In 1945 there was one step further you could take in the Boy Scouts, after you have achieved Eagle Scout status. There was a significant history and story behind that elevated status. You could become an Indian Brave, in the Osage Indian tribe, if you were recommended for that status by your Scoutmaster. The preparation and naming ceremony were somewhat elaborate, in a most picturesque setting. It was also a celebration of boys becoming men.
The original camp of the Osage people was on the land between the Marmaton and Osage rivers, around 1200 C.E. They called themselves “the people of the middle waters.” That name in Indian language was “Wahzhazhe.” When the French came, they translated that name to “Osage.” The tribe, in order to have a place to live when the floods came, also established a camp on the bluffs just south of the Marmaton River, shortly before it joined the Osage River, west of St. Louis, Missouri. The Osage River then entered the Missouri River, flowing to the East before it emptied into the Mississippi River. The woods on the higher land gave the Indians abundant game to hunt deer, rabbits, turkeys and bears. The streams provided ample fish to catch, and access to canoe travel. The fertile bottom lands of the rivers produced robust crops of corn, beans, pumpkins and squash. Gradually the Osage Indian Nation expanded to include most of southwest Missouri, and more than half of the land that later would become Kansas, Arkansas and Oklahoma. Occasionally a hunting party would travel north to find and fell a buffalo. They would use the hide for clothing, and dried the meat in the sun, to use as trail food. They led a peaceful existence for about 200 years, in harmony with, and with great respect for, their resources. They worshiped those resources. Those Indians who were taken into the Osage society, stayed willingly. They were comforted by the reverent worship and kindness that the Osage society fostered. However, the Osage Braves were not kind if an Osage Indian Brave was killed, or an Osage village ravaged. The Osage warriors that retaliated were fierce warriors. They would kill all the men, take their horses, women and children, and assimilate them into the Osage tribe.
The Osage Indian tribe had a religion which, in general terms, describes the universe as we now know it. Their creator God, Wakonda, created the sun, moon, stars, all living things on planet Earth, including humans, and was in all those living plants, animals, soil dwellers, birds and fish it had created. All living things should be revered, because all of them were a part of Wakonda’s being. Giving every plant and animal a name helped to identify the recipient of their worship. Young men who wished to become warrior Braves had to have an Indian name. These teenage boys were told to go out in the woods, build a campfire, stay overnight, and choose an Indian name. A few days later, there was a ceremony, in which the Indian community accepted those boys as Indian Braves, guardians of the community. The place where those ceremonies were held was situated at the edge of the bluffs overlooking the Marmaton/Osage/Missouri River valley. That ceremonial site is still in use today, except it is now under the aegis of Scouting America. I was one of those candidates who wanted to be an Indian Brave in1945. This Indian ceremony is no longer performed. I am sure the topography of the land below has changed dramatically from that time when I first saw it, to the way it looks now.
I had discovered that ceremonial meeting place in 1945, a large circular space with wood benches and a central firepit, when exploring the campgrounds. You could see the sun glistening on the Marmaton River in the valley below. In the distance, there was a brace of trees, marking the site where the Marmaton joined the Osage River. Far in the distance, hazy bluffs appeared, marking the other side of the Missouri River basin. All of the land from these bluffs to those bluffs, was fertile river bottom land, great for growing crops, unless it flooded. If the floods came, wiping out most of the crops, there was not enough produce to last the winter, and the Braves were out hunting small game. Otherwise, it was paradise on Earth.
Then the white men and women came, settled on their land, and claimed it was theirs. These white men were not driven away by Indian raids or the number of scalps taken. More of them came, settling on their lands. They brought smallpox with them, a disease to which the Indian people had no immunity. Thousands of Indians died from that disease; small Indian villages were wiped out by those epidemics. The Indian nation, which lived in reverence of and in harmony with their world, collapsed. They were unable to fight off the deluge of white settlers who came in to take over their sacred hunting and fishing lands, their croplands and sacred meeting places.
These white settlers also brought with them a strange archaic religion called Christianity. Their hero, Jesus, they believed, was a God on Earth, who performed miracles, healing the sick, walking on water, coming back to life after being sacrificed by nailing him to a cross, where he died. He was placed in a burial site, covered by a rock. After being completely dead, he came back to life and was able to have a last supper with his disciples before ascending to heaven, to sit at the right hand of the Almighty creator God. This mythology system was copied from Mithraism, which co-existed with Christianity for some 200 years. When the emperor, Constantine, became a convert to Christianity, and designated Christianity as the official religion of the Roman empire, Christians felt emboldened to act. They drove the Mithra priests out of their temple, looted the temple for anything of value, and set up Christianity as the religion of that temple, calling it the Vatican. It is still known to this day as the Vatican, and is the center of the Catholic religion, worldwide.
That Indian ceremony no longer exists, under Scouting America, but I can describe the one that I took to become an Indian Brave in 1945.
I sat by the campfire I had built pondering what my Indian name should be. Nothing came to mind. Suddenly, a larger log fell into the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air. One of those sparks seemed to be brighter and last longer than the other sparks, before it burned out and its ashes fell to the ground. “That’s it! I shall be known as Brave Flashing Spark!” Hmm, I thought. That is not very brave or courageous. Perhaps I should choose another Indian name; but none came to mind, and Flashing Spark just would not leave my head. So the next day, when I reported back to the camp director, who I would later know as the great Chief, and he asked me what Indian name I had chosen, I said, without hesitation, “I want to be known as Brave Flashing Spark.” “Hmmm, that is a most interesting name.” There was a slight pause, then he said, “Flashing Spark it shall be.” Neither I nor the Great Indian Chief knew how prophetic that name would be, over 70 years later.
A few days later, we were, about a dozen of us, led down that same path to that ceremonial meeting place, at the edge of the bluffs overlooking the valley of the Marmaton, Osage and Missouri rivers, single file, wearing only loincloths, until we reached that tribal meeting place, where we were arranged in a circle around a roaring campfire. Since I was last in the single file of Indian Brave candidates, I was now the first candidate Brave just past the entrance to the ceremonial grounds, on the right side. The great Chief stood on an elevated platform, three candidates down from me, waiting for us. Suddenly, behind my left ear, there was loud Indian whooping, and three Braves rushed in. I jumped, startled. The Braves went directly to the great Chief, and the lead Brave said, “Oh great Chief, we saw one of the boys jump when we came in.”
“That not good”, the Chief said “.Indian Braves must remain calm and composed when faced with startling events. Go out and come in again.” The Braves went out and came in again, whooping loudly. This time, no one of the Brave candidates moved a muscle, including me. The Braves went directly to the great Chief. “Oh great Chief, we saw no one move this time.” “That is good. Let the name ceremony begin.”
The lead Brave went to me, as the first in line, bent over and scooped up a small amount of sandy dirt. He put it in a horn cup and his assistant Brave poured in a liquid which foamed as he poured it in. The lead Brave handed the horn to me and said, ”here, drink this.” I drank it without hesitation. The lead Brave then went to each boy and repeated that same process of drinking sandy foaming dirt. Then the lead Brave came back to me and said, “Go kneel before the Chief.” I did as I was told. The great Chief then laid his scepter on my left shoulder, and said, “From this time on, you shall be known as Brave Flashing Spark.” Then the boy next to me was told to go kneel before the great Chief: “ From this time on, you shall be known as Brave Bounding Deer.” The second and third boy followed. “From this time on, you shall be known as Brave Leaping Squirrel.” “From this time on, you shall be known as Brave Gliding Owl.” This continued until all the young Braves had knelt before the great Chief and had received their Indian names. Then the great Chief spoke, “You are now Braves of the Osage Indian tribe. The Great god, Wakonda, is now inside you; its spirit will give you strength as you fulfill the tasks of an Indian Brave. You will defend us fiercely if we are attacked. You will fiercely protect our women. You will become mentors and guides for our children. Now go, in peace, to perform these tasks in our tribe.” The ceremonial Braves led the way down the same path that led back to the campground. This time, I was first in line of the young Braves heading back to be the protectors and guardians of our people. We were all proud to be Indian Braves. I did not realize the full significance of that Indian name, or of that ceremony, until some 70 years later.
I was at the Ohio theater listening to the Columbus Symphony Orchestra play Ravel’s piano concerto in G, with a guest piano soloist. I closed my eyes and let the music carry me away. I found myself floating up above the orchestra on the right side, near the rococo ceiling. I could look down to see the orchestra sections coming in and out as they announced themes and played with them, tossing them over to other sections, like a bouncing ball, then tossing the theme over to the piano soloist, who played that theme in full. Then I was floating out in the universe, seeing flashes of blue and red light. I suddenly realized that I was just a flashing spark in the universe, here for one minute piece of space/time and gone the next. Whatever I wanted to leave as a legacy to guide humans in the right direction, I had better get it down in clear, understandable words soon. I had work to do. I floated back to my seat, numb and tingling, but having a peace and equanimity I had never experienced before.
The current estimate of the universe’s existence is 13.8 billion years. How much longer it will last, no one knows. To the best of our knowledge, this universe runs on the laws of chance. We find no evidence of a personal deity who is favoring any certain group of humans over another. We find no evidence of a deity who gives a divine edict that a certain piece of land belongs to a certain group of humans on planet Earth. We find no evidence that a human body can fully die for several days, then come back to life. Judaism, Christianity and Islam are built upon this mythology which their followers have accepted as truth. Unfortunately, the cruel, vindictive, destructive pole of these mass religious psychoses is on full display in our world today. These religions are leading us down the path of suicidal extinction.
There is a path that humans can follow if they want their species to live for a long time on this planet. They can follow the path of true ethics. That path is for them to develop and display a profoundly deep respect for all other humans, and all other life. Every bird in the sky, fish in the sea, plant or animal on the ground, worm, bacterium, fungus in the ground, deserves our deep respect. We should manipulate this other life only in ways that we must, to increase our chance of survival on this planet. The Osage Indians had it right: we should hold other humans, and hold all other life, in deep reverence.
If humans choose that ethical path, Flashing Sparks, other than me, will lead the way.