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In 1999, with little to do in the town of Cody, Wyoming, I stopped into a bookstore near the historic Irma Hotel. I have always been a fan of history, and found myself looking at a book in the "Local Artists" section. The book was called Lost Bird: Spirit of the Lakota, by Renée Sansom Flood.
In reading this true tale of Zintkala Nuni, I was constantly struck by its extensive, dramatic scope. "This should be adapted to the stage," I said to myself. "I hope that I am involved with that one day!"
A few years later, I found myself hitting the pavement in Seattle, hoping to expand my frontiers in theatre production. I had done many production in Portland since I moved there in 1995 - directing, music directing, accompanying, and composing. But the post-9/11 climate had caused the art world to shrink in the Pacific Northwest, and I was looking for jobs. I stayed with a friend of mine at the area of Seattle called Five Points, near the Seattle Center where I used to work.
My informational meetings with the local theatre companies had become the typical, somber session that all artists know all too well: companies with closed doors, Artistic Directors who view new and talented blood with fear and conceit. Shortly put, it was not going well. On my final day in town, I took a walk up to my old stomping grounds on Capitol Hill.
John Street leads up to Cap Hill, a steep incline that even the hardiest of bike messengers frequently find themselves walking up instead of riding. The sun setting over the Olympic Mountains in the west cast my 50-foot shadow in front of me as I walked up the hill, and I found myself chasing the long, dark side of myself stretched on the pavement.
I mused on my place in life, tying it to the area off Five Points where I was sleeping. "I wonder, at this crossroads of my life, if I truly am at an intersection of five points." I counted my possibilities:
- Continue my life as usual, working for other people's projects in Portland.
- Moving to Seattle, and beginning again at the bottom. In other words, doing the same thing in just another city (and a closed one, at that).
- Opening my own Theatre Bar. I later tried this option, and had the priviledge of losing $7,000 on a single, triumphant extravaganza.
- Waiting around for a local Artistic Director to die, get fired, or creating a hostile takeover and securing a fulltime job for myself.
I continued up the hill. And I thought to myself, "Well, there's four options. I wonder if there is a fifth that I haven't considered? What could it be?"
A few steps later, I saw the image of something falling from the sky, directly for my head. I instinctively ducked to avoid the streaking shadow, but nothing happened. No shingle hit my head, no meteorite made a crater near my cowering person. "Strange," I thought, and I continued up the incline.
Once again, I saw the dropping, swooping shadow on the sidewalk in front of me. Then I recognized the shape - a bird aiming to strike me on the head. I turned to see a crow, sitting high on the ledge of a building behind me. The bird was still, almost as if it weren't actually moving, just casting its shadow down toward me in order to wake me up. "Stranger still," I thought, and kept up my reverie. "The fifth point . . . what is the fifth point."
A third time the bird came toward my 50-foot other-me on the pavement. It was then that I noticed that Crow was actually following me up the hill. Many other people were trekking on John St., but only I was being dive-bombed. Each time I looked for Crow, he was sitting passively on the eaves. I never got to see Crow in mid-air, but knew he was the culprit.
At the top of the hill, Crow went toward me for the fourth and final time. To avoid the conflict, I ducked into a bookstore beside me. Almost immediately, I recognized a book right in front of me: Lost Bird. Although it was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, this is the only other place that I have ever seen the biography. I spent a moment with the book, and shortly afterward, ended my quest. Capitol Hill, after all, had become a different, mysterious land that was unrecognizable from my memories of living in Seattle during the Grunge years.
Later that evening, I blew off a free backstage pass to a new hard rock group at the Experience Music Project, choosing instead to stay with my friends and attend an all-night stoop party, back in Five Points. As other residents of the apartment building came home, we added to the party, creating an impromptu gathering off about 10 people, drinking and laughing on the street - people who had never met, coming together for a delightful time.
I told the story of Crow, just as a strange incident to share. The lady next to me jumped up in excitement, and ran to her room inside. She returned with a small book, her daily reading that sat beside her bed. The reading for that day was about Crow.
She read that Crow is a shadow figure, which I understood from my studies of Jung. A shadow figures is made of those elements that are a part of your core, although you might deny that they are inside you. It might be called "The Other," or the "Not You," even though they are essential parts of your being. It could be the violent side you hide, the abused survivor you never share, or the person you may become if you conquer your fears.
Crow is not a hostile force, but a creative one. He is the image of untapped ingenuity, unfollowed possibility.
Crow cries out for movement and advance. He demands that the world awaken and hear his cry. He sees far, and stands above to observe all the activity around the world, in one glance.
Later I put it all together. The Crow was sent to stir me into action. It awoke my soul fully to the path I had not considered: I was the one who was obliged to create a theatrical version of Zintkala Nuni's life.
I had found the Fifth Point.
It would be a few years later, many readings of the book and deep thought, before the project commenced. Meeting Renée Sansom Flood was a wonderful moment, and we have become kindred spirits quickly. I am honored that she has blessed the project, and also to have been awarded a Fellowship. It is my continual hope to connect with the great spirit of Zintka and her lost tiyospaye (family/community).
Outside my house in Portland, OR, a large and noisy Crow resides. Each afternoon, he cries at me when I leave my house. Some mornings, he screams at me outside my window to wake me up. He brings others Crows around sometimes, and performs miraculous dances outside my front window.
I never thought to have an Animal Guide. If I had chosen, I would have asked for a Bear. I would not have considered Crow as my mentor and spirit force. Now, I look for the lessons of Crow all around me. Crow screams me into action, and always reminds me of my shadow side, the task I have been chosen.
Crow screama "Hau" to me, and I answer back with "Han," for he is Holy.
As you go up the hill, and you see your shadow, as your Other rears its creative head, and as Crow spurs you into action - please answer "HAN," Give him your hopes for the telling of the story of Lost Bird, and with his help, we can make one more step to heal our communities.
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