In the beginning of days there was no rain,
only the one Great River.
This river was a gift from the Creator—
a wellspring of water that gave life to all living things.
This gift reminded all the Two-Legged Beings of the
one great truth: nothing is more important than WE.
Yet there was one among them who did not believe the creed
of WE. He was concerned only for his own needs. He worried
that if everyone took water, there wouldn’t be enough for him.
So he went to the mouth of the river and built a dam—tall and
strong, preserving the water for himself and reducing the river to
a trickle. Soon thereafter, the surrounding land began to suffer:
Plants withered. Crops failed. Animals died. In the midst of this
scarcity, the Two-Legged Beings blamed, feared, and fought one
another while others made plans to destroy the dam.
One night, while caring for her sick mother, a young girl
decided to do something more. She took a stick and
carved a spoon. It was small but it would do.
“I am going to get more water for you,” she said to her mother.
“I am going to take it from the man who built the dam.”
“My child,” whispered her mother. “Go to that man, but do not
take anything from him, for he is thirstier than I am.”
Confused, the young girl left her home and headed
toward the mouth of the Great River. Along the way she
passed many Two-Legged Beings. They took no notice of her,
for they were squabbling among themselves.
At the base of the dam she found a ladder hidden
near the side of a cliff. With some difficulty she propped it
against the wall and climbed to the top. There she met
the man who had built the dam. His appearance surprised her.
She expected to see a giant among men—a mighty builder.
But what she saw was a frail and sickly person—a miserable-
looking man. He sat with his head in his hands.
The young girl cleared her throat. “Sir? My mother is sick—”
The man jumped to his feet. “Go away!” he shouted.
The girl held out her spoon.
“Please,” she implored, “we need water.”
The man yanked the spoon out of her hand
and snapped it in half. “I said, GO AWAY!” he screamed.
With tears in her eyes, the girl fled down the ladder and
ran into the wilderness. After some time she sat down
on a patch of dead grass and began to weep.
“Great Creator,” she cried, “what more can WE do?”
Just then she felt a warmth on her face—like sunlight, only
deeper. Casting her eyes roundabout, she saw a man sitting on a
circle of tall stones. He radiated an incredible light and his smile
was as wide as the sky. In his hand he held a long drinking gourd,
filled to the brim with water that sparkled like diamonds.
“Where did you find that water?” asked the girl.
“I thought the Great River was dry.”
“Youngwalker,” said the man, “I am the Great River.
That spring is not the source of water—I am. And when all the
Two-Legged Beings understand that—when they understand that
I am the true Wellspring—then they will find healing for their
souls. For I am not one to withhold love; I give unto all the
Two-Legged Beings, for our connection to each other has great
power. Indeed, true healing is found within WE.”
The young girl looked at the Wellspring in wonder.
“Will WE help WE?” she asked.
The Wellspring smiled, stepped forward, and offered
her the drinking gourd. “Drink,” said he.
“For this water heals all who drink of it.”
She did so and straightway her thirst was quenched,
her body rejuvenated.
The Wellspring touched the bowl of the drinking gourd
and instantly the water was replenished.
“Now, go,” said he. “Give this water to one who needs it.”
The Wellspring vanished, his form melting away
like a mirage. Had her encounter with the Wellspring
been just a dream? Disappointed, she sat up and rubbed
her eyes, and that is when she saw the drinking gourd.
It was by her feet, filled to the brim with water.
Amazed, the young girl picked it up, remembering the words
of the Wellspring. “Give this water to one who needs it,”
she repeated. She thought of her sick mother.
Surely this water would heal her!
Slowly and carefully the young girl made her way back home.
Upon entering her dwelling place, she was surprised to see her
sickly mother standing on her feet, attending to someone
wrapped in bandages and lying on the bed. The young girl
marveled at her mother’s strength. In the midst of her
own pain she was helping someone else in need.
Still holding the gourd, the young girl stepped
toward the bed and peered at the person in bandages.
She let out a gasp, nearly spilling the water.
“Mother!” she cried. “Don’t help him!
That’s the man who built the dam!”
Her mother held up a shaking hand. “I know,” she said plainly.
“Last night a group of people attacked the dam and beat him half
to death. Someone took pity on him and brought him to me.”
“But why are you helping him?” exclaimed the girl.
“He’s caused us so much pain.”
“Child,” began her mother, speaking between coughs.
“Do you not understand? He is in greater pain than you or I.
He was dying long before he was beaten—long before he built the
dam. He started dying when he broke his connection with WE.
Because of this, he is thirstier than you or I.”
The young girl froze. She was struck by what her mother said.
It caused her to remember again the words of the Wellspring:
“Give this water to one who needs it.”
She looked down at the drinking gourd filled with water
that could heal her mother. Then she looked at the man,
saw his pain, and felt compassion for him. “True healing
is found within WE,” the Wellspring had said.
The young girl stepped forward and gave the water to the man
who had built the dam. With tears in his eyes he took the water
and began to drink slowly. When he had finished, he sat up,
thanked the girl and her mother, and pleaded for their forgiveness.
They freely forgave him.
Taking responsibility for what he had done, the man left their
home and returned to the dam. There, with the help of others,
he began the long process of tearing it down. Over time, the river
returned to its former glory—flowing freely unto all.
Looking upon his creation, the Creator smiled—for they were
living as WE. In honor of their walking, he transformed the
drinking gourd into seven beautiful diamonds that hovered briefly
in the air before traveling up, up, and up into the night sky.
There they fixed themselves into the heavens and formed a new
constellation: the Drinking Gourd, or the Big Dipper.
Then he reached forth, grasped the handle of the Big Dipper,
and poured out the clouds—a blanket over the whole Earth
that gives life to all.
Thunder in the Canyon
My brother and I sat in silence,
each of us lost in our own thoughts.
Strong Wolf was the first to speak.
“I don’t understand,” said he. His voice took me by surprise.
It was neither angry nor sarcastic. “Why did that girl give
water to the man who built the dam?”
The Trailwalker leaned forward on his staff and said,
“Because of love.”
“But—” Strong Wolf paused.
“But that man didn’t deserve love.”
“No,” said the Trailwalker, “he did not deserve it.
But then again, what do the Two-Legged Beings deserve?
Nothing. Everything we are given is a gift from the Creator.
We do not deserve these gifts. But like the rain, love does
not concern itself with who deserves what. Love gives freely
to all. And because of this—because of this gift we do
not deserve—the Earth is filled with life. The Legend of the
Wellspring teaches us that a pure act of love can open the
heavens and flood our hearts with life.”
Strong Wolf turned his head and fell silent.
He seemed distant, but not in anger.
“I am going to scout ahead,” announced the Trailwalker.
“While I am away, find a place to camp for the night.”
The old man disappeared, leaving Strong Wolf and me
alone for the first time since we had fallen down the canyon.
After a while, Strong Wolf removed his gatherings bag and
hobbled over to the grass. For a time he did not speak.
He simply stared out at the canyon walls.
When he did speak, his words gave me chills.
“The girl in the story,” he whispered,
“that girl reminded me of . . . our mother.”
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.
“She always gave me water,” he said. “Always. And it
didn’t matter if I was angry or if I challenged our people
or if I said cruel and hurtful things or if I—” He paused.
“Or if I walked away. She always offered me water.”
I felt a pang of guilt. Had Strong Wolf been hurting too?
It was the first time I had ever considered such a thing.
Beyond our shelter the rains began to cease.
Night had fallen and we needed to set up camp.
Just then I heard an ear-splitting noise. Both of us jumped.
“What’s that?” Strong Wolf asked.
“Thunder?” I guessed.
“Can’t be,” said Strong Wolf. “It’s still going.”
It was true. A noise like thunder was rumbling and roaring
down the canyon. It shook the ground and reminded me
of the stampede. I wondered what it could be.
Then it dawned on me.
“Get to higher ground!” I shouted. “It’s a flood!”
We scrambled out from under the ledge and moved to the
canyon wall. Frantic with fear, we began scrambling up.
We just need to make it to the top of the ledge! I thought.
Above the flood line! We’ll be safe there!
I reached out. I could almost touch the ledge. But something
yanked me back. It was Strong Wolf! He was pulling on my
gatherings bag, dragging me back down.
“Let go of me!” I shouted.
But he didn’t listen. Instead he tightened his grip and
pulled himself upward. With his other hand he grabbed the
ledge and lifted his body over. The sudden shift in weight
caused me to stumble and slide back down.
The ground shook. A wall of muddy water erupted down
the canyon and barreled toward me. Heart pounding,
I ran up the steep wall and used my momentum to throw
my body onto the safety of the ledge. Water rushed
past me, roaring underneath the ledge.
After I caught my breath my thoughts turned to Strong Wolf
and I angrily rose to my feet. “What were you thinking?”
I shouted. “You could’ve gotten me killed!”
“My leg—” said Strong Wolf.
“I had to use my arms to get up!”
“I would have helped you up!”
“No, you wouldn’t!” he said, matching my anger.
“You’ve never helped me! Why would you help me now?”
“Because our mother wants you home!”
“Exactly!” said Strong Wolf. “Mother wants me home.
Not you! You would be happy if I died in this canyon!
You wish I were dead. Admit it!”
“I DO!” The rage in my heart echoed off the canyon walls.
“It’s all your fault, Strong Wolf! EVERYTHING is your fault!
YOU broke our mother’s heart when you turned away
from us. YOU’RE the reason she’s dying!”
Even as I spoke the words, I knew I had gone too far.
Strong Wolf staggered backward, his eyes filled with a
mixture of shock and grief. But I forced myself not to care.
For fifteen long years, Strong Wolf had made
my family suffer. Now it was his turn to suffer.
“And why do you think I left?” he said, his voice barely
above a whisper. “Have you ever asked yourself that?
Have you ever thought that maybe—just maybe—
you’re as much to blame? You walked away from me
long before I ever walked away from you.”
“How dare you—” I began.
“Do you know the last thing our mother said to me?”
interrupted Strong Wolf, his voice heavy with emotion.
“She wrapped the blanket around me and told me to
remember you—to see you as I once did. But when
I looked at you, all I could see was a coldhearted man—
a man who, even now, doesn’t see me as his brother.”
I wanted to argue but I couldn’t.
Instead I threw my hands up. “Well, what do you expect,
Strong Wolf? What do you want from me?”
Strong Wolf pointed a finger at me.
“I want you and your people to leave us alone!”
“Fine,” I said, removing my gatherings bag. “I’ll sleep
here and you’ll sleep over there. Tomorrow we’ll go our
separate ways and never see each other again.”
Finding a dry spot under a tree, I took out my blanket
and rolled myself into it. In the distance I heard
Strong Wolf settle down for the night.
“When I get home,” I added loud enough for him to hear,
“I’ll tell our mother that you died, long ago.”
And with that I closed my eyes.
“Have You Found Your Brother?”
In my dream, I stood next to my mother
at the edge of the Great and Terrible Canyon.
My brother’s blanket was wrapped around her body.
She did not look at me but gazed northward.
“Have you found your brother?” she asked.
Despite what I had said to Strong Wolf,
I could not lie to my mother. “Yes,” I replied.
“But he hasn’t changed at all. He won’t come home.”
My mother shook her head. “No, Thunder Bear.
You didn’t hear me. I asked if you found your brother.”
“And I did,” I said, raising my voice.
“No, you haven’t,” said my mother. She let out a long, sad
sigh. “Son, do you know why I stand here every night?”
“It’s because of Strong Wolf,” I began. “You’re looking
out at him. You’re waiting for him to come home.”
“Thunder Bear,” said my mother, “I stand here for you.”
I fell back a step, dumbfounded. “For me?”
My mother turned and looked directly into my eyes.
I was startled by their clarity. The love contained
within struck me like a bolt of lightning.
“Your brother did not leave because of who he is,”
said my mother. “He left because of who you are toward
him. He left because your heart had turned away from him.
I tried to tell you on so many occasions, but you would not
listen. My peaceful words had no place in your heart at war.
So I stand here, every night, reminding you—inviting you—
to go and find your brother. To see him as I see him.”
I lowered my head in shame.
“Even if it were possible, I don’t know how.”
At this my mother removed the blanket from her shoulders
and held it in front of me. “Do you remember this blanket?”
“It belonged to Strong Wolf.”
“Yes,” she replied. “But he gave it to you once.
Do you remember that?”
After I shook my head my mother
wrapped the blanket around me.
“Then I invite you to see a memory you have forgotten.”
As she spoke these words, the world around me melted
away—replaced by a world of darkness and pain.
Lost in the Wilderness
I was a boy, perhaps only eleven or twelve years old.
It was well past midnight and I was huddled behind a
rock—a meager shelter against the bitter wind.
Shivering, I cursed my foolishness. I had disregarded
the wisdom of our people. I went into the canyon, seeking
treasure and adventure. I thought my parents were
fools and I thought my walking would be easy.
But I was the fool. It was my way that was the hard way.
I had not gone far when I lost my balance, tumbled
down a small ledge, and broke my leg.
I cried out for help but the wind was louder than my voice.
Desperate to return to my people, I began to crawl
on my hands and knees. Sharp rocks cut my skin.
Night fell and the temperature dropped.
The cold wind beat against my already battered body.
Thirsty and exhausted, I ducked behind a boulder and
whimpered in pain. I was afraid for my life. I whispered a
hurried prayer to the Creator. I asked him to forgive me for
my foolishness and pleaded for strength to make it home.
Not long after I spoke those words the wind grew calm.
Then, in the distance, I heard a voice.
Someone was calling my name.
It was my father.
I sat up straight and cried out to him, but my voice
was barely above a whisper. A wave of panic and doubt
rose within me. There’s no path! I thought. He won’t know
where to look. He won’t know where to find me!
I needed to go to him. He needed to see me!
I staggered forward on hands and knees, my
fingers clawing at the earth. I gritted my teeth.
The pain in my leg was almost unbearable.
My father called for me again but his voice seemed distant
now, as though he had turned away from the canyon.
“I’m here!” I whispered. “Don’t leave me!”
In my fear, hot tears sprang to my eyes and ran
down my dusty cheeks. I hung my head in despair.
“Thunder Bear!”
I looked up. Standing on the path above me was my brother,
Strong Wolf! Without another word he ran toward me.
He then let out three loud hoots—alerting our father.
I rolled onto my back and let out a sob of relief.
“You found me,” I breathed. “How did you find me?
It could have taken you all night.”
Strong Wolf put a hand on my shoulder.
“Brother, I would have done anything to find you.”
He then reached into his gatherings bag,
took out his blanket, and laid it over me.
Warmth coursed through my body.
My father soon joined us. The expression
on his face was a mixture of joy and relief.
Kneeling next to me, he shed tears of gratitude.
Then he spoke to me sternly, telling me
to never again disobey our Elders.
I promised him I would not.
He wrapped me tightly in the blanket and lifted me
into his arms. Then, with Strong Wolf by our side,
we made our way back home.
Our mother was the first to see us. Running toward us, she
spoke these words to Strong Wolf: “Have you found him?
Have you found your brother?”
I awoke.
A Pure Act
I lay on my back looking up at the stars. Even though
I was wrapped in my blanket, the night was cold. I glanced
over at Strong Wolf and saw him curled up on his side.
Strangely, he had no blanket on him. I then realized that
he had taken off his gatherings bag when we were
under the ledge, and the flood had swept away
his blanket and supplies.
He was shivering in his sleep.
In that moment I saw him differently. I did not
see a man who had fought against me—nor did I see
a man who had split our tribe in half. I saw someone who,
like me, was hurting. Someone who, like me,
missed his family and needed help.
Without another thought, I stood up, removed my blanket,
and laid it across my brother. In that instant, a rush of
memories flooded into my heart—happy memories, joyful
memories, memories of Strong Wolf, my brother.
Memories of us as children. Memories of us on the hunt.
Memories of us swimming, laughing, playing.
And memories of us helping one another.
These were memories I had chosen to forget because they did
not feed my hatred. Realizing this, I saw new memories—
memories I had also chosen to ignore.
I saw him tenderly helping his son on the hunt.
I saw him lift his child to safety. And I saw him on the edge
of the canyon, holding my arm and refusing to let me go.
Strong Wolf was not a monster at all.
He was a man who was doing his best.
With this flood of memories came an awful—
but liberating—truth: I was as much to blame for this war
as he was. I was part of the rift that had started it. I had
perpetuated it. I had kept the flames of war alive.
With the eyes of my heart open, I saw the actions
of my brother in a completely different light. I saw his face
on the day he left. I saw him looking at me as a younger
brother would, seeking confirmation of my love for him.
But I would not acknowledge such a thing.
I stood at our dwelling place, my heart at war.
When he threw his blanket on the ground I felt his pain.
It was the pain of breaking a connection with family—
a pain I knew all too well. When he walked away from our
people, I felt his heart split in two—one half went to the
other side of the canyon, the other lingered with us.
In this way his heart had always been open to me—
always hoping that one day I would come to him and not
only invite him home but welcome him home.
Instead I came to him with a heart at war and
demanded that he do as I say. In my heart I placed the
burden of responsibility on him and blamed him for
all the heartache our family had experienced.
And he, sensing that hostility, reacted defensively.
My heart at war provoked my brother into war.
Fifteen years! I thought.
I have been at war with my brother for fifteen years.
“I stand here for you,” my mother had said to me.
With awful clarity, I realized that the canyon
on which she stood—and the canyon into which we
had fallen—was truly one of my own making.