One Scrap of Earth

After releasing the first people from their shells, Raven brought to them many gifts. Some of these gifts are daylight, fresh water, dancing, and islands. Many stories describe how these and other things were done. Some stories belong to clans and their ownership must always be recognized, but the story shared here is well known and commonly told.

One scrap of earth. No larger than can be made into a cabin comfortable enough for one resolute woman of minor needs and few desires. A modest border to allow sunlight and satisfy curious bears. A few windows to allow in the day and upon which the morning's rain can be measured. The rich wet smell of cedar, like a mother's tender arms. Her kiss on my hair. The touch of her young hand on my worn cheek. A warm smoky fire. The clatter of the poker against a crumbling log. Outside, a raven's cry.

Do you see the water at the top of the creek at the top of the mountain that holds our town in the palm of its hand and seeks the shoreline that our own front doors face? Be like that water.

Be yielding like water.

Go along the easiest way always, always willing to go around something. Offer no resistance. Go the easy way. That's the best way to get where you're going. Remember that all things begin and end in water just as rivers flow into and begin in the sea. When forces oppose, victory will be kind to the one who crafts herself like water, to the one whose power allows her to yield.

Take Raven. When he wanted the Box of Daylight, he didn't invade a village. He didn't storm a house. He found the easy way. He used water. He made himself small so he could get close to daylight with the least effort. This is what Raven did to achieve his goal.

More than ravens cry upon this scrap of tender earth. History cries. Our grandfathers cry. Raven's beloved aunties cry for him. Wolves cry for their namesakes. The bear takes pity when he hears us cry for his protection. The ground is covered with tears.

More than tears cover the ground on this scrap of sodden earth. More than ice. More than glaciers. More than light and dark and shadow. Hemlock and spruce hold hands and gaze at the rainwashed moon. Blueberry bushes call hello to their salmonberry cousins. Wood ferns cluster, devil's club soothes. Mosses ruffle and creep.

Do you hear the movements and calls of life on the fragrant air and in the ready sea and at every place around us? Those calls and tears and cries all signify time. Constantly they remind us that we cannot rush the bloom. Often they tell us we must find a good place to wait.

When making a move will not gain an advantage and your position is already secure, do not move.

Place yourself in a defensible position. When it is your choice to hesitate—to wait for a while—do so at an advantageous spot, after all certain progress has been made. When you defend your position, be like one who has held on and pulled herself up to a steep place on a high cliff with the Chilkat Mountain at her back, one who has kicked her rope off the ledge and has resolved to engage the battle. From that firm position, make your careful calculations. From that unyielding position, study the circumstances out of which you will assemble victory. From that resolute position, become acquainted with the disposition of your adversary.

Take Raven. After he had made himself into a pine needle and caused a young woman to swallow him, he stayed in her belly where he could hear and understand all that was taking place around him. From that vantage, he listened and waited for the right moment to make his move. From that position, he studied his circumstances and began to recognize his grandfather's weakness. This is what Raven did to achieve his...