuable traits.

Storm

Here’s an example that comes to mind: At a party last year, I met the son of a now-retired professional athlete. He shared a deeply personal story about when his dad met a Native American fan who told him that he had the Spirit of the Buffalo. This cultural expression was a significant compliment, as buffalo are revered by Native American cultures — particularly the Great Plains peoples.

In an explanation of the Native American Four Directions by Aktá Lakota Museum & Cultural Center, North is described this way (notice the buffalo’s emphasized quality):

North brings the cold, harsh winds of the winter season. These winds are cleansing. They cause the leaves to fall and the earth to rest under a blanket of snow. If someone has the ability to face these winds like the buffalo with its head into the storm, they have learned patience and endurance. Generally, this direction stands for hardships and discomfort. Therefore, north represents the trials people must endure and the cleansing they must undergo.¹

Take a moment to consider the Spirit of the Buffalo in your own life.

Given that North symbolizes trial here, isn’t it interesting that we’re often taught to find North when we’re lost? That our maps and compasses emphasize North?

North, it seems, orients us. Perhaps, although we may not wish to face the harsh winds of challenge in our lives, facing that northerly direction is precisely what we need to get us to our destination.

Perhaps we all need the Spirit of the Buffalo and the Spirit of the Flame.

Direction

There are many indigenous prayers to our awesome Creator inspired by the four directions. (If you are familiar with the Breastplate or Lorica of St. Patrick, that is related to this tradition.) Here is one such prayer by city of Seattle’s namesake, Duwamish and Suquamish Chief Si'ahl. May it inspire us as we begin this new year:

Great Spirit of Light, come to me out of the East with the power of the rising sun. Let there be light in my words, let there be light on my path that I walk. Let me remember always that you give the gift of a new day. And never let me be burdened with sorrow by not starting over again.

Great Spirit of Love, come to me with the power of the North. Make me courageous when the cold wind falls upon me. Give me strength and endurance for everything that is harsh, everything that hurts, everything that makes me squint. Let me move through life ready to take what comes from the north.

Great Life-Giving Spirit, I face the West, the direction of sundown. Let me remember every day that the moment will come when my sun will go down. Never let me forget that I must fade into you. Give me a beautiful color, give me a great sky for setting, so that when it is my time to meet you, I can come with glory.

Great Spirit of Creation, send me the warm and soothing winds from the South. Comfort me and caress me when I am tired and cold. Unfold me like the gentle breezes that unfold the leaves on the trees. As you give to all the earth your warm, moving wind, give to me, so that I may grow close to you in warmth. Man did not create the web of life, he is but a strand in it. Whatever man does to the web, he does to himself.

With you on the journey,

Angela

1. “Native American Four Directions” by Aktá Lakota Museum & Cultural Center. https://aktalakota.stjo.org/lakota-culture/native-american-four-directions