When I was a child, life was rather angry in our home. Abuse was still a ' family ' thing that wasn't talked of and left to the discretion of family members and choices, police only became involved if someone was dead or dying. In an era when Cowboys and Indians were the popular past time of young boys, I secretly admired the Indians version of life, although openly admitting it was not wise, as being an Indian during games was a death sentence, just like in the movies. Us " White Folk " never lost, except of course in the Custer epic, but no-one ever wanted to play that scenario. Abuse was as common then as now, the difference was that we just weren't aware, as it didn't make the news, there was no "Oprah " and unless it was a family member, it was just gossip. I can see in hindsight, Spirit moved then to help us as it does now. My grandmother had given me a book about a young Native American boy, describing in detail his growing up in his family, the trainings he received, and the skills he was expected to learn. I learned right along with the character in the book, I lived near a large woods growing up, and use to scurry off early in the mornings to spend the day there, being a young Native American, from the suburban neighborhood I returned to in the evenings. Abuse can be a painful thing; welts, bruises, and achy bones, even to a new body of a child that can heal quickly, but as most kids, I wasn't about to let it stop my joy and desires to play in the Earth's abundance. As the boy of my book, I learned to run through the trees, up and down hills, to walk silently through the woods without snapping twigs and making sounds that could give me away to my imaginary enemies. I learned how to befreind the animals with patience and trust, to get them to eat from my hands, and to watch them unobserved, to stay downwind, and observe what they ate. I learned to catch fish with my hand, to cook them and feed off the land, as the Great Spirit provided. It was great fun as a boy, and only now do I see how the Great Spirit was watching over even a little ' white kid ' from suburbia. Sometimes the beating from infractions of perfection was more severe, a little too much " Mommy Dearest " gone wild. After such episodes, I would sit in my room awaiting release into the woods again, and think of the boy in the book, what would he do? I often thought of running way and living as he did, but even to a little man like myself, it didn't seem plausible to do so. Abused kids are really adults in small bodies, trying to appear their age, and act ' normal ' as to avoid detection. One day I was hurting badly from an episode of too many unfolded clothes in my drawers and my closet being a ' pig pen ' because my pants were not crease to crease, zipper closed, and there were dirty ones on the floor. After an early release, I hopped onto my bike (horse) and headed for the woods. It was a bad day, I was hurting physically, and to spite the beauty of a summer day, I just could not muster the energies for play or even a smile. It was just one of those " I don't know if I can do this anymore " days and feelings. I reached into my medicine bag, an old marble case, and pulled out some herbs I had gathered, and went to the creek to get some water, built a small fire, and made some healing potion. I made a drink from dandelion roots, and what I now know to be American Ginseng, and clover, having gathered them from illustrations in my book. It tasted like dirt with a hint of sweetness from the purple clover, but medicine wasn't supposed to taste good back then. I turned to look at that creeks water moving in rapid ripples down to an unknown horizon where my mind followed it to places I dreamed of that would be brighter and nicer than these. My skin was stinging still from the slaps, me ears hurt from the untargeted fury, and my heart was breaking from the idea of being so bad as to deserve this. I just sat there staring at the water moving. In its own way, I could feel it call to me, drawing me closer to it, then I felt my mind let go of everything except the call of the water, and I chose to answer it. I stripped off all my clothes and walked out into it. The water caressed my feet and sent waves of hope into my body of relief and a promise of healing. I followed my heart into the water until I was lying in it fully, only my little head above its current. I thought of how every night I prayed to the God I was taught, God of love and mercy, and it made me feel empty and alone. I then thought of the boy, and his Father teaching him of the Great Spirit, and the Great Mother that cared for his people, fed them, and taught the ways of the Earth, and living in harmony. I lowered my face into the running waters, leaving only my nose out to breathe from. I felt light, soothed, and let my body sway to the motion of the water. I could feel the welts going down and the pain running off with the current, my head and aching ears were being massaged by unseen hands that brought peace of mind and feelings of being caressed by a Great Mother of warmth and compassion. This is what I had hoped for deep in my little heart, a feeling of being surrounded by love, every crevice and every atom. The water and I became one flowing motion, I was as much a part of this surrounding as the water, rocks, and fish swimming about me, wondering what this new thing in their home was. I layed there submerged for what seemed hours, until all the pain had been swept away, and when it had, I wanted to get up, but I stayed at the request of the Great Mother, until my mind was a child's again once more, until the heavy thoughts had been cleansed by the water as well. I finally stood up, letting the sun bathe me now, feeling her warmth and energies filling me with joy where pain had been, seeing my body reflecting in the waters eye, welts gone, bruises unaching, and a boy that had become a boy again in some magical moment from unseen hands that touched only a pure heart. What the water had not healed, the sun was. I looked again into the water to see myself, different somehow, but the same, a boys body with the eyes of a man. In the water I had been given a gift, perhaps this was the 'vision' I had read about, not a vision as in a dream that seemed real, but vision - period. Eyes that saw healing from a spirit that loved us as God was suppose to, heals us, and restores us to our beautiful unjaded selves. I returned to my healing potion, and thought of catching a fish for my hungry stomach, but somehow didn't want to take life from the waters that had just returned mine to me and made me feel so alive again, I was smiling. So, I turned to the magical bologna sandwich I had brought, and downed it with my dirt drink. I was full, happy, and renewed. As I rode home that afternoon, I looked to be just a boy on his bike. I was different though, very different. I had been shown the way to a world where magic occurs, healing was available for the asking. While in the water, I just ' knew ' I was not bad, nor did I deserve the things that occurred all too often, to far too many kids. I also knew that from that day on the Great Mother was now my Mother, and the Great Spirit was the Father that I would honor, and that was the way it was always going to be for me, and is until this very day. I knew that when I returned home, it would be the same, and I was ' in for it ' for having stayed gone so long. This time though, there was no fear, and no anxieties, because now I knew that there was a loving spirit out there that could heal me, renew me, and bring me the hope so many of us give up on and accept the ways of others insanities as ' normal ' in our minds and hearts. I was somehow free in a way that I had never felt before, and alive in a way that I had not been since I was born. It hurts my heart to see the Earth being polluted as She is, knowing the wonders we are spoiling and devastating, but I also know that she will cleanse herself of these things, and us in the process. This was my journey into healing as a boy, and others out there are finding their healing in their own way, their own woods, and in their own minds and hearts. It is there for the asking. I am now an elder by age, and see now that I was tapping into the energies that the Native Americans have left for us to hear and to use, a journal written in the wind, etched into the terrain, in every tree, plant, and brook, with even the stones holding the energies and wisdom of the ancients and their ways of the Earth and Human living in harmony for the benefit of both.In the waters that day, I learned that all creation, in all its forms will reach out to a Human Being, to heal, help, or just to let us feel loved and cared for, it seeks only a pure heart.