And the last two pieces, one is the one
that, again, is going to acknowledge
O'odham land, our mountain, our sacred mountain, Waw Giwulig.
Baboquivari is the main figure in this piece,
and what people see when they go there,
and how they are supposed to behave when they go there.
And O'odham people believe--
and I've written about this before,
when I wrote about the ocean.
When it says, when you go to the ocean, you must--
in O'odham it comes out, I mean, it's
sort of like you greet the ocean, you know.
You don't ignore it.
When you first get there, you must greet the ocean.
And then you can, if you want to,
you can ask for something from the ocean.
And you can ask for whatever you want.
And it's appropriate.
And the same thing for Waw Giwulig, for Baboquivari,
and other sacred places.
You can go there, but first you must greet it.
And then you can ask for something.
But you have to ask for it in the right way.
And so this is a little bit of, like, a teaching poem.
So it's just called "Do'ag Weco," sort of beneath the mountain.
"Ia 'ac gegok do'ag weco kc 'an 'u:gk ha'icu ñeid.
We stand below the mountain and look upward.
We look upward in humility, in prayer.
From the tops of mountains come memories of stories,
songs, names of plants, animals we have long forgotten.
Old people dream of days they walked mountain paths.
They dream of their sturdy step, lack of fear
of a desolate mountain top.
They see things that are only rendered in song.
Lower parts of mountains are for all humans.
We walk along a mountainside knowing
ancestors' bones sit in the mountains.
They watch us as we pass.
We are not afraid.
On an unusually cool July day, we drive to Waw Giwulig.
Arriving at the foothill of the mountain,
I place a towel on the damp bench and sit down.
This place is green and moist.
The air is blue, light mist drifts, swayed by breezes.
For a few hours on a summer's day,
this mountain is in tune with the wet side of ocean islands.
Ia 'ac daḍhă do'ag weco kc 'an 'u:gk ha'icu ñeid.
Tt amjeḍ hab t-ju: mo hab a wua g O'odham c'am ha'icu ta:ñ g
T hab massa 'ab 'i-hi: 'i:da t-taccudag mat hab masma o i-hi: g wi'inam ṣu:dagĭ. Ñia'a.
Gewkdag 'att 'am tai. Duakag 'att 'am tai. Apedag 'att 'am tai.
Att amjeḍ 'am 'ep 'i-da:mc c hab hahawa 'ep cei.
Gewkdag 'att 'am m-tai att hab masma s-ap 'in o 'oyopod c 'an o 'i-ha-we:mtad hegam mo pi 'eḍgid g gewkdag.
S-duakag 'att 'am m-tai 'att hab massa s-ap 'in o 'oyopod c o s-he: kigk.
S-apedag 'att 'am m-tai 'att hab massa s-ap 'in 'o 'oyopod c s-ape wuḍ 'o O'odhamk.
Ia 'ac daḍhă do'ag weco kc 'an 'u:gk ha'icu ñeid.
We sit here below the mountains and look upward.
And before we do anything else, we open our voices
to a greater being.
We say we are grateful for being allowed
to be here in this wonder.
And like flooding waters, the request for gifts begin.
We ask for strength.
We ask for health.
We ask for goodness.
Finally, we must justify our request.
We begin again.
We ask for strength to complete the things we have
started to do with our lives.
We ask for health so that we may walk with a sturdy step,
with good breath, and clean light in our eyes.
We ask for goodness so that we may
have open minds, open hearts.
We ask for patience to deal with all those who require it
and pass it on to those who are impatient.
We ask for forgiveness so we can forgive those who require it
and pass it on to those who are unforgiving.
Ia 'ac daḍhă do'ag weco kc 'an 'u:gk ha'icu ñeid.
We sit here below the mountain and look upward."