Back. Back. Go back to another time. Another life.
I wear moccasins upon my feet and feel the voices of the earth. My dress of soft white doe skin, fringed and beaded, caresses my body in a light breeze. I walk a path through the forest.
I know this place. This is Starve Rock State Park, in Illinois. During my teens and early twenties I spent much time here, always drawn to a particular spot, Council Cave, Kaskaskia Canyon, the Illinois River. But I am not the same person here, now it looks vaguely different, yet feels familiar.
They call me Menowee. I have survived six winters. Time to experience the ritual of power. I cleanse myself in the sweat lodge of my own making. I fast three days at top-of-the-rock, waiting for the spirit to enter my soul. I soar to the other world and learn of my appointed path. My mother—a friend from many lives—serves as power-woman of our people. I am to follow in her ways.
They call me Menowee. I have grown nine winters. I attend the rites of passage with the beginning of my blood flow. Elder women join me in the house of first moons sharing powerful secrets. My body was born of the earth mother. I am wild woman now.
They call me Menowee. I have seen thirteen winters. I bless the hunters. The people are anxious for their good luck and safe return. I call upon the Great Spirit to protect and provide for us. I soar over the plains in search of animals. I am the mighty hunter.
They call me Menowee. I have learned from fourteen winters. I meditate at my place of power, the mouth of Council Cave. I must choose a mate. Two proven warriors vie for my attention. One—my husband in this current life—lavishes me with pelts and trinkets. The other—my father in this current life—brings me only a small live mammal; I choose him to be my mate. I am blessed.
They call me Menowee. I have lived fifteen winters. I walk by the river, big with child and full of happiness. I listen to the river’s song. Suddenly, I hear an owl and see my own death. I am not afraid.
They call me Menowee. I have loved for sixteen winters. I give birth to a girl-child, but find the pain unbearable. As I hover above my body I see my precious tiny daughter take her first breath with my last. They give my body to the river. I am free.
This experience occurred during a past life regression during the early 1990s. I know it for my truth.