06/29/2025
As I journey deeper into my spiritual existence, I feel such a connection to my Native American heritage. I don’t even know that much about it, but I do know that my grandpa was so proud of it. I am proud of it too. I am so attracted to their reverence for nature, spirit and the cycle of life. They have such a unique perspective of observing everything around us, and whenever I read something like this, it really resonates with me. 💗
Long ago in a quiet village nestled beside the singing river, there lived a little girl named Miskwâw. Her hair was long and wild like the northern wind—flowing, tangling, and dancing in every direction. She loved her hair, but she didn’t yet understand why her kôhkom (grandmother) always insisted on braiding it each morning.
“Come here, nôsisim,” her grandmother would say, gently patting the woven blanket. “Let’s braid your hair before the sun climbs too high.”
“But why?” Miskwâw would ask. “It takes so long, and I like it flying free!”
Her kôhkom would only smile, her hands already weaving the strands. “Because when we braid, we’re not just fixing your hair—we’re fixing the world, one strand at a time.”
Miskwâw blinked. “We are?”
“Oh yes,” kôhkom nodded. “Every braid is a teaching. The first strand is your mind—all your thoughts and dreams. The second is your body—how you move through the world. The third is your spirit—the light that connects you to the ones before you and the ones still to come.”
She paused to tie the end with a strip of red cloth. “When we braid them together, they become strong—strong enough to carry love, memory, and even the sky.”
Miskwâw touched her braid with both hands. “My braid carries the sky?”
“In a way,” her kôhkom whispered. “Because when you walk with your braid, you carry your ancestors behind you and your prayers before you. That’s a big responsibility, little one.”
From that day on, Miskwâw never argued about braiding her hair. Each morning, she sat proudly as her grandmother’s fingers danced, weaving stories into her strands—stories of thunderbirds, berries, winter fires, and brave aunties who never gave up.
And every time her braid touched her back, she remembered:
Her mind was focused.
Her body was strong.
And her spirit?
Her spirit was braided to the stars.
—Kanipawit Maskwa
John Gonzalez
Standing Bear Network
