Sitting Bull
Elders and remnants of the Hunkpapa,
Our Minneconjou brother, Kicking Bear,
Whose people fought the bitter fight by us,
And who has lately come back from beyond
The Western ridge, desires a word with you.
What he proposes, it is not for me
To say if you had best accept or not.
The strongest chief can no more than advise.
As one whose chiefly title some now doubt,
And to whom all have long since ceased to listen,
I venture no view of my own but this:
He brings a tale well worthy of your ears.
[Kicking Bear approaches the chorus, and takes
up the attitude of a preacher. During the
following speech the lights progressively dim
and grow eerie, coming up again at the end.]
Kicking Bear
Old ones, the eye of the Great Spirit shines
On unimagined things, on things unborn.
O see the scabbed and ravished earth, our mother,
She bleeds: will he not heal her? O see ourselves,
A tribe of widows and old men who weep:
Will he forsake us? Can He who spun the ancient
Veil, and spangled it with beads of fire,
Who gently wooed the earth and made her swell
With soft shoots of the spirit, now intend
To let the lovely stalk of that tall nation
Wither before its children's eyes forever?
To crush the nurslings of His own beloved
Earth, and prosper those who ravish her?
O let the tongues of doubtfulness be still,
For I have heard, O friends, in darkened hours,
The peal of a summons in the speechless air,
And felt the deep roll of His messengers
Calling to me: "I am your Savior. Seek Me."
And I have caught the wagons of the fire,
Yes, I have with five chosen brethren seen,
Through eyes stung by that heartless road of iron,
The long dry reaches of the withered world
Beyond the white peaks of our memories.
And there -- O I have travelled far, my friends,
Far from the cold roads of the ravishers,
Where, on a lake fed by the sorry creeks
That trickled off the parched and howling hills,
Sad Fish Eaters, the lowliest of tribes,
Had pitched their huts; there, shimmering in the folds
Of dusk, in strange array lit up by bonfires,
Stood crowds of worshippers from all the nations,
Murmuring in all the tongues of the earth.
And as night fell upon us, suddenly
That murmur rose into one voice from all
That cried: "He comes! He comes! Look! He is coming!"
And then He came: rising out of the lake
Wrapped in a great blanket He glided towards us.
The dark camp rocked with fear, great numbers fainted,
But He with calm hand motioned to those near Him,
Who stoked with sagebrush one great fire before Him,
So that it flickered and lit up His face;
And lo: His face was red, like yours and mine.
[The chorus murmur a bit.]
He raised His hand to silence us, and spoke:
"Your tears, O children, have awakened Me.
For I am the eternal friend of sorrow.
What whisper on the wind tells me his name,
The name of a man pale in countenance,
Pale in his thoughts, who measures out with bloodless
Feet the holy earth that bore his body;
Whose aching eyes destroy all that he yearns for,
Along with those he wishes to be rid of?
Do I not know this man? O see! These are
His wounds I bear, the wounds he gave Me when
I last was on the earth, for then, indeed,
I thought to save him from his wickedness;
But now I turn My face from him. O children,
My hours upon these shores with you are few,
But when I go, I wish to leave with you
A gift, a very sacred gift. It is
A dance, and I will teach it to you now.
Once you have learned it, I'll speak to you again."
So all that night we danced, and in the morning
Sat around Him, kissed His wounds and wept,
And when night fell again He rose and said:
"Let Earth and Sky bear witness to my words,
That these alone, and all who learn this dance
From them, are My true children. All the others
Shall be plucked out like the hollow gourds,
Their dry vine severed from their mother's womb,
And they shall skitter like the tumbleweeds
Beyond the edges of the earth's remembrance;
For I have come to make the world anew.
Behold, the winter days to come shall be
Your latter days of sorrow; spring shall see
The shaking of the bowels of Earth; great waves
Of soil shall pass across her, and the pale
Hordes shall be caught like locusts with their clicking
Wings amidst the dust; for I am your
Messiah: I have power to destroy.
But all My sacred dancers shall be lifted;
No harm shall touch them, and I shall set them down
Upon a land that quivers with new life.
The dark eyes of the buffalo shall gaze
At them from every hillside; flashing tails
Of salmon shall make rainbows on the running
Waters; all their dead ones, young men pierced
In battle, babies snuffed out by disease,
Old ones whose hearts had failed them, shall be clothed
In flesh and meet them there; for I am your
Messiah: I have power to renew.
Till then, farewell; dance faithfully, My children;
I shall return to bless you in that time."
Then all at once the bonfire burst as if
A bolt had hit it; the sagebrush crackled like
A thunder roll. We looked -- and He was gone.
And so we danced, and wept, and went our ways,
And my way, dearest friends, was straight to you,
To teach you this, and bring to you His gift.
[The lights come up. One chorus member,
hereafter referred to as the Chorus Leader, rises.]
Chorus Leader
Our chief was right. Your tale is something wondrous.
Such vividness one scarcely could invent.
Kicking Bear
Had I invented it, good people, I
Could never find my tongue to tell it so.
Chorus Leader
But tell us now, since many saw it with you,
Has this word yet reached many of the tribes?
Kicking Bear
The prairie reels with it. There is, by now,
No teepee west of here that has not heard.
Chorus Leader
Some rumors we have heard as well. Till now,
Nothing but that. Do many learn this dance?
Kicking Bear
Cheyennes, Arapahoes, our old Crow foes,
And five tribes of our mighty Sioux, all dance.
Chorus Leader
And do the whites make no attempt to stop it?
Kicking Bear
They do. They will. But nothing can avail them.
Chorus Leader
Suppose they come with guns to shoot the dancers?
Kicking Bear
Their bullets buzz like bees back at themselves.
Chorus Leader
And if they cease to send them corn or water?
Kicking Bear
A dancer lives on air, and dew from heaven.
Chorus Leader
This man, or god, you say, is to return?
Kicking Bear
You heard yourself. I gave you His own words.
Chorus Leader
And we will see Him then? If we dance too?
Kicking Bear
Face to face. He comes to dwell with us.
Chorus Leader
And make things as before the whites, He said.
Kicking Bear
Their sinful race was no more than a dream.
Chorus Leader
Yes, this was stranger than the rest. He said...
Kicking Bear
That you shall meet your dead ones in the flesh.
Chorus (woman)
My sons that lie at Greasy Grass? I'll see them?
Kicking Bear
Yes, grandmother. Their fine young limbs unwounded.
Chorus (woman)
My little ones who caught the white man's pox?
Kicking Bear
With cheeks as pure as when they left your womb.
Chorus (sundry voices)
My wife, son, daughter, mine too, mine, my husband?
Kicking Bear
All, all, good people. You shall see them all.
There is no creature on the crying earth,
No wild horse, butterfly or crawling snake,
But soon shall see its tender race restored,
Save for these bloodless ones whose greedy eyes
Shall see the sun no more, but all shall perish
Horribly in their iniquity.
For it was told to many and to all
That he who spites the womb that bore him quick
Shall turn to sparkless dust upon the air.
Chorus Leader
Oh, stranger, stranger, something's in your words!
Had we not heard it in such tones as yours,
This tale would seem beyond all hope of truth.
But how could one with no true gift of God
So charge with hope these hopeless hearts of ours?
Yet there is one whose voice in this we need --
Although his bringing you spells some assent.
Your counsel, chief. Are we to learn this dance?
Sitting Bull
Why wait on my approval in this matter?
I would not think that ones who freely sold
The soil their great creator gave to them,
And paid therein the counsels of their chief
No more heed than the piping of the wind,
Need worry lest he should oppose them now,
When all they wish to do is do a dance
In hopes that heaven will rescind the bargain.
Let all who long to learn this rite, do so.
The rest of us will quietly sit by
And neither rail at those who take part nor,
I hope, ourselves be railed at for refraining.
Chorus Leader
Then you do not intend to dance yourself?
Sitting Bull
If the Messiah will excuse me, no.
My limbs are not so supple any more.
Chorus Leader
We do not know, then. Bull Bear, will you dance?
Bull Bear
Thanks anyway. Not with such pretty partners.
Chorus Leader
But wasn't it expressly said by Him
That only those who dance are to be saved?
Kicking Bear
It was indeed, and I must tell you straight,
O chief and mighty hero of the Sioux,
That though we count you as the best of us,
Though in our soil's dark days of desecration
No warrior more fearless ever fought,
The burst and morningtide of this new time
Leaves all alike trembling before their God.
Past deeds are past. The soul of each stands naked.
As fighting strength of human greatness fails
Man humbly must beseech the holy powers,
And woe to him who in his pride disdains
To raise arms with the weak and with the wicked.
Were there but one so righteous, O my chief,
That heaven might exempt him, well we know
It would be you. But do not tempt that chance.
Beyond what's prophesied I cannot promise.
Sitting Bull
My friend, the world is a prophetic place.
For all alive to listen, it has voices,
And in this darkness where we apprehend,
Many a song will seem to sing out true.
For my part, I hear one persistently
In all the morning meadowlarks of late,
That in this much, at least, agrees with yours:
"The whites," it goes, "have had their day with you;
And now," it adds, as sweetly as before --
But never mind: our elders find me gloomy.
I am much given lately to be gloomy.
Why, in such times as these, I cannot say.
But I too take some pride in prophecy,
And if my memory indeed must perish
Beneath the dust of all your dancing feet,
Why then, I'll be as gratified to know
This little voice of mine has proved no liar,
As you will be to see your God revealed.
Should He relent, and deign to rain on me
His dispensation, I'll merely be constrained
To thank Him for a thing I did not ask.
Beyond one sprinkling of mortal days,
I never looked for life, nor do I think
The freshness of those drops I spoiled or lost
Will come again to any dancer's drum.
Kicking Bear
Does not the sound of such despairing speech
From one whose mere voice mustered up our hearts,
Lakotas, in the past, almost outdo
The worst of what this soulless race has wrought?
No, him we cannot blame. We can but hope
That like the wounded bull who hears the herd,
In one mass, thunder off and shake the prairie,
His heart will quicken to the power of this,
And rouse him to his feet while there is time.
For our world's dust in the offing, friends:
A new one's sifted seed shall soon be sown.
Chorus Leader
Oh chief, this man's words are our only hope.
Will you think badly of us if we dance?
Sitting Bull
How many times must I be asked? I would
You had thought more about my good opinion
Before you scratched your marks on white men's paper.
By all means dance. Your leader is impatient.
Waste no more words with lost ones like myself.
Kicking Bear
If you will gather round me, Hunkpapas,
Our sacred garb will be revealed to you.
Ghost Dancers main page | Preface | (1) | (2) | (3) | (4) | (5) | (6) | Notes for performers