“What is known and agreed upon is that the tribes from the Pacific migrated here, following two brothers who were the tribal leaders—Chata and Chicksah. This was back in the time way before any settlers from other countries arrived and America wasn’t even a place anyone had ever heard of or knew existed. The land was wild and free; the animals roamed in peace. When the lands of the Northwest ceased to care for them, Chata and Chicksah were given a vision to move. They had all the remaining members of the tribe collect the bones of their ancestors and place them in buffalo sacks to carry with them to their new home. Chata and Chicksah carried a large staff and led the group away from all they’d ever known. The first night, after they made camp, Chata and Chicksah placed the staff in the ground and told the tribe members that whatever direction the staff pointed the next morning, it would be the path they followed. This would be repeated each night for several years as the clan migrated east, until the staff remained upright. Once it did, Chata and Chicksah said that place would be their new home.
“When they came to this mighty river, crossing it took a toll on the group, and many did not survive. The ones who did crossed the remaining miles in sorrow and heartache. The loss of their loved ones, alive and dead, nearly broke their spirit and will to live. Chata and Chicksah even began to argue. A few days later, when they all awoke, they were surprised to see the staff remained upright. Of course, this was the sign all of them had waited for. It meant they were home. The people danced and sang and prepared a feast. But Chata and Chicksah did not join in the excitement. They sensed the land would not hold all of them. So they decided to build a burial mound and place the bones of their ancestors inside and then split up. Chicksah took half of the people with him and went north, eventually finding a place to settle. The group became known as the Nation of the Chickasaw.
“Chata remained in the Mississippi Delta, and his clan became known as the Nation of the Choctaw. The burial mound still remains, and it is called Nanih Waiya. It is where we buried our ancestors. Though ownership of the land, if there could ever really be such a thing, has changed hands many times over the centuries, Nanih Waiya is considered the place of our creation.”
I wanted to ask Papa Joe so many questions but was lulled into a state of bliss by his words. As he spoke, I saw the images of his story dance above the swirling water, like watching the story unfold on a large movie screen. It was very strange, for his speech had never affected me this way before in all the years I’d known him. When it dawned on me why it did, my mouth went dry.
It was because he spoke in his native tongue. Though I had heard him drop a few words now and again over the years while he worked at the diner, I didn’t speak or understand Choctaw. Now, I did. It was yet another reason to relax and enjoy the strange dream because I certainly wasn’t experiencing reality.
“There are other theories, other legends, passed down from different tribes. None of them really know the entire truth, only bits and pieces of it. Over time, things get lost when passed down from one generation to the next. The truth fades with each death of those who actually experienced particular events. Each generation has taken their story and added their own interpretation to it. Then, they pass the newer, updated version down to the next crop of young ones. This is the way of humans. We take something once pristine and beautiful and ruin it with our own ideas of what it should be—especially if the truth doesn’t fit into our way of viewing the world. We mold it to fit our needs and wants. Each time a tainted version is passed down, the beauty fades and all that is left is ugliness.
“What I am about to tell you, Little One, is the truth. I can claim it as such because I experienced it with my own eyes. I will tell you what I know, and when I am finished, I will answer all the questions I know you will have. I am prepared, for there will be many.”
I didn’t answer Papa Joe. I simply nodded my head in agreement.
“The woman and two young boys you saw earlier, as I said, were me, my brother, and my mother. We were part of the clan in the Pacific Northwest, the clan called to move from a vision experienced in unison by Chata and Chicksah. Only my father, Chata, was given the true understanding of the journey—and why we were being called.
“Talulah, our mother, was the mate of Chata. Hattak’katos and I were his children. When our tribe began to migrate, of course we followed. Hattak’katos and I proudly carried two buffalo sacks each day, full of the bones of both sets of our grandparents. We were young, eager, and wide-eyed, ready to venture to a place where the cold didn’t rip into your heart and the sun was warm on the skin and the air wet and fragrant. At least, that was what we were told by our father. Our mother carried on the tradition as we walked each day through the rugged terrain. To keep us occupied and close to her side, she told us all sorts of stories about what our new life would be like once we arrived.
“Like all children and brothers, we tired easily and fought. Sibling rivalry knows no ethnic, religious, or racial bounds. It simply is. I knew, from a very early age, that Hattak’katos wished to be tribal leader once our father passed. Though I knew I should care about such things, I did not. I had no issues with him taking the position because, to be honest, I didn’t want the responsibility of our entire tribe on my shoulders. Being out in nature, alone, living off the land, was more my style. The problem was, I was the older one, and the title rested with me.
“Our daily journeys turned into weeks, the weeks into months and then years. Hattak’katos and I grew up and apart, and his bitterness toward me took root in his heart. He was my blood and flesh, and I would have given him anything to make him happy. I loved him deeply. But he wanted something I was unable to give, and his heart turned dark. I didn’t realize how deep his anger and how dark his evil was until we reached this place.”
Papa Joe motioned again toward the river in front of us.
“The night we camped on this side of the river, resting before the crossing the next day, everyone seemed at odds. Some were afraid to cross the river, as you can imagine, and the others scoffed at them, calling them weak. Tensions rose and the arguments soon turned into brawls. It took several tries, but finally, Chata and Chicksah calmed everyone down. Everyone, that is, except my brother. He was livid, stomping around and challenging anyone who showed any fear of the water. He called them out for their cowardice, saying they should end their pathetic lives so their weaknesses wouldn’t be passed along to their children.
“He finally quieted down after Chata admonished him with harsh words in front of us all. Hattak’katos did not back down from anyone except our father. Ever. At the time, I thought it was because he respected him as our elder and leader. Of course now, I know different.
“That night, everything changed—at least for me. You see, my totem came to me, and I believe Hattak’katos’s did as well. Well, I didn’t then, but I do now. Do you know what a totem is?”
Unwilling to break his magical story, I shook my head no.
“Most Native American tribes believe in a totem. It’s an animal guardian. Your own personal guiding force, if you will. When it comes to you, whatever animal it is, it tends to happen during great times of stress or when the person is near death. That, it seems, is when the heart and soul are most open to the connection and our true self emerges. It is always some type of animal and the type of creature to come to you is directly tied to the inner soul of the recipient. Each one represents different things to different tribes, depending upon their own oral legends. For example, the panther is considered a supernatural deity from the Underworld by most of the Southeastern tribes, like the Choctaw. Because certain tribes believed in an Underworld that houses creatures in constant battle for control of the Upperworld, the panther totem was often called the ‘water panther.’ Legend has it, when the battles raged between the two worlds, the water panther had the ability to control certain natural elements. Earthquakes, thunderstorms, rain—they all were thought to be controlled by the water panthers.
“The panther was feared because i
t is considered a monster that destroys its enemies in violent ways using nature against its own creation. It was often associated with war as well. Many a young warrior or shaman hoped to claim the panther as their totem, for it meant they would be feared by others when wars broke out…or have the ability to control the elements.
“But there are those, myself included, who viewed the panther totem as a protective guardian. To see one meant you would be blessed with courage, power, and valor. My mother told me stories of our ancestors who had panthers as their totems and how those people were intuitive and very spiritual. Oftentimes, those who had a panther totem became healers or holy men because they had been blessed with a deep understanding of spiritual things.
“As with everything, there is a side of light and a side of darkness. When a totem comes to an individual, the result is dependent upon the heart of the witness. If the heart is pure, then the totem will help guide the soul down one path. But if the heart is dark, well, the path followed is never light. Tradition has it that if a member of the tribe with a dark heart had a black panther as their totem, they would be able to embrace the dark moon and the powers of the night. They would be a great warrior, feared by all, but guided by the forces of evil.
“The night we bedded down along the shoreline, each one of us was exhausted and doing the best to grapple with our own fears about trekking across the river the next morning. It didn’t take long for sleep to descend on most of them, but I was having trouble. Something kept my eyes open and my focus on the water’s edge. I felt this pull—this urge—to get up and go check on Hattak’katos. He usually slept near our small family, but he hadn’t returned from his walk earlier to cool his temper. I tried to ignore it, to pretend I didn’t feel the worry tug at my heart, but it was no use.
“I made sure not to make a sound as I wound my way through the sleeping bodies around me and toward the shoreline. I didn’t want anyone to wake up and question me about being up…or what I was doing and why. Mostly, I didn’t want my brother to get trouble if it was discovered he was gone. As I neared the last cropping of protective trees, a twig snapped behind me. Before I spun around, something slammed into the back of my skull and knocked me to the ground. I remember feeling a tremendous amount of pain, but I tried to stand back up anyway. I thought we might be under attack from another tribe—wondered if maybe we had encroached on their territory. My mouth opened to give a shout of warning, but before my vocal chords could move, the second blow hit—right in the middle of my back. The force was so hard all the air left my lungs.
“Things started to blur after that. My body wouldn’t move, like it was frozen. I heard the sounds of strange screams and tried one more time to move. All I managed to do was raise my head a fraction from the ground. I swore, before everything went black, I saw an enormous white panther charging toward me, and I asked the Spirits to let it take me and spare the rest of the tribe. Then, everything went dark.
“I came to a long time later. So long, in fact, it was late afternoon. I was miles and miles away from where I had been, but I didn’t realize it at the time. When I woke up, I was face down in the mud and every inch of me hurt. I was covered in bruises and my head throbbed. I finally got my bearings and managed to sit up. When I looked around, for a minute, I thought I was dreaming. I was in the most beautiful place I had ever seen. Describing it is impossible. Words cannot aptly capture the beauty. It is something that must be seen with the eyes, and even then, the mind can barely comprehend. But what happened next is something I believe you will understand.”
A cold chill traced a path down my spine. “What…what do you mean?”
“I met my totem, face to face. Sensed his presence before I heard a sound. I looked behind me and there he stood. My heart fluttered with a brief sense of fear, but it passed as quickly as it appeared. I felt the ground move as the enormous cat moved closer; the gold eyes never left my own. Just as I have spoken in your mind, he reached out to mine.”
Aghast, I stuttered, “What did he say?”
A deep, warm smile appeared on Papa Joe’s face as he closed his eyes, reliving the memory. “He said, Do not fear, Little One. You have been chosen. Your heart has been judged and found to be pure. It is time for the torch to pass from me to you. You are blood of my blood, four generations down from me. Should you choose to accept this path, your old life will pass away. The new one will begin, and you and your descendants will be blessed with this duty, just as I was—the burden to stand guard of this ancient place and the secret it holds. The journey will be rewarding in some ways, harsh in others. You must leave behind all you know and step forth into this new existence without fear or hesitation. And, you must swear your allegiance and be willing to sacrifice your life to protect it until the time comes for you to pass the duty to another.”
Confused, I asked, “I don’t understand, Papa Joe. How does this tie to me? Why are you showin’ me all this?”
“The lineage gifted with this duty spans back to the beginning of man’s time here on earth. Only one heir every four-hundred years is shown the location of the sacred place, passed along from the previous guardian. Though a few decedents of the original tribe are gifted with the ability to skin-walk, only one of them will become the guardian. I became guardian, and then was shown the sacred place. Hattak’katos also possess the ability to skin-walk, but his totem was the black panther. The Great Spirit saw inside my heart and knew I would take on the responsibility for the good of mankind because what rests hidden deep inside the Delta is of great importance, and should it fall into the hands of humans, life as the world knows it would be forever altered.”
“That didn’t answer my question. Why me?”
“Little One, some things cannot be explained with words. They must been seen with the heart. Here, let me show you. Once you see, you will understand.”
He moved and stood up. I didn’t have a chance to respond or even blink before he changed. In a split second, the elderly body of the man morphed into a gigantic white panther. He was bigger than the buffalo I remembered seeing as a child at the Memphis Zoo. He made no sound, no pain-filled yelps or shrieks of agony. His clothes didn’t rip to shreds and fall to the ground, they were simply gone. The change happened in the space of one full breath. The great animal I knew as Nahu’ala stood less than two feet from me, his eyes unblinking and his huge mouth slightly open, exposing his long fangs and pink tongue. With a gentle bob of his head, he motioned for me to stand. On shaking limbs, I did so and reached out to touch his face. When I did and the connection happened, my mind was overtaken and everything became clear. I was stunned into silence as the images swept over me. My mind, body, and soul flushed with wonderment and awe at the unbelievable scenes.
Without him explaining, I knew I was looking at the entrance to the location where humanity began in naïve innocence and ended in shame-filled banishment. I watched, mesmerized, as two glowing angels sealed up the entrance and took their positions as guards while a man and woman fled in guilt. It was as though a portal through time opened, then closed, as a ring of fire made the entrance disappear. But it left one thing. The scene shifted, and alone in an open glen stood a single tree, its branches spread far and wide and the roots gnarled and twisted, firmly implanted in the ground. The leaves were a shade of green I had never seen before and so vivid, it looked like they were pulsating in time with my heartbeat. Vibrant, azure water lapped in gentle waves less than ten feet from the trunk, shimmering with the movement. The foliage surrounding the area was lush, the fruits, berries, and flowers bigger and brighter than what they should be. The water stretched for miles, and then eventually met with the Mississippi River. As the bright blue liquid mixed with the murky brown of the Mississippi, the sparkling slivers of blue were swallowed by the swirling light chocolate.
In a whoosh and blur of colors, time sped forward. The outer layers of scenery shifted and changed, but the lone tree never altered its majestic stance. Not one leaf fell, nor did they change color
as years of seasons raced by. The frantic pace of the images slowed when a tall man appeared by the trunk of the tree. His body was lean and sinewy, his skin a deep, copper brown. Thick, raven-colored hair cascaded down his strong back. He spoke in his native tongue while kneeling in worship at the foot of the tree, his long fingers caressing the exposed roots. The atmosphere around him brightened, and my body jerked in shock when he transformed into a white panther. He bowed his mammoth head toward the tree in humble obedience. He turned and released a deep, throaty growl and then burst from his position and disappeared into the woods.
Time sped up again. It was like watching through a camera lens as it pulled back for a wider shot. On the perimeter, miles away, I saw Papa Joe’s tribe as they navigated the area after crossing the Mississippi. Soon, the area pulsed with the Choctaw Nation, campfires releasing tendrils of smoke in the air. The sounds of laughter and joy danced in my ears as the teeming throng lived in harmony with each other and the land. Immense joy filled my soul as I watched, tears welling up in my throat. I sensed their pure hearts and their loyalty to each other and nature as they raised their voices in song, praising the Great Spirit for providing for every need.
Warmth spread through my body as the connection grew, and I basked in the harmonious encounter. I had been granted the amazing opportunity to watch history as it unfolded. Something inside my heart, body, and soul changed. But the blissful state of tranquility evaporated the second the images migrated. The encroachment of others with light skin and weapons appeared as the screams of agony and pain slammed into my ears. Thick, white smoke appeared as the entire village was destroyed, and when it cleared, I let out a gasp of sorrow. Soldiers mounted on horses surrounded what was left of the once proud people, herding them from all they’d ever known. Children and women wept near the bodies of their loved ones whose mangled corpses littered the bloodstained ground.
My heart broke and my own tears flowed down my face at the utter devastation. The collective sorrow—from not only the broken people in front of me but from Papa Joe’s torment as well—hung over me like a heavy cloak. No history book or movie portrayal could ever even begin to come close to capturing what was happening in front of my own eyes.
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