THIS POEM AND SITE ARE DEDICATED TO THE MANY GENERATIONS OF AMERICAN INDIANS WHO HAVE FOUGHT AND DIED FOR THEIR NATIONS, AND THE GENERATIONS OF THE FUTURE AND NOW. 

North Dakota, South Dakota, Oregon, California, and all over this land... Through all the battles and wars, a solitary sound can be heard over the sounds of dying.
Through all the gunshots, cannon, and screams of defiance;
Listen and you will hear a woman. She is weeping, calling out her lovers name. She is crying for the generations lost in the past, She is praying for the one that is dying now, and also for the ones that will be lost in the generations to come. 
Hear her my brothers and sisters, for she is wise. 
A Hoop has been shattered. A Sacred Hoop. Now the pieces are scattered... Scattered all over this land. 
Take your drum, and put it in your hand. Call together the many colored Hoops of this Great Turtle Planet that is our mother. It is time. Things will not be right until this has been done.
This is a demand of the great Grandfather Tunkashila.
He is known by a thousand and one names. Some call him the Father of Jesus, Some call him Allah. You will recognize him by the fact that he is the only God. 
All come forward. Come to the Center.
You come forward. Come to the Center. 
Hanta Yo! My Earth Children- You must clear the way, for they have arrived... The ones with Cante Ishta. The ones with the Eye of the Heart. Observe everything as you walk to the Center, and you will see
a fallen tree. Forgotten and decaying.
This is the tree of life. Look at the center.
Now you will see a single seed... A renewal of life.
A new hope to be born in this new Millennium. 
Founded by a rainbow of tribes, A Hoop that is pure and whole to protect this tree, to nurture and love this seed as we do our families,
With Patience, Love and Respect. 
This gathering will plant this Seed.
Red, Black Yellow, and White and all shades in between must join hands and Hearts,
For only Cante Ishta can see this Seed. 
The Hoop is Inside of our hearts 
It lives inside of all of us... and It cannot be forgotten.
If it is, we will all die. Like the Old Hoop did a long time ago.
Slowly and Painfully...but all together completely.
That Hoop was weak, Made of only one of the colors needed. 
Come to the Center. The Center of your Heart.
I call to the Power of the four winds to spread the word. 
A new beginning ... A new circle, made of a Rainbow of People, 
spread around the globe. A United Tribe. 
The past cannot be forgotten. It has to be remembered, 
so the children of the Future will not reflect in it's image. 
Hear this woman,
My Brothers and Sisters... 

She is Ptesan Win~
The White Buffalo Woman.
Our Miracle.

Shawn M. J. Mann © 1991-2004