Native American Memories

[jereldeen]

I know that in one of my pastlives, I lived and died in a little place in Oklahoma - Cheyenne, Oklahoma to be exact. I was a Native American male who lived at the turn of the century during the height of the Indian Wars. I was forced onto a reservation (as were thousands of Native Americans during that period) and died as a result of a fall off of a horse.

To make a long story short, when I regressed to that lifetime, I had mentioned that I lived in Cheyenne, Oklahoma and that I had some sort of connection to "Black Kettle" and that it was sometime in the 1850's or 1860's. I mentioned that there had been an attack on "our village" by men in blue coats and that we were angry.

After the session, I listened to the tape and thought I made a mistake and meant Cheyenne, Wyoming. I had never heard of such as place as Cheyenne, Oklahoma, and I didn't know what "Black Kettle" meant....was that a place also? So, I researched and found no references to any Calvary attack around that time in Wyoming. Upon further research, I came upon the subject of Cheyenne, Oklahoma - and what I read nearly caused me to faint. In the 1860's (if I remember), General George Custer and the U.S. Calvary attacked and massacred the peaceful village of Chief Black Kettle, in Cheyenne, Oklahoma near the Washita river. I had no prior knowledge that such a place existed or that such an event took place.

About that life, I did some research and I do know that other tribes had joined in to help Chief Black Kettle, as futile as the effort may have been. There were a few survivors who escaped and I believe I was one of them. However, I did not escape for long and eventually ended up on a reservation where I died sometime in the early 1900's. I was in my late 50's.

I had a name from that life, it was Wah-Tse-Gee.

Some years after that session, I was fortunate enough to meet with a Native American Spiritualist or Shaman, if that's a better word, and just casually, I mentioned about this past life and the name of the person I supposedly was. I told him that "I probable made it up and that it has no meaning, just a bunch of gibberish." Well, he just looked at me and didn't say a word for a few minutes. I honestly thought I had offended him and that he was going to end our session right then and there.

And then he said, "That's Shoshone". My mouth dropped. He then went on to explain the meaning of the name, Wah-Tse-Gee, as " the point in the very early morning hours when the sun just reaches the edge of the mountains and is making it's way into the sky."


One day, I would love to travel to Cheyenne, Oklahoma and see the area where the massacre took place. I know that there is a monument of some sort in rememberance of the massacre. I always wonder what I'll feel if I ever went back.


Jereldeen Smith

 

[Eldon]

Indian Massacre Victims

My daughter has past-life memories of being a Native American female killed in an early morning raid against her village perpetrated by calvary troops. She & I have done quite a lot of research to pinpoint the location of the event, and think it may have been at Sand Creek, Colorado, Nov. 29, 1864. We cannot confirm that conclusion at this time

Eldon


Hi! I am Eldon's daughter. The one who remembers a past life as a Native American woman around the Civil War time. I get a strong feeling that I was killed at Sand Creek. I did not live to see the Washita Massacre four years later. At least, that is my impression so far, since I have not heard of their being an American flag present, and I saw an American flag in my regression.

So far, the details in my regression point to Sand Creek.

I've tried several times to see more detail on my own, since my regression. One time, I saw a male indian wearing a medium blue shirt with feathers in his hair. He was riding on a horse. Then, when I saw a dead indian being scalped, I noticed it was a male indian wearing a medium blue shirt and feathers in his hair. The feathers were mostly white, with some black color in it. I'm wondering if I knew him. Maybe a boyfriend, or brother, or friend. I'm not sure. But, I was dead too when I was watching the soldier scalp him.

I was an indian woman who was killed early in the morning on a cold cloudy day by hundreds of white men wearing civil war uniforms running towards us on horses. I also remember seeing an American flag. After doing some research on the different indian massacres in American history, I found only two that had an American flag. Sandcreek and Washita.

Once a year, the Cheyenne indians hold a "Spiritual Healing Run" at the Sandcreek Massacre Site where they honor those who were killed back in November 29, 1864. Although, the land is private, once a year during this event, they allow people to come on the land to honor this event. I'm planning a trip the last week in November to see the land.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Indian massacre victims

 

[argentelunae]

A medic at the massacre

I'm the Argente Lunae Jereldeen spoke of.

Ok, that being said, I will concur with Jereldeen that at Washita there was an American flag present, one as a signal from Black Kettle that he wanted peace as opposed to war, and up where Custer was sitting on his horse prior to the order to attack.

The other flag was the one that bore the symbol of the 7th. Custer being the, uhm, egotistical, maniacal, well you get the idea of where my opinion is going here....more often than not, had two standard bearers just behind him. He definitely had this thing about making a "show of it", right down to playing that idiotic tune he liked so much (Garry Owen). Okay..another personal opinion here....there were times the desire to stuff those instruments, including the bugle were waaaaaaaaaaay to tempting.

Black Kettle's camp was mostly made of up Arapaho, Kiowa, Shoshone and Cheyenne. Those people who were displaced from their original and traditional grounds.

As to whether or not the American flag was visible, once the attack was ordered, and Black Kettle's village was overrun, his own flag went down in the frey, as sadly so did he. From the position I was stationed at as a medic, I witnessed the the senseless murder of innocent men, women and children.

Throughout all the chaos, once I got myself up off the ground from that poor young woman being thrown into me from being shot at point blank range, I saw an adult male with a younger male both on horseback fleeing the massacre.

According to the recount of a Cavelry soldier, he found a dead Native American male laying face up, and then removed the man's "top-knot". Jereldeen, as a side note, it was one of the hardest things to watch.....but a confirmation as well.

I have no doubt that this behavior also occured at Sand Creek. It is also documented that soldiers present, under Chivington's directive, were allowed to commit such reprehensable acts. Custer was very much of the same school of thought as Chivington. There will be some who hold Custer as a hero (thanks to Libby, his wife), but there are also some of us (within my soul circle) who will attest to the fact ole George did have a darker side. This was brought out in that documentary of Custer that was shown back in March on the History Channel. Again, confirmation.

As to who I was, my name was Dael (pronounced Dale), and I was part of a medical unit out west. Some of the states I recollect being bounced around to include Oklahoma (the site where Washita is located), Texas, Colorado, Wyoming and Montana. I feel in love with the plains and prairie, as it was unlike any other place on earth. During my life out west, I met and married a Native American woman, and had two children (my husband and children in this life). Lived happily among the People, until that village itself was attacked by soldiers. That's pretty much the sum of my life back then.

Argente

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Indian massacre victims

 

[Susie]

Indian boy

Once I was running (for fun, that is)and I was suddenly an Indian boy running through the wilderness. My short stocky body became tall and lean and I could see and feel my long black hair and my strong legs. In this image, I was definitely on a mission.

At this time, I was going through a particularly tough time in my life and had been feeling weak and victimized by my own actions. This memory helped me to realize how strong I really was, and that I was a "warrior" on my spiritual mission. From that moment on, my life took a turn for the better.

Susie

 

[CrowEyes]

Grandson of a medicine man

I find myself a small Native American boy, about three years old, in a very sunny place, with orange/red buttes all around me. I'm barefoot and the soil is also orange/red and lumpy under my feet. I see myself from a distance behind, so I guess this is called remote viewing (?). As I walk across the soil a large black bird flies over head, and swoops down, alighting on my left shoulder, a place where it has been many, many times before. I continue walking.

I know this to be my home, and my grandfather who is a medicine man, is just off to the right of me on a ridge, watching me. I feel comfortable, complete, whole in this little body of mine, wanting for nothing.


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Curiosity - past lives and taboo

 

[CrowEyes]

A Hopi boy

I lived a very short life with the Hope tribe, or Anasazi. I was 5 when I died. My grandfather, knowing my life would be short taught me a lot in those short years, and in retrospect I guess he was preparing me for my future. Interesting, many times the lessons were about distance & time (or should I say the absence of them, depending on your prospective). I never quite understood, but I think it is coming clearer now.

Anyway, you know in this lifetime, I actually connected with the person who was my mother in that lifetime, though only for a short time. And she said it was the Anasazi, which I had never heard of. She said nothing of Hopi, but as I have read up on it, they are one and the same.

My mother from that lifetime is Native American now also. We were both on another board together and would talk some there. Then we talked on ICQ for some time.

We tested one another quite a bit, without giving out much information...not wanting wishful thinking to take us off to some *imaginary* place. I should mention that my grandfather in that lifetime is actually my spirit guide in this.

Too many coincidences to deny that this was not true. Her father's name was my grandfather's name. She wouldn't tell me what he looked like, but asked me to describe him to her. Fit to a T.

I think we connected because she still carries a tremendous amount of guilt over my death. Says it was her fault. My instinct tells me it wasn't her fault, and only because she was the mother, does she feel this way. And this guilt was so deep that she would not even share with me the circumstances of my death....something that I don't have a memory of. But, it really doesn't matter to me. We certainly connected as mother and son, and I had no animosity towards her what-so-ever.

I know that even as short as that lifetime was, that I fulfilled my purpose in it.



This post and discussion is continued in the thread Curiosity - past lives and taboo

 

[argentelunae]

A white boy raised by Indians

At first I'm with my white father. I'm about 7 or 8, and I'm accompanying him in the woods, hunting. There's a shot from a black powdered musket, and mens voices. I hear my father yell for me to run. The mens voices sound angry and threatening, and I do run. The woods are dense, and I take cover in some thick brush. I'm very scared, and shivering from fear. From where I'm hiding, I look up to see a Native American man standing close to me. He makes a motion with his hand to signify "be quiet". Then he holds out his hand for me to take. He's bare chested, dressed in breech clout and some leggings, with some kind of fur wrapped around a small part of his long hair, and some kind of feather in it too. His eyes are kind, and I know I can trust this man, so I take his hand.

Hit the fast foward button. Next I saw myself as a young male, mid to late teens. I'm dressed very much like the Native American man who found me. My hair is long, half way down my back. I've some kind of tatoo on my upper arms, and some kind of small fur wrapping in my hair. First I'm sitting in some kind of cart along with others like me. No one is happy to be in this cart, and none of us knows where it is we are going. We're not allowed to talk. And the only thing I can think of is that I want out of this situation, and be back with my family. Next, I'm standing in a strange place. It's called a house, and it's made of wood. I'm not at all comfortable being in this place, and I don't understand what language the people here are speaking. There's a man there dressed in a coat that comes down to his knees and pants that end at his knees. This man makes me feel very uncomfortable, especially his tone of voice. He speaks gruffly, and has a sour, mean look on his face. This man reaches to grab my arm, and I pull back and take several steps away from him. He somehow gets a hold of me, and the next thing I know, I'm shoved in front of some roughly built shed, and I'm fighting to get away.

I guess I somehow managed to escape, but I was wearing white man's clothes. I can only deduce that what I was initially dressed in was taken away from me, and was forced to wear the breeches and muslin shirt.

Judging from the clothing I was wearing when I was being brought back to "civilization", I would place the time era either circa French and Indian war, or the first western frontier settlements of Kentucky and Tennesee. I'm banking on the latter.

Argente



This post and discussion is continued in the thread Energy work and remembering past lives

 

[Tamera]

Mate of a tribal warrior

I have had several visions and experiences in my life that lead me to believe that I had a life as a Native American.

The first of these was a dream I had when I was about 18.

I was sitting on top of a grassy knoll overlooking a beautiful mountain valley. I remember the feel of my buckskin robe and leggings. The material, while keeping my body warm also had a way of letting me feel the earth underneath me. Every pebble, every blade of grass....It was a wonderful way to wear clothing and yet still feel like you were ONE with the earth.

I was sitting on a large tree trunk, letting myself become just that, ONE with my surroundings. It was such a peaceful union, so serene. I remember wanting to stay there in that beautiful, powerful place in the sun forever.

Just then my mate, who was a tribal warrior, came up the hill. My heart skipped a beat when our eyes met. I let my eyes take in every detail of his magnificent body, his long shining black hair, his tanned skin and chisled muscles, his broad shoulders and chest, his kind, sparkling eyes....Oh how I loved him! It was the kind of love that takes over your entire being.

I knew that this was not our first lifetime together. We were Soul Mates. And I knew we would be together forever!

He came and sat next to me, with his head hung low, eyes cast down. I knew without asking what he would tell me and my heart raced! He wrapped his huge arms around me and told me of his meeting with the elders.

"There coming, Kucha"(? I don't know what that means, or if it is even Indian, but that was his pet name for me)"We have to move again."

"Why" I said. "They couldn't possibly find us here."

He explained that our scouts had seen them just on the other side of Big Mountain and that it would only be a matter of weeks before they made their way up here.

I raged. "Don't they know that this is OUR LAND! How high do we have to climb to get away from them? I've already left one home behind, how can I leave another?"

He then told me that the elders were considering putting together a war party. They had already had discussions with neighboring tribes. Which, I knew, meant that he would be going as well.

So I changed my tactics. "My love, maybe we can reason with them. Maybe we can share our land and learn to live with each other. They have women and children, like us. I've seen them. They can't be that much different. Maybe with the right words there won't have to be blood!"

I knew by the look on his face that my words were falling on deaf ears. "You know, they don't want to communicate with us! They don't know our words, they don't understand our ways. They are here to dominate and TAKE what Tankashila(?) gave to us! They are savages, with no thinking skills! There is no other way but to fight or run!" He stared at me hard then, "Love, I will fight!"

Suddenly, we heard the drums beating (which signaled a meeting with the elders), so we headed down to the fire.

As vivid as the first part of this dream was, the rest was mixed with different scenes of the Elders talking and singing around the fire, and then scenes of myself speaking to a white man named John and a woman named Mary. (I have had other dreams with these two in them, where I risked exile from my tribe for becoming so close to them). Then there were flashes of our camp being ransacked and gunfire and people dying.

Tammy




This post and discussion is continued in the thread Energy work and remembering past lives

 

[hopigirl]

Past life at Standing Rock Reservation

I started having dreams as a young child of being a Native American woman on the northern plains. I had dreams of the Battle of Little Big Horn and the times after the arrest and killing of Sitting Bull.

I had past life recall sessions and came up with the name of my son. I found his name in the 1920 federal census rolls, and realized that he had been a policeman and was present at the arrest and killing of Sitting Bull. I met him in this lifetime when I was 30.

This experience has helped me realize how life is so circular and vast and continuous and how we never stop growing, we just expand on who we were. It has also demystified the reincarnation experience. It is not with positions that we had formally held but with the love and compassion that we carry over to help one another in this lifetime. It is far more simpler to understand than church doctrine, but also far more profound in the depth of spiritual evolution that we can accomplish as human beings.

 

[J Rainsnow]

Cheyenne

I have had past-life memories of being a Cheyenne, and remember coming back to the scene of a massacre (I was not in the camp when it took place), but it does not at all fit in with what I know about the details of the Sand Creek Massacre. Beyond that, I have had a lot of synchronistic and spiritual experiences involving Cheyenne symbols. In fact, my Native American past/spirit connection is having a strong effect on my present life.

J Rainsnow
http://www.rainsnow.org

 

[J Rainsnow]

Guilt over killing a frontier family

The one incident I do remember feeling guilty about, while I lived, occurred in a North American Indian life, in which I was drawn into a combat which led to me killing a frontier family (events happened quickly and unexpectedly, and I had to kill whoever reached for a weapon).

In another incident, I saw myself preparing to attack a cluster of wagons, with a very cold feeling in my heart (I had lost a child in a previous attack, and wanted revenge). I don’t remember what happened next. I do know, in another warrior life, I also felt deeply saddened by the fact that I had to kill someone that I admired, but loyalty to my ruler compelled me to do it.

Certainly, some remorse and sense of guilt was created by these events. J Rainsnow
http://www.rainsnow.org

 

[Kikyo]

Native American male, 1837

I was running through a big dirt road and there were little mud houses and food stands, at first I didn't know what I was running from. I looked at my feet and I was wearing moccasins . Then I looked at my self from outside my body and I was Native American with a light brown tannish outfit on, it had little strips of cloth that were cut and hung off for design.

I was being chased by soldiers or some people that didn't like me because I was Native American, I also think that either they accused me of stealing or I did steal something like food, maybe bread.

After running for what seemed like a long time I was shot and I felt a sharp little pain in my present body of were I was shot (my shoulder blade). First I felt it in my back but then I felt it go through to my front but it wasn't straight through. I felt the pain in front as being higher then in my back so I assume the bullet went at an angle.

I think I was a male because when I tried to come out of it I opened my eyes and I was in a smaller place that was my home and I had a dog, it was one of those pretty wolf kind of dogs and I think that there I was a male.

I don't know who I was and what tribe I was but the date I got was 1837. I believe that that was when I was shot but I don't know if it killed me or not (I think it might have). I don't know how relations were between the Native Americans and others at that time but that was the date I got.

I could picture lots of Native Americans walking through a very wooded area but there was still a large path and I even think I remember picturing a fallen tree.

BTW: This would mean that the shot did not kill me and explain why I couldn't see my death in the images (though I also did not see a healing process)

I had a very slight indication that my dogs name was something like Kota or Kotay or De Kota, I loved the dog very much and when I was in the smaller area that was my home I remember that I was looking for him.

Kikyo

 

[LadWhite]

A Navajo boy and the Blue Coats

I had this dream in the 8th grade but I still remember it.

I was hiding in some bushes so of like a swamp. Well the only thing is that I’m an Indian boy. I was looking through his eyes and all I could feel was fear and the need to hide. There were these white men after me. One man came close to me but didn’t see me. I watch him as he comes close to my hiding spot near the bushes and looks from left to right. He eventually turns his horse in the direction all the other soldiers rode off in.

When he is gone I turn around in the water and see a man with this head dress on along with all these other people. I am not afraid of them. I look at them and then take off running out of the bushes and run into the woods.

While I am running through the woods this man catches me and shoots me in the leg. I am taken back to this camp and this old man says he is gonna get the doctor or whatever to come check out my leg. He leaves me sitting outside of a white tent and heads off to another area of the camp away from me. Well somehow I get out of the camp and spot a wagon ahead of me moving down a path.

I run up and try to climb into the back of it even with my bad leg. I can heard huff beats behind me now and as I’m trying to get a good grip on the back of the wagon (btw its not a covered wagon) someone shoots and I fall off the back. I fall off the wagon and down an embankment.

When I finally stop rolling I get up and take off running through the trees. I can hear the men above on the embankment cussing because they cant get their horses to go down. I continue to listen to them and slow my pace. Just as I’m starting to think I got away I get shot in the back and fall to my knees. The last image I see before waking is the boy on his knees and blood coming out of the side of his mouth.

Description of the soldiers : These men wore blue coats with white shirts underneath. I say the shirts were white but a different kind of white…I can see it in my mind but its hard to explain the color.- had kind’ve a brownish very light tone to it.

Note : a few days after I had this dream I went to the library and found a book on Navajo Indians. They were forced to take this journey which is "The long Walk" or something....and the men who were forcing them to do this were called the "Blue Coats".

 

[dark rosaleen]

A Native American man

I have no idea what this person's real name was, because he didn't use it much. He went by John Whitehawk, Whitehorse, some sort of white animal, and I can't for the life of me remember. He let himself be called that, because the white people needed a name for him that they could pronounce and not laugh. He had a lot of personal dignity, and would have felt demeaned somehow by having a funny name.

He was Native American, but I don't know which tribe or nation he grew up in.

So, I remember...

Riding with two other young men, on shaggy paint horses. The men are wearing fur clothing of a pale tan color. The horses have no saddles, and the bridles are just leather thongs, with no bits.

They are alone on a snow-covered prairie. Pine trees and bare branches grow in the hollows of the terrain. It's rolling, not flat. The day is overcast.

Ahead is Canada, and once they get there, they'll be all right. (No, I don't know why they're taking refuge in Canada, or how they got separated from their band.) They kick their horses into a gallop and ride as fast as they can, yelling and screaming because they're so relieved to be free.

Seeing a woman and two children, a boy and girl, clinging to her, on a board sidewalk. Their clothing is all shades of brown. The woman looks anxious and lost somehow. John is sick of living alone, and persuades the woman to come home with him. She agrees. They follow him without anybody saying anything more. In his mind, it's all settled--she's his wife.

Back at the house, which seems to be a soddy, she sweeps the floor and fries pancakes or something like them.

It turns out her name is Mary, and she's a widow. It was either this, or take her chances alone in a frontier town. I think she was from Ireland, and a few years older than him. He didn't keep track of his age in terms of dates, but experience. Thinking of your life in terms of how many years ago you were born, rather than what you've learned and done, would have seemed preposterous to him.

He holds worn black and white cards in his left hand, rearranging them with his right. He thinks this is a ridiculous, useless passtime, but the white people play this game, and for some reason, expect him to be naturally good at it.

They have a lot of stupid ideas (sorry, white people, but that's how it looked from his perspective.) They'll trade perfectly good items for weasel pelts. This always amuses him.

This post and discussion is continued in the thread Your lives in review

 

[Wulfie]

Little Wolf part 1


Little Wolf lived long ago before there was an awareness of white men, ships, cities, or even townships, though there were stories among the Elders and Traders about people across the Big Water. I believe she was an Eastern Woodland Indian because of the coast line, tree types, plants, animals, and because the plains with buffalo (tho she didn't call them that) are to the west and 'the place where there's no winter' is to the south. And the place of the Big Ice is to the north. Her mother's name was Flowering Meadow. Her father was White Fox's Uncle, tho she called him Uncle. Another reason I put the life on the east coast is because I remember enough of the language to have discovered it was a very old Siouan (lakota) dialect. So, she called her Mother 'Ina' which is Mama or mother. She called her father Uncle, which is Leksi. Her mother most often called her 'Hoksicala' which is Baby.


Her people called themselves the People of Peace. Her father didn't live with them as he was Head Scout of another clan and the clan mother, Talking Feather, had forbid an official joining. But he came often and was a good father and a good mate to Flowering Meadow, who was a medicine woman specializing in plants.


When Little Wolf was six a warrior nation from the north swept down and slaughtered her village. Little Wolf survived and was later found by her father and taken to live with him. He taught her many things and made certain that she continued her training in plant medicines as well as in dreaming. There were those born with a connection to the Ancestors and close ties with the Earth Mother through dreams; Little Wolf was one of these. Being a dreamer didn't set her apart from others, everyone had their ability, gift, or whatever and all of them were vital to the clan's existence. The dreams were important sources of information about where the animals were, weather changes, where the plants were, where a lost thing could be found...matters of survival, in other words. I don't think of this as being magical but more likely that Little Wolf was simply more observant, had an excellent memory, was intuitive and empathic, in tune with the land/animals/people's behaviors, etc., and was able to put all of these together in ways that were helpful. (yes, there are few things that DO seem psychic but I think we all have that ability, she just happened to use hers enough so that she could depend on it.)


Her father never took another mate. He said that there would never be another for him. And in their time together Flowering Meadow often came to both of them in dreams and odd events. They both felt that she was watching over them. Peaceful clans took single mates and were headed by the Clan Mother and were very democratic. Warrior clans were headed by a Chief, not so democratic, and people could have more than one mate.


Shortly before her 16th birthday she began having dreams about an attack on the village but the new Clan Mother, Tawny, refused to honor the dreams. She said the time of the Dreamers was over, the 'world was moving on' and there was no danger. No-one realized she was deep in a relationship with the men from the north and seeking to end the peaceful clans whose time, she believed, was over. Even so many people left the clan to move elsewhere. Not long after her birthday and the time of Clan Gatherings, the warriors from the North struck. They had long been coming further and further down the coast and attacking peaceful clans. They attacked Little's Wolf's and slaughtered the entire village. Her and her father nearly escaped but were captured and he was killed while trying to buy her enough time to escape. She refused to leave him. He was killed and she was subjected to terrible things and finally left for dead. It's interesting to me to note here that I have scars and marks on my body that are exact replicas of the scars that she had received during this capture.


...to be continued.....


This post and discussion is continued in the thread Little Wolf