Rolling Thunder

"Rolling Thunder," a charming man of Choctaw descent, took immense pride in his heritage and eagerly shared it with others. He would occasionally invite the public to participate in Native American Fire Ceremonies. My brothers, who have a television show, were there to document a ceremony for an upcoming episode. Fortunately, my husband and I were invited to tag along. I did not know what to expect, but my imagination ran rampant, and I could barely think of anything else in the week leading up to the ceremony.

I planned to take (at least) a thousand pictures because Rolling Thunder, a distinguished "Fire Keeper," stated that photos of the fire during the ceremony could reveal images of his ancestors and animals. This possibility baffled and intrigued me! Faces?! In the fire?! With Native American wisdom at play, I believed anything was possible! Whether or not I could personally see anything was the real question. Despite being told of distant Cherokee roots in my family tree, which I'm not sure I believe, my upbringing was predominantly influenced by Italian, Spanish, and French cultures. Nonetheless, I was positively delighted to be a part of the ceremony, and as instructed, afterward, I would forward my pictures to Rolling Thunder for review.

We were told to arrive at 2 p.m., so my first assumption that the ceremony would be at night was incorrect. About fifty men, women, and children were already there when we drove up. Scanning the crowd, I realized that my second assumption, that the ceremony would be attended by people who "looked" like Native Americans, was also incorrect. Ahhh, sweet stereotypes. My naïve expectations were further dismantled upon meeting Rolling Thunder. Had he not worn a traditional Native American headdress and regalia, I may not have thought he "looked" Native American, either. I made a mental note to begin to assess my preconceived notions thoroughly.

Under Rolling Thunder's direction, a group built the fire's platform from different-sized wood and sticks. Of course, I was wrong to think it would be a much larger display. The picture in my imagination was of a riverside bonfire, but the image before me was modest at mid-thigh height. Ahhh, my sweet ignorance.

Rolling Thunder honored someone by allowing them to light the fire. Those who chose to participate further were given pieces of tobacco to offer to the fire as they ceremoniously circled the flames. I, continuously shooting photos, couldn't help but feel the group's mood: Reverence. Every movement, every glance, and every human in attendance seemed to share a collective respect for all who were there on site and all who were there in spirit.

As the fire burned, and everyone sat and watched or took pictures of the crackling and dancing flames, Rolling Thunder spoke about his heritage and his beloved late wife, Mary. The mood shifted, and I glanced at the camera that sat idly on my lap. No longer obsessed with the possibility of capturing images, I tried to internalize it all. My emotions were carrying me somewhere else, or maybe somewhere within, as I regarded, in absolute awe, the sacredness before me, before us. I will always carry that DNA-altering moment, permanently entwined within my life's tapestry and forever a part of my being.

(Earlier this year, at the age of 73, Marion "Bucky" Joseph Waltman (Rolling Thunder) left this earth to be with his departed family members and his respected ancestors. He will be missed, but his impact on the world continues.)