Prose - The Great Medicine Wheel

We drive up and up through the Bighorn National Forest, beauty bursting all around us. We come to the sign leading to The Medicine Wheel. It was a mission for me, a reason for going to Wyoming. Almost to the Montana border, we felt on top of the world, seeing for miles in every direction. We start up the path, a mile and a half walk up a fairly gentle slope to the wheel, being so high, we go slow, even stopping and sitting at times. We take in all the beauty that surrounds us. As we arrive at the wheel, which is about eighty feet in diameter, we imagine the energy of long, long ago. No one knows when it was built, or who built it, speculations of the Crow Indian Tribe. White round posts about three and a half feet high with two thick white ropes running through them wrap around the wheel. On the ropes are tied feathers, scarves, sage, sweetgrass, jewelry, fabrics of all sorts, and many other items, some blown to the ground inside the ropes. We feel from these offerings many prayers that have been spoken here through the years, we feel the emotion that has immersed into this powerful place. Thoughtlessly, we forget to bring our offerings, we use our spit, coming from deep inside us. What could be more appropriate?
A part of our body has soaked into the ground inside the ropes, leaving us connected forever. Native Americans come from all over, still doing ceremony here, some are open to us, some are not. Others come from all over the world, offering their hearts, taking in the beauty, asking to be healed. There is no mistaking the fullness of my gratitude that will remain with me for the rest of my days.
Patricia