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The Sacred Hoop: Recovering the Feminine in American Indian Traditions

by Paula Gunn Allen

by Paula Gunn Allen

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adversarial and dualistic perceptions of reality.<br />

<strong>The</strong> tribes see women variously, but <strong>the</strong>y do not question <strong>the</strong><br />

power of fem<strong>in</strong><strong>in</strong>ity. Sometimes <strong>the</strong>y see women as fearful,<br />

sometimes peaceful, sometimes omnipotent and omniscient, but<br />

<strong>the</strong>y never portray women as m<strong>in</strong>dless, helpless, simple, or<br />

oppressed. And while <strong>the</strong> women <strong>in</strong> a given tribe, clan, or band<br />

may be all <strong>the</strong>se th<strong>in</strong>gs, <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>dividual woman is provided with a<br />

variety of images of women from <strong>the</strong> <strong>in</strong>terconnected<br />

supernatural, natural, and social worlds she lives <strong>in</strong>.<br />

As a half-breed <strong>American</strong> <strong>Indian</strong> woman, I cast about <strong>in</strong> my<br />

m<strong>in</strong>d for negative images of <strong>Indian</strong> women, and I f<strong>in</strong>d none that<br />

are directed to <strong>Indian</strong> women alone. <strong>The</strong> negative images I do<br />

have are of <strong>Indian</strong>s <strong>in</strong> general and <strong>in</strong> fact are more often of males<br />

than of females. All <strong>the</strong>se images come to me from non-<strong>Indian</strong><br />

sources, and <strong>the</strong>y are always balanced by a positive image. My<br />

ideas of womanhood, passed on largely by my mo<strong>the</strong>r and<br />

grandmo<strong>the</strong>rs, Laguna Pueblo women, are about practicality,<br />

strength, reasonableness, <strong>in</strong>telligence, wit, and competence. I<br />

also remember vividly <strong>the</strong> women who came to my fa<strong>the</strong>r’s<br />

store, <strong>the</strong> women who held me and sang to me, <strong>the</strong> women at<br />

Feast Day, at Grab Days, <strong>the</strong> women <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> kitchen of my Cubero<br />

home, <strong>the</strong> women I grew up with; none of <strong>the</strong>m appeared weak<br />

or helpless, none of <strong>the</strong>m presented herself tentatively. I<br />

remember a certa<strong>in</strong> reserve on those lovely brown faces; I<br />

remember <strong>the</strong> direct gaze of eyes framed by bright-colored<br />

shawls draped over <strong>the</strong>ir heads and cascad<strong>in</strong>g down <strong>the</strong>ir backs.<br />

I remember <strong>the</strong> clean cotton dresses and carefully pressed handembroidered<br />

aprons <strong>the</strong>y always wore; I remember laughter and<br />

good food, especially <strong>the</strong> sweet bread and <strong>the</strong> oven bread <strong>the</strong>y<br />

gave us. Nowhere <strong>in</strong> my m<strong>in</strong>d is <strong>the</strong>re a foolish woman, a dumb<br />

woman, a va<strong>in</strong> woman, or a plastic woman, though <strong>the</strong> <strong>Indian</strong><br />

women I have known have shown a wide range of personal style<br />

and demeanor.

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