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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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II<br />

S<strong>in</strong>ce <strong>the</strong> com<strong>in</strong>g of <strong>the</strong> Anglo-Europeans beg<strong>in</strong>n<strong>in</strong>g <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong><br />

fifteenth century, <strong>the</strong> fragile web of identity that long held tribal<br />

people secure has gradually been weakened and torn. But <strong>the</strong><br />

oral tradition has prevented <strong>the</strong> complete destruction of <strong>the</strong> web,<br />

<strong>the</strong> ultimate disruption of tribal ways. <strong>The</strong> oral tradition is vital;<br />

it heals itself and <strong>the</strong> tribal web by adapt<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> flow of <strong>the</strong><br />

present while never rel<strong>in</strong>quish<strong>in</strong>g its connection to <strong>the</strong> past. Its<br />

adaptability has always been required, as many generations have<br />

experienced. Certa<strong>in</strong>ly <strong>the</strong> modern <strong>American</strong> <strong>Indian</strong> woman<br />

bears slight resemblance to her forebears—at least on<br />

superficial exam<strong>in</strong>ation—but she is still a tribal woman <strong>in</strong> her<br />

deepest be<strong>in</strong>g. Her tribal sense of relationship to all that is<br />

cont<strong>in</strong>ues to flourish. And though she is at times beset by her<br />

knowledge of <strong>the</strong> enormous gap between <strong>the</strong> life she lives and<br />

<strong>the</strong> life she was raised to live, and while she adapts her m<strong>in</strong>d<br />

and be<strong>in</strong>g to <strong>the</strong> circumstances of her present life, she does so <strong>in</strong><br />

tribal ways, mend<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> tears <strong>in</strong> <strong>the</strong> web of be<strong>in</strong>g from which<br />

she takes her existence as she goes.<br />

My mo<strong>the</strong>r told me stories all <strong>the</strong> time, though I often did not<br />

recognize <strong>the</strong>m as that. My mo<strong>the</strong>r told me stories about cook<strong>in</strong>g<br />

and childbear<strong>in</strong>g; she told me stories about menstruation and<br />

pregnancy; she told me stories about gods and heroes, about<br />

fairies and elves, about goddesses and spirits; she told me<br />

stories about <strong>the</strong> land and <strong>the</strong> sky, about cats and dogs, about<br />

snakes and spiders; she told me stories about climb<strong>in</strong>g trees and<br />

explor<strong>in</strong>g <strong>the</strong> mesas; she told me stories about go<strong>in</strong>g to dances<br />

and gett<strong>in</strong>g married; she told me stories about dress<strong>in</strong>g and<br />

undress<strong>in</strong>g, about sleep<strong>in</strong>g and wak<strong>in</strong>g; she told me stories about<br />

herself, about her mo<strong>the</strong>r, about her grandmo<strong>the</strong>r. She told me<br />

stories about griev<strong>in</strong>g and laugh<strong>in</strong>g, about th<strong>in</strong>k<strong>in</strong>g and do<strong>in</strong>g;<br />

she told me stories about school and about people; about darn<strong>in</strong>g<br />

and mend<strong>in</strong>g; she told me stories about turquoise and about gold;

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