A Visit with Thunder Cloud.

You will find, my love, that you will not need to seek these lessons out, you are on a special journey and you will find them knocking on your door.

Scott, May 1996     Channeled Writing

The days that followed in Seattle passed like magic, a sensuous dream unfolding in time.  For the first time I got to know Jeff’s life partner Dean, and found a new friend.  More than anything else I appreciated the simple luxury of time spent with the two of them, the chance to jump for just a while into the amazing stream of their lives. We experienced the city together in a series of golden moments: skinny-dipping at sunset in the cold waters of a lake outside of the city here; sprawled out there upon a comfy blanket on the rolling green lawn of a beautiful vineyard, under the moonlight, enjoying an outdoor concert, a simple picnic, and freshly-vinted wine. We drank Vietnamese coffee; explored the abundant delicacies to be found in hole-in-the-wall restaurants in the back streets of the city’s Chinatown; experienced the delights of a private sculpture exhibition held at a lushly wooded ranch outside of town, the thought-provoking work placed here and there under the open sky and displayed against the elegant living backdrop of the green forest.

It so happened that Seattle’s acclaimed performance art troupe, the UMO ensemble, was at the time performing a piece titled Body Inheritance, to which Jeff had picked up two tickets. With no time to change, we literally stumbled from a mountain forest trek into a darkening theater and an unforgettable experience.  The group’s extraordinary artistry in song, dance, storytelling, and acrobatic

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gymnastics, explored (among many other things) themes of death.  I was riveted.  One tune in particular “sang my heart,” and before I knew it had entered whole into my memory upon first hearing.

I was delighted to find it years later on the group’s web site, online and available for free download:

Listen to Dead here:  http://www.umo.org/umocd.html

On a different level, especially in the wake of Scott’s death, it felt good to be re-establishing contact with Jeff, who had grown considerably but remained as much as ever an important historical link with myself.  He was in a time of major transition, his spiritual and professional horizons wide open and rapidly unfolding, and for a time I was able to join him on his journey.  I was not exactly clear where either of us might be headed, but that was just fine.  Simply moving forward together was excellent, and enough.

A group of Lakota

A few days following my arrival, Jeff mentioned that he’d set up an appointment the following afternoon with a man named Thunder Cloud, whom he described as a Lakota Sioux medicine man.  “He’s very respected around here for his spiritual insight, as a man in touch with the ancient traditions,” he explained.  “He is a gay man, what some people call a berdache.”  Though I didn’t know a great deal more about it, I was aware that in many native American cultures such individuals, fitting neatly into the roles of neither gender, were revered and seen as possessing special powers.  It must be powerful medicine, the wise ones reasoned, for the Great Spirit to have here brought together the spirit of Woman and Man as one.

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Parfleche, Lakota

Horse’s Mask, Lakota

“I’m feeling like I could really use a good teacher on some of these new paths I’m exploring,” Jeff said, thinking out loud.  “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk with him about where I’m going, and whether he might be willing to take me on as an apprentice.”

“Wow,” I thought to myself, “this could be a real life experience.”  I asked Jeff if he’d mind if I came along, and he hesitated only a second before responding “No, not at all.”  The next afternoon, we went together to keep Jeff’s appointment.

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The Lakota (an independent tribe, grouped along with a number of others into the catch-all "Sioux" by the French) were a proud and distinguished people, and some among them are even today dedicated to keeping the old ways alive, and "rebuilding."  Two of their many prominent leaders are pictured here. "Many believe Sitting Bull [above] was the chief of the Sioux Indians that defeated Lieutenant Colonel George A. Custer at the battle of the Little Bighorn on June 25, 1876 when in actuality, he only acted as the main medicine man in the battle preparations. He was a great man among the Sioux as it was he who united the northern plains Indian tribes of the Sioux and Cheyenne in their struggle against their enemies. famed for his engagement with General George Custer of the United States Army."  (David Perry, Pagewise.)

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Red Cloud, a distinguished mystic visionary, horseman, and warrior.

 

This novel, in which Lakota Medicine Man Black Elk shares his personal experience of the mystical path, and his knowledge of the traditions and ancient wisdom of his people, has remained a perennial best

seller for decades.

When we arrived at the place agreed, Thunder Cloud was sitting on an outside bench, accompanied by a couple of students that clearly adored him.  Just hanging out, laughing and enjoying casual conversation, he was dressed in a black T-shirt pulled over a flowing sarong of many colors, and sandals.  His hair, long and black, appearing a little oily, fell to his shoulders.  His left nostril was pierced by a silver ring, and various turquoise and other necklaces hung across the front of his shirt.  As he nodded in greeting to Jeff, I

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noticed that his eyes were calm and deep brown.  Jeff introduced me, and Thunder Cloud smiled and reached up to shake my hand.

After a few minutes of small talk, during which this man told some exquisitely bad jokes but nevertheless burst into gales of laughter with self-amusement, Jeff offered him a ride home.  Jeff had explained that Thunder Cloud led a financially precarious existence, and I understood that his not having a car was the least of his problems.  “I worry about him,” he’d said, a look of concern on his face.  “He’s so important to the community, but it seems like things are always hand to mouth.  And he doesn’t have any health insurance.  I mean, he must be in his fifties.  You never know.”

Thunder Cloud accepted Jeff’s offer of a ride, and we walked to the truck.  As the three of us squeezed together into the front seat, Jeff handed him a rolled plastic baggie he had brought with him as a gift.  Though I’d assumed the greenish-brown leaf in the bag was marijuana, it was not.  It was natural tobacco, the kind from which Jeff knew that Thunder Cloud preferred to roll his own cigarettes.

After a short drive we arrived at the comfortable, but gently decrepit, bungalow-style wooden home shared by Thunder Cloud and a few other roommates.  As our host gestured that Jeff join him on the battered old sofa filling the middle of the cluttered living room, I made myself comfortable in an easy chair across from them.  As Jeff began to explain to Thunder Cloud what he’d come for, I looked around the room.  “This is a real experience,” I thought to myself as they spoke in hushed tones, “I guess we’re not in Kansas anymore!”  For a moment, time seemed to stand still.  The room was filled with objects symbolizing this man’s life, physical reflections of a spiritual journey, and each one quietly whispered to me of its place in the greater mystery.  The afternoon sunlight, slanting through the faded but once intense colors of the fabrics decorating the windows, seemed to forget its mission and lose direction upon entering the room, hanging suspended and golden in the air.

Jeff explained to Thunder Cloud about the workshops he had taken, the path he had recently begun exploring, and his thoughts that at this point the right teacher might be invaluable in guiding him along the way.  Thunder Cloud listened intently, gazing downward as he leaned forward on the sofa, his forearms resting on his shins, hands clasped before him.  When he responded, he would turn and look Jeff in the eye.  Seeking direction, Jeff asked his opinion of one program he had learned about in Seattle, a course of study charging its participants tuition to learn about shamanic techniques in a series of

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group sessions.  A slight frown crossed Thunder Cloud’s face as he spoke.  “I’ve got a number of problems with that type of approach.  First of all, their orientation is academic.  It would have to be,” he laughed, “you know they didn’t get this stuff growing up, watching Bewitched.”

Lakota clothing.  The shirt on R belonged to Chief Red Cloud (mentioned above), ca. 1870.

“I also have a problem with their doing this for the money, the whole setup.”  He paused a moment.  “Not that there’s anything wrong with making money, but I just can’t see how that can be reconciled in this context with the spiritual work they’re purporting to do.  But my biggest problem with that approach,” he said, “is this group thing, the idea that one lesson is there to be learned by all these students at the same time.  It’s too packaged.  The Great Mystery unfolds itself in limitless ways, as it needs to and according to its own will, and rarely speaks to any two people in the same way or at the same time.”  Jeff nodded as he spoke, paying careful attention.  “The whole spiritual journey isn’t just about the student, you know.  It’s about the teacher and the student having been led to the same point in their journeys at the same time, and both being ready and open to give and to receive, to experience the Great Mystery together.”

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Lakota Art

“That,” said Thunder Cloud, “is the heart of the matter.  That’s what having a teacher on the journey is all about.”  As Jeff sat quietly a minute, I felt moved to ask Thunder Cloud a question.  I was fascinated by this man, so gentle and sincere, so steeped in an ancient tradition, a way of knowing and being completely beyond the bounds of my experience.  What did we have in common?  What were our points of departure?"

"Thunder Cloud," I cut in, "do you mind if I ask you a question?"  "Of course," he invited.  "Do you believe in God, or a Great Spirit," I inquired, "whatever you might call it?"

He answered immediately, as if in clarification, "I believe there is a Great Mystery," and looked at me, smiling.

The simple answer nearly took my breath away.  I have been a spiritual seeker always, and knew that only rarely might one expect an answer of such clarity and force to so fundamental a question.  As time passes my appreciation of his answer only continues to deepen.  In a most simple way, it wipes clean the entire, miserably cluttered and history-laden slate on the issue, rendering wholly irrelevant such terms as atheist and agnostic. Quite powerfully, as well, it offers “believers” a bracing reminder that, to the extent they might presume to know the Divine in its fullness, or (most especially) to speak on its behalf,

something fundamental had been forgotten.  They are exactly as solidly “in the right” as might be believed, but only if cloud is

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concrete.

Struck by Thunder Cloud’s reply, I immediately asked “What are we here for?,” getting right to the heart of the matter. “We are all souls, on a spiritual journey,” he responded after a moment.  “What you see here, everything all around you, is part of only one of an infinite series of realities.  There are a limitless number of souls, animal, human, and otherwise, at work in the Universe.  In fact, this Universe is not the only one.  It is one of a series of ‘Multiverses.’”  I took a moment to pause, feeling suddenly adrift in deep seas and lost in the metaphysical implications.  “We are here,” he continued deliberately, “because we have chosen to be here, for an infinite number of tasks and for an infinite number of reasons.  Some of us are here, walking this Earth, in order to help heal people and to relieve human suffering.”

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Over the next few minutes Thunder Cloud shared with us the overarching tapestry of his vision, a living world of spirit abundant with opportunities for growth of the soul.  He charted out a colorful cosmology of interlocking spirits and souls, an eternal dance of impossible vibrancy, and spoke of our freedom to choose our place within it.  I got the sense that he had been blessed with moments of power, glimpses of insight into the "dance behind the scenes," the overwhelming Reality of which we now perceive only a small fragment in the world that surrounds us.  He pointed out that there is a reason for the world we perceive, a protective purpose in the invisible limits of our own construction.  "There's no benefit in getting into knowledge beyond what you need to know, or realms beyond your present experience," he explained, "because that would only be information you couldn't use, resulting in confusion and disorientation."

"That's the key question: What are we meant to know?  How do you know when it's time to stop pushing it?"  He paused a moment, then said, "I guess that's part of the need for the right teacher."  During the rest of the visit, neither he nor Jeff discussed anything more specific about their potential teacher/ student relationship.  Finally, it became clear that Thunder Cloud viewed the meeting as complete.  "Why don't you just think about our discussion today," he told Jeff, "and think about what it is you want.  What exactly you might want me to do for you.  And then we can talk."  Jeff slowly nodded, obviously having been given a huge homework assignment in self-study.

Thunder Cloud then saw us out to the door and stood with us on the home’s narrow front porch.  Although I’d known him only minutes I was filled with a feeling of love and respect for this man.  Reaching out to take his hand, I told him that I was reeling with the loss of the one I loved, but that I had definitely become aware that we were on a spiritual journey together.  As he looked at me intently, his head cocked slightly backward, his eyes seemed to bore right through me.  I perceived that he was seeing, really seeing, and knew that I could not hide.  The experience was beyond words, but I knew that this unspoken communication was a spiritual gift.  Feeling my heart

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open, I looked back into his eyes for long moments.  Finally he relaxed his head, a warm smile crossing his face, and said gently “Paul, you’re really doing very well.”

Then, without pause, eye contact unbroken, he suddenly placed the palm of his right hand on the center of my chest.  At that moment I felt a wild burst of energy course through me, exploding in widening circles from the point of his touch, literally knocking me backward just a bit.  I’d not seen it move there, but his left arm reached around my back, as if to brace and hold me.  I was stunned by his power, yet had already come to trust this man.  I knew that his touch was for healing.  As he slowly cupped his large right hand around the back of my neck, then brought it easily to rest on my shoulder, he told me “You are walking a special path, one viewed as an honored tradition by my people.  We refer to it as the ‘keeping of souls,’ by those whose loved ones have passed over.  It is a healing process, usually lasting twelve months, but your soul will know when it’s time.  And only yours.”

“If you ever feel like you’re having trouble bringing Scott through,” he offered in parting, “just let me know.”  I laughed as I responded lightheartedly “So far, that hasn’t been much of a problem, but thanks.  I will.”  As he began to close the door behind him, Jeff and I turning to leave, he raised his palm as if in blessing and said, “You guys take good care of yourselves.”

To:     Chapter 38

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