Native Voices
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Your path has brought you to the home page of Michael Baggett, citizen of the Southern Cherokee Nation of Webbers Falls, Oklahoma (known throughout history as the Treaty Party), musician, and author of the novel Soapstone.

"E" me at kanvwodi@juno.com

Allow me to share the big news in my life!The beautiful lady in this photo became my wife on July 13, 2006. Everybody, this is Helen. Helen, this is everybody.

About Soapstone

My first novel explores the future of Native American people in light of current world events.

For years, while traveling in native circles, I have heard time and again "they took our land." This statement is very true, but a lot has happened in the 500 years since contact. If the indecencies had stopped with our having to share the land with Europeans, things may have not been so bad as the bloodshed, racism, and genocide that have befallen America's indigenous people.

Could it be that Turtle Island would be returned to Native American Indians, and if so how would we deal with it? I wondered in my heart just what events would be believable enough to set the story in motion. 9/11 presented itself as the answer to that question.

Soapstone begins with the White Removal of 2012, the result of worldwide terrorism, and rewinds the past as America returns to her pre-contact state. The real story is in the symbolism behind the fiction - dates, colors, and events are the underlying hints to the heart of the book.

Selected Passages from Soapstone Back to top

The emptiness of the neighborhood was like something out of a science fiction movie, the one where all the people have mysteriously vanished. Only there was no mystery here. The descendants of immigrants had to choose between a free ride out of the country, or staying to face the uncertainty of a tomorrow in which a bunch of pissed off Indians finally got their land back. The smart money was on leaving.


A billboard caught his attention that brought the point home, the black billboard with the white letters of trivial sayings on them and signed by "God" Himself. Becker had always thought those things to be ridiculous. If there was a God, he reasoned,would He spend His time coming up with cute little sayings to put on billboards? What would He be, the God of the One-liners? "And now folks, the moment you've been waiting for! Direct from the throne of Heaven, the comic stylings of God Almighty!"

"Thank you, thank you very much. Hey, I tell you, keep using my name in vain and I'll make rush hour longer! Don't make Me come down there!"

"Why are you smiling?" Gloria asked.

Becker was snapped back to the present. "I just thought of something funny".

"You weren't listening to me at all, were you?" Gloria asked.

"Obviously not."


"What's going on?" Tracy yelled toward the yard.

"They're here! Everyone has o go to the powwow grounds! C'mon! Let's go!"

There were more voices in the distance as the men of the community rallied to the defense of their loved ones. Mothers and children were left standing in the doorways of their homes while daddies and husbands and sons ran out into the dark of the night to face the enemy.

Becker was already dressed except for his shoes, which he put on in record time. The .357 he had liberated from the Perez mansion was still with him as he charged past Nicky into the darkness. He caught up with Tracy at the edge of the woods and fell in behind him unnoticed as they ran toward the meeting place.

Nicky crumpled to the floor, feeling twice the agony of any woman with one lover who was called into this battle.


No one would ever again see the Timucua, the Natchez, the Apalachee, the Yazoo,the Calusa, the Beothuk, the Yamasee, or the Wappink. The Klamath and the Omaha sold the their land in order to pay taxes, and the Kutenai received their land by sending a declaration of war to president Gerald Ford. The Ioway fought to keep a toxic waste dump from being built on tribal burial grounds, while the Makaah and Ojibwa fought for fishing rights.

Outside the small white frame house, the wind blew the sounds of a hundred lost languages that would never be heard in this world again, and Becker retreated to the solitude of the outdoors to shed tears of sorrow for the people, real people, who lived and suffered and died and never let go of who they were.

Not that he was ashamed, hiding his tears. No, this was a personal sacrifice, and his alone to make.


Becker slid the .380 out of his boot. The short barrel made it impossible to get a clean shot at Jim, not that he didn't try. Jim ran through the forest in a serpentine pattern, keeping his head low. He dodged and ducked behind trees as Becker fired one shot after another. Soon the little pistol was empty, and Becker was considering pressing the .357 into service when he realized he was not alone.

Watching with amusement was an old Indian man carrying a bag stuffed with who-knows-what over his shoulder. Becker stopped to wonder just how this scene must have looked to the old man. Jim was peeking out from behind a large tree trying to catch his breath while he determined what Becker's next move would be.

The old man laughed as Jim eased out warily from his hiding place. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

"Best friend I ever had. Closer than a brother," Becker answered, smiling.

"I'd hate to see how you treat your brothers," the old man laughed.


Various Writings, Rambles and Rants Back to top

I am happy to share these writings with my visitors. If you wish to copy them please include the copyright notices. Some of these works are published, all are copyrighted and property of myself.

The Legend of Mo' Injun (c)Michael Baggett2002

It is in times such as these, when people with red hearts gather to enjoy the fellowship of their blood, that a powerful figure walks among us. It may be that he is here, now, with us in this place.

Whether he is a man or a spirit is hard to tell, but one thing is certain. He walks as a shape shifter. Sometimes a man, sometimes a woman, fat or thin, tall or short. He will appear in many forms, but once you have encountered him you will not mistake his coming. I have seen him, I know he lives. I have seen him at every gathering I have attended, never have I missed his presence.

His name is Mo’. Mo’ Injun. In the course of his mission he will clearly proclaim ‘I am Mo’ Injun’ to any who are blessed to be within hearing. He cares not for your accomplishments or beliefs, for no matter what you are, he is Mo’. His mission is this, to listen only until you have yourself revealed your shortcomings, and then to quickly and clearly preach the truth of his wisdom and your lack thereof.

Tribal legalism, history, clothing, dance, music, religion, nothing escapes his expertise. He will gladly expose your error, and advise you on how to better walk your path. If you experience Mo’, and you will, you will surely recognize the gift that is bestowed on you and feel immediately the need for his message to be shared elsewhere. Yes, you will surely utter the traveling blessing that Mo’ has heard many times before in his journey.

‘Walk on, Mo’ Injun,’ you will say. Indeed, Mo’ Injun. Walk on.

Modern Native Man (c)Michael Baggett2003

Surfin' the web on my PC, Tryin' to download a frybread recipe.

Got A.I.M. on my coffee cup, Them reservation dwellers got nothin' on us.

Store bought clothes made of animal skin, Long hair, suntan, I fit right in.

Feathers in my hair so I look my best, And moccasins made on the Taiwan rez...

Sometimes it's hard to understand, That's the life of a modern native man...

Headin' on over to the powwow grounds, Out past the mall on the edge of town.

Got a "Free Leonard" sticker on my back window, And some duct tape I put on a fender for show.

There's ol' Jim, he's a medicine man, Pitching a tent behind his minivan.

He's taught in all the old ways, of course, He can quote every line from "A man called Horse".

Sometimes you get it anyway you can, That's the life of a modern native man...

Gotta go home, gotta get some rest, Savin' up my strength for a vision quest.

Gonna find me a mountain, fast and pray, Come home and pick a fight with the BIA.

Sometimes you just gotta take a stand, That's the life of a modern native man...

Silent Stars (c)Michael Baggett2005

The two boys, their skin kissed brown by the sun, had grown tired of gathering firewood in the forest and found their way to the cool water of a nearby stream. The hot southern summers had driven them to this very spot many times before. The clear water had often washed away the boredom brought on by their daily chores.

The coming night would be filled with songs and dancing, and the opportunity to steal time with some of the beautiful young maidens of their village. Such thoughts swam in their imaginations as easily as the boys swam in the smooth flow of the stream.

The taller of the two was a strong swimmer who prided himself on his ability to stay underwater for what seemed like impossible lengths of time. On this day, he proved his manliness to himself by searching the sand and gravel floor of the mountain stream. He didn't even know what he was looking for, only that something had caught his eyes through the water, something with a flash of light like a reflection from the sun himself.

Digging in the soft sand, with little bubbles of air escaping from his nose, the tall boy finally unearthed his find and brought it to the surface of the water. He was thrilled with his good fortune although his upbringing demanded that he remain humble at all times. The silence was broken finally by his cousin.

"What have you found?" The boys spoke to one another in an ancient language.

"I'm not sure. It looks so strange, like nothing I've ever seen before."

The pair examined the object in wonder for a brief period of time, until it was decided that this matter should be taken to the Elder's Council immediately.

Although their youthful hearts longed to run at full speed to the lodge of the old ones, such foolishness would surely be frowned upon by the elders. Nothing short of a life or death situation would excuse such rude behaviour. At the door of the lodge, the boys waited silently until they were finally invited in to the company of the wise elders. They remained speechless until they were at last spoken to.

"What is that you hold in your hand?" asked one of the aged men.

"I don't know, grandfather. I found it in the sand at the bottom of the stream, where the deers drink." The tall boy held out the object and the elder took it from his hand.

The elder examined the object before passing it along to the other old men. Not a word was spoken until the last of them had handled it.

"Long ago, another people inhabited this land. They were different from us, and they had different ways. They were many, and they overpowered the earth and gave nothing back. Eventually, their waste was brought upon their own heads and they left Turtle Island.

'This thing you have found was part of their magic. With it they would send their voices on the wind, and their words would travel far. Much farther than the eye could see. The legends say they created their own stars and sent them into the sky-vault, and those stars would hear their words and send them around the earth. After they left our land, their voices were quiet and their stars fell in pieces from the skies."

The elder finished speaking and returned the object to the tall boy. He and his cousin thanked the grandfathers and walked out into the light of the setting sun. They were in awe of the words of the elder and images raced in their minds of what the past may have been like in the ancient times.

The taller boy studied the object, neither stone nor wood nor clay, his fingers tracing over the strange markings inscribed across the top - NOKIA.

Four Faces (c)Michael Baggett2005

The face that greets me through the mirror each morning is no longer the face of the young. No, that face is now reserved for my children and my children's children. The first face is for those with fresh, new life and a world of wonders before them. A face with eyes that see time and responsibility as matters for someone whose face is more like mine, a face with a few more miles on it.

Neither is mine the second face, the one the young adults wear. Those in their second face have the world by the tail, unstoppable, with all the answers and all the power. They abandon the foolishness of the old, trading wisdom for contemporary ideas and a brave new world.

When the third face comes, we realize that the choices we have made are the ones we will live with for the rest of their lives, mistakes bundled up in fancy wrappings and tied in bows with insufficient knots. As the unravelling inevitably comes and the entire package is exposed, the third face is a welcome sight in that mirror. It reminds us that we are no longer as young, opinionated, deceiveable, and perhaps foolish as we once were. The third face is a milestone, a rite of passage into a more solid time in our lives.

The third face finds us with the gradual realization that we should be learning not from our own mistakes, but from the warnings of our ancestors. How foolish it is to start our journey at the first step and ignore those who have walked this path before us. We reason to our young selves that the trail has somehow changed, the footpath is now a superhighway. Ah, but birth and death, spring and fall, the beginning and the destination come to one and all without prejudice. Some things never change, nor should they.

If we are lucky enough, if by reason of grace and strength we one day achieve our fourth face, the face of the aged, we will no doubt sit alone in our cottages smelling of strong linamints and store-bought medicines, with not much to talk about but our aches and pains and the latest doctor's report. We will probably be graced with hurried visits from those looking through the other three faces, and somehow they will never find the time to bother us for long, leaving us to our busy schedule of sitting and sleeping and trying to remember if we took all our pills.

But behind the mask of that fourth face, which looks to all the world like the crumpled husk of what once was, is the soul of a person completed, a victorious warrior, one that has slain dragons and stared death in the eyes, who has conquered the last hill and is now gliding with ease toward the finish. Oh, the stories we could tell, the advice we could tender, the laughter and love and tears and pain of all the years and generations before us that would spill forth unrestrained if...

If only someone would listen.

Spirit and Science (c)Michael Baggett2005

(The following is something I wrote to an email discussion group)

Siyo y'all.

Still related to our discussion of sage, purification, etc., I offer the following thoughts.

It seems that in my younger days I picked up on a division between spirit and science, as if an event or thought had to be one or the other, but never explainable by both. As time progressed I came to believe that God was in science too.

There are people who can believe based on this division - I find it easier to relate the two. So in fact, I always look for the connection between spirit and science. Once found, this connection really enhances my belief. Science does not take our Creator by surprise. Let me offer a brief overview of some native topics below.

The drum - a functional musical instrument that has been connected to mysticism for centuries.I wondered what the mechanics were that would give it any kind of power. I looked and found research that confirms the vibration produced by the drum can and does alter the vibrations of our very cells as well as altering our heartbeat. Think about music in general, what makes one song a good dancing song and another a good love-making song? The rhythm, of course. The reason I enjoy jazz so much is that the music (without words) conveys the emotion of the player. Nobody has to tell me what to think with words, the rhythm and tone colors do that.

Drums (or music in general, with or without drums) are used in ceremony to get everyone's heartbeat together to promote unity among the group. Drums are used in physical healing to get the patients body into harmony. Yes, you can check it out for yourself. The patient lies flat on a table (or the ground) as a drum is held over the affected area and struck repeatedly, allowing the vibration to penetrate and align the area. This is proven by medical science. Is this method of healing science or spirit? I say both.

I was even once told about a people in history who had a huge drum they used in battle. They would aim the drum at their enemy and strike it. The vibrations from this huge drum would go before them and actually kill their enemies for them. This could be accepted purely as spiritual by some, or is it that the particular tone of this weapon caused the human heart to get out of rhythym and stop beating?

If I have been able so far to get my point across, maybe we can now apply it to stones. Everything vibrates (science). Our bodies sometimes vibrate at different speeds, causing different reactions to things (science, spirit, or both?). Stones also vibrate, and will transfer that vibration to our bodies when close to us (science, spirit, or baloney?). Bodies that are diseased vibrate slower than healthy bodies (science). Gemstones held near our bodies cause us to vibrate faster (in the same way our bodies relate to the vibrations in music), thereby fighting off the disease (science, spirit, or bs?).

"A cheerful heart doeth good like medicine" (spirit). "The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much" (spirit). However, modern science has proven that keeping a positive attitude and expressing faith in prayer helps even the most chronically ill patients recover.

Here's the part where I risk being labled as a loony-tune. Light is vibrating. Scientific example - fiber optic cables that carry frequencies to your television, telephone, computer, etc. on a beam of light. The light that allows your eyes to see is vibrating. Colors (the colors used in ceremony) vibrate at different frequencies, thereby entering your bodies through the eyes and altering the vibration of your cells. This can change your mood and perception. Science or spirit?

Real world example: certain cities did a study on the holding tanks they put prisoners in. Since colors alter moods, they have come up with a formula for the paint in their cells. When first arrested, hostile people are put into a pink cell. They can only stay there for a certain amount of time, or the mellow wears off and they actually become more hostile than before. They are moved from cell to cell, each a different color, at a certain schedule. This reportedly makes them easier to handle and alters their violent mood.

Interior decorators use colors to promote certain feelings in rooms. The process known as feng shui goes a little further, dividing up your living space by the cardinal directions. Your prosperity corner may need to be painted a different color than your relationship area.

Scientists, native peoples, and new agers look at things very differently. Native people around the globe noticed certain things about the natural world and accepted them as spirit. Scientists notice the same things and have to find a reason they can accept due to the mechanics of it. New agers usually give the spirit credit for everything.

Ed McGaa (Eagle Man) put it something like this: if you are sick in the hospital, and you get a shot that cures you, who is responsible? The doctor that prescribed the medicine, the nurse who injected it, the pharmaceutical company who makes it, the truck driver that delivered it, the insurance company who pays for it, the medicine itself for working with your body's cells? Is not God ultimately responsible, since He set the whole thing in motion?

Using this train of thought, and the native belief that God put Himself in every part of creation, can we seperate science and spirit? Everyone involved in the above illustration had a part in the healing, acting in accordance with God's plan. So in ceremony, the smoke+ the songs+ the faith+ the science+ the spirit+ the attitude+ the feathers+ the dance+ the stones+ the rhythym+ the colors=the outcome. Where is God in this equation? Everywhere.

As I said in the beginning of this long and scattered email, I don't believe science takes the Creator of science by surprise. It was His idea, after all. So in that respect, science IS spirit. When the two ideas meet I personally can believe much easier.

Tribute to Will Gunier, SCN Pipekeeper Back to top

This first photo is of the late Will "Sasa" Gunier, a man who in a very short time became a wonderful friend to me as well as a teacher. The second is Will and his wife Judy. Will held the position of Pipekeeper of the SCN, and kept the sacred ceremonies of the Cherokee people. He was a stomp dance leader and poured the asi, and very much loved the fire. He came to Alabama at my request to start our fire here. According to Will, "Every Cherokee family has a right to the fire." I don't think I will ever light a fire without thinking of these two people.

I was in Marietta, Georgia, in August 2004. I got a call late one Wednesday night, and midnight Thursday found me in a Tulsa hospital at the bedside of my friend. Drifting in and out of consiousness, he would sometimes sing his stomp dance songs with his visitors. Around five o'clock that afternoon, Sasa stepped into the land of the spirits. A group of us, led by his devoted wife Judy, were rushing him home to his fire when he crossed over.

Here is an email that was sent to me afterwards, which showed me there was much more to this man than I was aware of:

O Si O, Dearest Friends:

To those of you who have not yet heard the news, Cherokee Elder Will Gunier crossed over this past Friday, August 13th, at approximately 5:00 p.m. near his home on the Southern Cherokee Nation's land at Webbers Falls, Oklahoma. He had suffered with heart problems and major surgeries among other health difficulties for a good number of years, vibrantly outliving all of his doctors' expectations.

A memorial service will be hosted by Gary and Judy Bailey of Moberly, Mo, with Gene Bowen, myself, and other friends assisting. We'll have a Sacred Fire near the lodge area. This is a special place, full of memories of Will and Luther Winsea pouring lodges there. A potluck feast will follow. The memorial rememberance, in the form of a talking circle, will began at 6:00 p.m. on September 3rd, Friday evening. All pipecarriers, please bring your pipes. Everyone is welcome. For directions, email Gary at blkwolf@missvalley.com .

Will was a very dear friend and mentor to many of us. He was the PipeCarrier for the Southern Cherokee Nation and was the Speaker for the Nation. He loved to pow wow and was a well known gourd dancer, often serving as the Head Gourd Dancer. He served in WWII with high distinction, earning a Purple Heart among other awards. After his service, he finished his high school and undergraduate work, eventually earning a Ph.D. He was well known in Missouri--and in at least one South American country--for his work with gray bats, earning him the nickname of 'Batman of Missouri.' He donated one of the world's largest collections of a particular kind of insect to the university in South America that he had worked with. It was customary for him to take his students and his wife Louise on many of his forays while studing the gray bat and its environment. He had taught for many years in area colleges and in the prison systems before retiring-- retiring at least twice. It was hilariously funny to hear him tell his story about "how the dinasours died out" and he was often asked at gatherings to repeat it. He was a good speaker, telling many stories, and loved to talk about his Cherokee heritage growing up in southwest Missouri with his horse and his woods. Many of his friends knew him as "Doc"....

While working within the prison system of Missouri, he founded--along with Luther Winsea, Gene Bowen, Gary Bailey, and a few trusted inmates, the Native American circles that are now established in Missouri prisons. He also worked as a mentor to the young men in prison at Boonville, up until the time he briefly moved to Montana to be near his oldest son Terry, following his wife's Louise's passing, about six years ago or so.

Will then moved to the Southern Cherokee Nation's land just outside Webber Falls at the request of Chief Gary Ridge. Later, much to his and all his friends' delight, he married a lovely artist of Cherokee heritage from his hometown of Rochporte, Missouri. He and Judy were wed in a traditional Cherokee ceremony in Oklahoma. Will loved to stomp dance, and after their marriage, they both learned stomp dancing and Will, to his delight, learned to call stomp dances. Judy also became fairly fluent in Cherokee and taught Will to speak Cherokee. He was so pleased to be able to speak his native tongue. Will was fond of telling how his grandmother told him his name was sasa weige( sp) meaning 'clan of the goose'. He used sasa as his email address. In his last years, he often said in person and through email and letters, that he had lived the fullest, happiest years of his life, completely involved in his beloved Cherokee culture, and that he was so appreciative to have such a wonderful wife who supported him fully and completely in all his endeavors. Thank you, Judy, from all of Will's friends.

Will attended the early Heart of America Spiritual Gatherings held at Temerity Woods, outside Rolla Missouri. Here, in 1997 he met Vernon Longie, an Objiway Elder Will's age, and Grandmother Lucy Dick, an Omaha Elder. They all had the most fun, and became very fast friends. Grandmother Lucy honored Will by asking him to be her head man dancer at her last birthday party on the Omaha reservation at Macy. And it was under Vernon's guidance that Will declared as a Baha'i in 1997 at the Spiritual Gathering. In addition, Will met Marda Rodriguez that same year at the spiritual gathering. She felt so strongly attracted to him spiritually and he reminded her so much of her departed father, that she adopted Will as her spiritual father. Marda remained close with Will and Judy until her sudden death this past January. Vernon, Grandmother Lucy, and Luther both preceded Will in crosssing over. These deaths of Will's closest and very dear friends took a heavy toll on him, as did Louise's.

Those whose lives he touched, especially in North Carolina, Tennessee, Georgia, Nebraska, Montana, South Dakota, Missouri, and Oklahoma, and those on the pow wow trail, will always remember him with love and good memories as a unique human being.

Cherokee Language Info Back to top

Tsalagi is a very difficult language to learn, due to the economy of the language. One word speaks volumes of information. A few hints make learning Cherokee somewhat easier.

First, you shouldn't try to make the language reconcile with English. Someone asked me once why the word for 'butter' wasn't in the word for 'butterfly'. Nouns in Cherokee are actually descriptions - butter is a thing you get from milk and a butterfly is a colored, flying thing, so the descriptions would be totally different. It is interesting to note that the word for butterfly, 'kamama', is the same word used for 'elephant'. It has to do with the butterfly's wings and the elephant's ears. The word for 'alligator' is the same as 'iron pot'.

Secondly, the vowel sounds are a little confusing to new speakers. The vowels are sounded more like Spanish than English. 'A' is pronounced 'ah' (like short 'A'), 'E' is 'aye'(like long 'A'), 'I' is 'ee'(like long 'E'), 'O' is long o (as in 'oh'), 'U' is 'oo'(like short 'U').

'V' is also a Cherokee vowel, and is never used as a consonant. It is always pronounced 'uh'.

Third - verbs are little sentences in themselves. They are altered slightly to reflect the person being spoken of, and give information about the action. One word can tell you who is doing what to whom, whether it happened in the past, present, or the future, and whether it happens continually, habitually, or however else it may happen. All this information is crammed inside one word.

If that is not confusing enough, there's more. The verbs change according to groups of people involved. Example: The word for love is gvgeyui. But, you can't stick this one variation into just any sentence and have it mean everything you want it to. To keep it short and sweet, the word structure changes to reflect whether I love me, I love you, I love him/her, I love it, I love you and me, I love you two, I love others and me, I love us, I love you plural, I love them(live things), I love them (not live things), and so on. Then we get into saying you love whatever, he/she/it loves whatever, they love whatever, and the list goes on and on.The book 'Beginning Cherokee" by Ruth Holmes and Betty Smith lists about 89 variations of the word 'love'. This pattern holds true for every other verb as well.

Simple Example: I-go is 'gega', you-go is 'hega', he/she/it-goes is 'ega', and they-go is 'anega'. The pronunciation on those four words goes like this - gay-gah, hay-gah, ay-gah, and ah-nay-gah.

Verbs that deal with inanimate objects also change if the object is live, flexible,long,indefinite,or liquid. In short, if you were to say "Hand me that turkey," the verb structure would need to reflect if the bird was alive or dead.

Still want to learn Cherokee? OK....

Fourth, try to become familiar with the syllabary. There are 85 syllables in use in the Cherokee language, and they were identified by Sequoyah in the late 1800's. His syllabary is often laid out in a certain way.

Looking across the top from right to left, you will notice the vowels are in the common order - a,e,i,o,u, with the addition of 'v' (pronounced 'uh'). Now, looking down the column under 'a', you will see all the syllables that end with 'A'.

All the syllables end in vowel sounds. Sometimes because of familiarity a speaker will shorten syllables in certain words. Anywhere there are rules, there are exceptions to the rules.

In syllables beginning with 'qu', they are pronounced as 'kw'. Examples: 'que' becomes 'kway', and 'qua' becomes 'kwah'.

Syllables beginning with 'ts' approach 'j' or sometimes 'z'. Example: 'tsi' becomes 'jee' or 'zee'.

Cherokee Language - Examples in Prayer Back to top

What better way to learn the Tsalagi language than to apply it to our prayers? This gives us a practical and beneficial reason to practice speaking Cherokee.

To hear these words spoken by a native speaker, go to www.cherokee.org and click on 'word list' .

Who we pray to...

  • The Creator - Unetlvnvhi (Oo-nay-tluh-nuh-hee)
  • God - Yowah (Yo-wah)
  • Jesus - Tsisa (Jee-sah)

Who or what we pray about...

  • Me, I - aya (ah-yah)
  • Relations - Dunadadudalv (Doo-nah-dah-doo-dah-luh)
  • Family - Sidanelu (see-dah-nay-loo)
  • Us - Itsula aya (ee-joo-lah ah-yah)
  • Old People - Anigayvli (anee-gah-yuh-lee)
  • Children - Diniyotli (dee-nee-yo-tlee)
  • Earth (also world) - Elohi (ay-lo-hee)
  • Gathering - Anitlisisgv (anee-tlee-see-s-guh)

Some important prayer words...

  • Please - Howatsu (hoe-wa-joo)
  • Thank you - Wado (wah-doe)
  • and, of course, when we want it - As soon as possible - Igvyiyi (ee-guh-yee-yee)
  • We are all brothers and sisters - Otsalanvlvi (oh-jah-lah-nuh-luh-ee)
  • Heaven - Galvladi (gah-luh-lah-dee)
  • I will do it - nidagadvneli
  • I will say it - nidatsiwesi
  • I want - awaduli

    One word Prayers...

  • teach me -desdvyeyohvsga
  • teach him/her/it -degatsiyeyohvsga
  • teach them - deheyohvsga
  • teach us - desgeyohvsga

    This page is a continuing effort, please visit again as I update through time.

His Circle Back to top

"His Circle" is an intertribal Christian gathering held twice monthly in Alabama, about one hour north of Birmingham just off I-59, at Horse Pens 40.

Meetings are held every second and fourth Sunday.

Drum: Mike Sands (Cherokee, Chickasaw, Ottawa)

The service will start at 11:00 AM and will be followed by a feast.

Everyone should bring a chair and a covered dish to share. They should also bring something to drink.

This fellowship provides us with a real place to call our own to worship and praise Creator.At the present, we are planning to hold these meetings every two weeks.

Directions from Birmingham and Points West or from Chattanooga and Points North and East:

Take I-20 or I-59 to US231. Go north until you see the Horse Pens 40 signs. Take exit 166. (I-20: 22miles or so.) (I-59: 3 miles or so.) Drive slowly and carefully and follow the signs. We're on top of the mountain on the right. Turn on in and be sure to stop at the country store and sign in.

Coming from somewhere else? Check directions at the Horse Pens 40 website

If you stay after the celebration to visit the park, there is a $3.00 day fee per person payable at the office.


R.A.I.N. - Relief for American Indian Nations (c)Michael Baggett Back to top

You don't have to look across the oceans to find people living in third world poverty. America's forgotton ones, the "invisible minority", struggle daily to exist in a bountiful, prosperous nation. The riches of this country have been purposefully withheld from Native American Indians.

The purpose of R.A.I.N. is to "ease the suffering" for these beloved ones.

R.A.I.N. is a one-man un-organization I founded and run as my personal act of love toward my relations.I have no office, no 800 number, nothing. I don't want your money - I work for a living. I just want to educate you and encourage you to find avenues to give. There are so many opportunities, so much need of food, clothing, and shelter. And money.

The funny thing is, people do not outgrow cash, nor does it ever go out of style. Cash has the power to become anything you may want. Once converted, however, that shirt that used to be cash has now lost value. It's much easier to give away a $30 shirt that we have grown tired of, than to give away $30 in cash. Sure, there is a need for your gently used clothes in Indian Country, but clothing only goes so far.

You say you want to be a part of RAIN? Go to it, with my blessing. Find the nearest Native American entity, contact them and see what they are in need of. Do a web search, and adopt an elder. Buy from the Southwest Indian Foundation, and help put wood cookstoves into homes to keep the weak and elderly from dying this winter. Send a donation to one of the many boarding schools to help educate the next generation. I get so much mail from so many Native charities, the need must be tremendous. In the soup kitchens, I am told, eleven cents can feed a Native person for a day. There are so many opportunities, there is surely something you can do without any hardship.

Give till it hurts? No. Give till it feels good. And pray for RAIN.

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