I was invited to the Yavapai Apache sunrise ceremony and this morning I drove out into Boynton Canyon in the dark, past the Enchantment Resort security guard to where a group of people were gathering around a large crackling bonfire. The crowd was divided between those who were chattering away and some who were perfectly still and silent. I was mostly silent, too, beyond a couple friendly greetings as I pictured myself a fly on the wall, here to be respectful and learn something. Maybe something I could share with you.
Although I had been told it was fine to come when I was writing my earlier Exodus article, another writer, who had a close friend she was attending with, expressed some doubt and had even asked an expert she knew if it would be appropriate. He told her it would if I was invited so I figured all was well. There were other non-Natives in the group, some of them the loudest chatterers. One was taking photos. I knew we were not supposed to and though my creative visual side was itching I didn’t take out my phone to shoot or record with one small exception with permission when the ceremony was fully completed.
I ran into someone who had shown me around the Yavapai Apache Cultural Center when I was researching Exodus and he asked what I was doing there.I told him I was there with the Bobcat Gazette. He responded mildly, “This is just my opinion, but I think it’s best if we keep these things closed.” While I didn’t initially feel good about that comment I came to see his point.
It took a while for the ceremony to start and when it did the crowd of about 70 filed into the nearby ceremonial space. I won’t report further on what was said, what happened or the prayers in respect for the people and their sacred ways. I will say that all people, including the non-Natives, were welcomed to participate, which I found to be a generous act.
I stood back as an observer. Why? Because I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel the creator or God or the spirit or any magic. I didn’t feel anything except really cold feet and out of place. I do feel God, the creator and the spirit when I walk on the land, especially alone, so it’s not that my soul is dead.
But as a friend who has studied and written extensively about Native cultures told me last night: it’s not our ceremony, it’s not our lineage. It’s just not for us. I didn’t know that by the end of the ceremony, I would find I agree. Not that anyone has asked me, but maybe it would be a sign of further respect to allow them this special day in this gorgeous place they have to trek to from Camp Verde, by themselves or with close friends. I wasn’t the only one, but maybe some of us should not have been there.