Visiting Spirits

in Northern California

by Peter Pynchon

Indian Grinding Rock (Chaw’se) is in a shallow valley in the Sierra Nevada foothills where Miwok Indians lived as hunter-gatherers 150 years ago. White miners polluted streams, killed the fish, depleted the deer, spread diseases, and disrupted the food sources. A Grinding Rock forty feet long with pocked holes where women ground acorns into meal is all that remains. It has 1100 cavities which is the largest number of grinding mortars in a single place in North America.

A Round House (hun’ge) was erected by local Miwok Indians in recent years for ceremonies and dancing. When I visited, a man was tending a sacred fire and I asked if I could enter. He asked if I was Indian. I said, “No.” He said, “You look Indian.” My complexion came from my mother who had Persian ancestry, so I said, “I am Iranian.” He said, “That is good enough. Come in.” The Fire Tender showed me how to turn in respect when coming in, and how to walk around the sacred fire. The smoke twisted and danced through sunlight streaming in from a large ceiling hole. We talked. Fire Tender said he was part Lakota (a tribe in the northern U.S.) and he told of spirits that people experienced here. Visions were described with short sentences and long pauses, and I felt as if portals to a spiritworld opened and I saw the scenes he described.

Recently, I performed a fire ritual with the Rig Veda and knew that the Persian Zarathusthra performed fire worships. I asked Fire Tender for guidance on how to do the fire ceremony. He told me to offer tobacco in four corners for the four directions and then to offer tobacco into the fire so it will rise as smoke to the Great Spirit.

My friend and I then were shown a sacred rock that looked like a huge (six foot) bear claw print with a round pad in the middle where women ground acorns. Fire Tender pointed to a hill where people were buried and I was told that departed spirits are here. I felt honored because most Indians don’t say where their ancestors are buried. When parting, I was told to shake hands with the hand closest to the heart. The grasses looked vividly green, there were pine trees seventy feet tall, oak trees with acorns, lizards sunning and scampering, deer grazing, wildflowers on hillsides, and bird calls echoed off the valley walls. Cougar and bear often are here.

In a later visit, a fresh mound of dirt was on the hill of departed ancestors. A piece of bark with hundreds of woodpecker holes was laid on it. A slim stick was stuck in the dirt. I sat and played a low keyed flute and felt ancestors in the quiet between the notes. I asked for their wisdoms and personal guidance, and received responses. I spoke to their Great Spirit and heard nothing – or Nothing. I learned, for me at this moment, that spirits come through the Ancestors. A magnificent Stellar’s Jay with it’s black head crest hopped nearby. He had messages. I realized his ancestors and the huge Valley Oak trees (mo’lla) lived here when the Miwok’s thrived years ago. Near the Grinding Rock, I heard faint voices of women talking and the rhythms of grinding acorns. I saw no one.

Months later, a friend and I visited Borax Lake in the Coastal Mountains where Paleo-Indians lived 10,000 years ago. This location was discovered in the 1940’s when three inch Clovis points (used on spears) were found. Similar Clovis points were used to kill mastodons in what is New Mexico. Archaeologists believe the first North American colonizers arrived from Asia along the Pacific Coast before an ice-free land corridor opened in the north.

At the end of the last Ice Age, Ancients lived along Borax Lake when the weather was much colder and very rainy. This oldest Northern Californian Indian site is near a glassy black obsidian quarry where points (arrowheads) were made for hunting and trade. Mt. Konocti, a dormant volcano that erupted 10,000 years ago, is within miles.

The Indian site now is in an abandoned walnut grove. When we arrived, three mule deer were surprised and ran away. I played a Native American flute and they stopped and perked their ears and listened. They were like Ancients still residing here. Other inhabitants are ducks, sandpipers, various birds, rabbits, deer, raccoon, squirrels and hawks. The area is imbued with spirit. I asked for the Ancients to speak and I heard an old man. I called him Grandfather. He told me of the people’s simple life at the Lake. I heard children playing and was surprised by a deepening sensing. When playing the flute, a woman was dancing among the trees. In places like this, I felt one can be easily drawn into realities separated by thin veils.

I walked and saw scattered obsidian chips on the ground — evidence of Pomo Indians who lived in this area 150 years ago. Descendents live nearby. Archaeologists excavated deeper and found obsidian artifacts dating to 12,000 years ago. A low hazy autumn sun warmed the quiet lake basin. We could tell that winter was coming and imagined people here for 9000 years.