Martha

The young woman lay dying in a pool of blood along side the lonely stretch of Illinois prairie highway. "Áápikiááyo! Áápikiááyo!" she screams. "I love you, Áápikiááyo!" Two-thousand miles away in the wilderness of the Bitterroot Mountains a Blackfeet brave grasps his chest, sits down on the ground and begins to sob. His name . . . . Áápikiááyo.

Martha was the youngest daughter of Robert and Ruth Standish who were second generation settlers in western Montana. They had a ranch on the high plains just east of the Lewis and Clark mountain range of the northern Rocky Mountains near the little town of Cut Bank. On a clear day they could make out the mountains in the distance. Cut Bank was right on the eastern edge of the Blackfeet Reservation. Martha had many Blackfeet friends, which made her extremely prejudice parents angry. They wanted her to spend her time with her "own kind." Nevertheless Lowa, a Blackfeet girl Martha's age, was her best friend for many years. Martha knew Áápikiááyo, Lowa's older brother, and somewhere over time they fell in love.

Martha became pregnant by Áápikiááyo. Her parents attempted to have him arrested but Martha warned him and he fled with the last words spoken to each other, "I love you. I will find you." To avoid disgrace, Martha's parents sent her back east to a "home for wayward girls" where she gave birth to a little girl whom she wasn't allowed to hold, see or name. Shortly after giving birth, Martha sneaked away from the home. She started waiting tables in road houses to make her way westward. Martha had sent a letter to Áápikiááyo's sister, Lowa, telling her that she was on her way and would be there as soon as possible. Martha never arrived.

Martha's child was given to a good couple in western Pennsylvania who did love her. They knew nothing about the child except that she was the illegitimate child of a white woman and Indian man. Not knowing the child's mother's name, the couple named the girl Martha. The couple, innocently but ignorantly thinking that they would spare little Martha the shame of her background, never told her the truth. Young Martha never felt at home among the Aryans of Pennsylvania. It was not just that she had dark hair and beautiful mahogany skin with very native american features but she never felt at peace.

Áápikiááyo became a recluse. A nomad, he moved up and down the Rocky Mountains living in a small tipi in the wilderness. He would occasionally go into town where he would look for Martha.

Several years later Áápikiááyo ran into a shaman named Áípi . The shaman understood Áápikiááyo's pain and helped him learn to live with the pain. Áápikiááyo learned the ways of the shaman from Áípi and soon became a sought-after medicine man himself. He tended to stay in the Bitterroot Wilderness and along the Salmon River where people would journey for days to seek his wisdom and remedies. Throughout his life, however, he never stopped looking for Martha and would call out her name in his sleep.

Young Martha went to college at the University of Wyoming. When asked why a Pennsylvania girl would go all the way to wild Wyoming for college she would reply that she felt called. There was no way that she was going to explain the sense of connection whenever she saw or read something about the west. Who would believe her if she tried to explain the feeling deep in her gut that told her she belonged in the west. She had never been there but she grew up with the sense that the west was her real home. There was also the ever nagging feeling that there was something more in her life. This feeling didn't dissipate when she moved to the Rockies, so the west wasn't her 'something more.' On the contrary, the feeling increased when she moved west. Whatever it was, it was still out there for her to discover. Whatever it was, it was in the west.

At the University Martha enrolled in a class in Native American culture. The first day she sat next to another young woman with dark hair and skin. The classmate looked at Martha and, without introduction, said "you're Niitsitapi, aren't you." Sometime later, when recalling her first encounter with Áápiinikimm, who went by Abby, Martha would say that, although she had no idea what Niitsitapi meant, she felt "a lifting in my soul as though some curtain had been lifted and light flooded in."

Abby and Martha became fast friends and Abby helped Martha develop her Native American identity. When the Christmas break came at the university Martha had nowhere to go. Abby took her home to the reservation where she met Abby's family. Abby's father was Áípi.

Áípi felt a shock when his daughter introduced Martha. He immediately thought of Áápikiááyo and Áápikiááyo's search for the white woman, Martha. This girl was neither white nor old enough to be the Martha for whom Áápikiááyo searched, but there was something about her that made his nerves tingle.

Martha quickly became a part of Abby's family. Áípi gave her the nickname of Pokááattsistaawa - baby rabbit - because despite the strength and courage it took for her to leave the comforts of eastern United States and travel, as a single woman, to the wilds of Wyoming, she was as timid as a baby rabbit and Áípi could sense that she was equally as frightened. One evening, while sitting around the fireplace in the log cabin Áípi had built, Áípi told the story of Áápikiááyo. Martha began to cry. She could feel Áápikiááyo's pain. She could feel Áápikiááyo's beloved Martha's pain. Áípi said nothing but could not help but wonder if Pokááattsistaawa had some connection to Áápikiááyo. She was experiencing the most vivid understanding of his pain. It was as though she were physically sharing it. But how could that be? She was Niitsitapi, not white, and much too young. Besides, she had no prior awareness of Áápikiááyo. This was the first she had heard of him. He watched in sad compassion as Martha cried. "I don't know why," Martha kept repeating through her sobs. Abby, who was comforting her friend, looked at her father. Áípi didn't need words or sounds. The look shouted 'help her, father!'.

Áípi stood up, gently put his hand on Martha's head, and said "I will try to help." With that he left the cabin and walked to a spot on the side of the mountain where he always went to meditate and think through problems.

"Where are you, Áápikiááyo?" he spoke to the sky. "Where are you, and what is your connection to this i'nákaakííkoaiksi? (little girl)" He had no more said this than he was filled with the sense of a tremendous anguished cry. He held his head and looked around expecting to see the forest around him violently shaking. Back at his cabin Martha's sobbing became so hard that she was gasping for air.

I must find him, Áípi thought to himself. He withdrew from the world around him and entered a trance state trying to keep his mind clear as he watched for signs of Áápikiááyo. Áípi had known from many years of experience what science was just beginning to seriously study, viz. we are all one with and in the universe. Quantum scientist call it entanglement. It confronts not only scientist but humanity with a new reality. We begin to see that "at a level of reality deeper than the ordinary senses can grasp, our brains and minds are in intimate communion with the universe."₍₁₎ Áípi already knew this. For centuries the white man had made fun of the shaman but now the white man's own science, time and again, confirmed what Áípi had practiced his entire life. Áípi didn't know anything about quantum physics but he did know that his spirit animal, Omahkapi'si (the wolf), would help him find Áápikiááyo. And while so many, afraid to explore anything that might be contrary to their belief system, scoffed at Áípi's way of life, their own scientists were discovering that "Minds are entangled with the universe, so in principle minds can non-locally influence anything, including a collection of other minds or physical systems."₍₁₎ Áípi would sit quietly and do what scientists had observed and were replicating and analyzing in sterile laboratories as though it were something new, strange and bizarre. Some scientist from George Mason University wrote "... however strange or bizarre it might seem, ... all of physical reality is a single quantum system that responds together to further interactions." (2) Áípi would have laughed. It isn't new. Áípi would have worded it differently but it was the truth that had been passed down to him from unknown generations before. We are all one and he could reach out to Áápikiááyo in his mind and turn to Omahkapi'si to lead the way.

After some time Áípi began to sense his friend in pain. As he concentrated he could feel both physical and emotional pain. Both were great. The emotional pain was greater than he had ever felt in his friend and the physical pain was excruciating. Áápikiááyo was badly hurt. Áípi could almost hear his friend call out the name "Martha". "Where are you, Áápikiááyo?" He began to see the vision of mountains and a monument. He concentrated intently and finally recognized the place as Chief Tendoy Monument by which he had traveled many times. Áápikiááyo was somewhere near the monument and he had to take Martha there. The snow would be deep but the road should be passable.

Áípi returned to the cabin. "We need to talk," he said to Martha.

"I know," Martha replied. "He's asking for me."

Abby looked shocked. "Who's asking for you?" she demanded.

"Áápikiááyo," Martha looked at Áípi. "He's hurt, isn't he?"

"Yes, I think so," Áípi answered.

"Will someone tell me what's going on?!" Abby was becoming frustrated.

"Áápikiááyo isn't just a story I tell," Áípi turned to his daughter, "he is a real man."

"Somehow he thinks I'm his Martha and wants to see me," Martha added. "But he's hurt."

"He's somewhere near the Chief Tendoy monument in Idaho."

"We have to go," Martha addressed Áípi. "We must find your friend."

They loaded up Áípi's old truck with everything they could think of that they might need and headed west on US-26. It would be a long circuitous road through a corner of Yellowstone National Park, Jackson and on to Idaho Falls where they would catch Idaho State Route 28 north to Tendoy. It would be a trip of at least 285 miles. Between the age and condition of his truck and the possible snow on the roads, Áípi figured that the trip would take them close to six hours not counting any stops. It was too late and too dangerous to start out at night, so they waited until early morning to leave.

As the three pulled out onto the highway and turned west Omahkapi'si was standing in the snow across the road. Áípi stopped the truck. Focusing on the great wolf Áípi thought "I am going to need you, dear friend. Please help me." Omahkapi'si lowered his head, turned and disappeared into the snow covered sage brush.

Martha looked at Áípi. "An old friend of mine," he said with a smile.

The trip was mile after mile of snow covered roads, thru mountain passes and along the Snake River. Jackson was the first town of any size they encountered. They bought gasoline, coffee and stale donuts and pushed on. The old truck, which was almost as old as Abby, chugged along without missing a beat as though on a mission. Áípi loved his old truck even though it got horrendous mileage. He hoped that he had enough room on his credit card.

They had to go into Idaho Falls and take Interstate 15 north for a few miles. This made Áípi very uncomfortable. Besides not being accustomed to the heavy traffic and high speeds he didn't like cities. Idaho Falls, a small city by eastern standards, was far too big for Áípi's liking. It made him feel closterphobic and he was happy when they passed through Mud Lake and turned north onto Idaho State route 28.

It was snowing heavily as the trio pulled into the Chief Tendoy Monument. The snow was too deep to pull into the parking area so Áípi did his best to pull over enough for other vehicles to pass. They sat and look at the extense of white and green that surrounded them. The trip that had taken then eight hours and ten minutes was the easy part.

"Where do we go from here?" asked Abby.

"I have no idea," Áípi admitted.

"What?!" his daughter exclaimed.

"I'm trusting Omahkapi'si to guide us."

"Father," Abby's voice almost sounded like a parent scolding a child, "you know that I respect your belief in your friendship with wolves but you can't seriously believe that one is going to come and show us the way."

"Yes, he can," Martha almost whispered.

Abby followed Martha's gaze. There, not far from the tree-line, was the largest wolf Abby had ever seen. It stood looking at them. Áípi got out of the truck and saluted the animal.

"Will you lead us to Áápikiááyo?" Áípi addressed Omahkapi'si with respect.

The majestic Omahkapi'si dipped his head and turned toward the forest.

"Please, brother," Áípi called after him. "We are not as well adapted as you. We must prepare." The wolf turned and waited.

Áípi and the girls dawned their parkas and backpacks. One carried food, one carried medical supplies and the third carried camping supplies. Putting on snow shoes, and giving Martha a super-quick lesson on how to use them, the three headed toward the patiently waiting Omahkapi'si.

The snow hug heavy on the limbs of the trees which were, at this elevation, mostly lodgepole and larch with the occasional spruce. Omahkapi'si was very patient with his slow human followers. He would run a short distance then sit and wait. The three of them trudged along silently concentrating on the steep climb and lost in their own personal thoughts.

Abby had always had a great respect for her Father's traditions and proud of him being a shaman, but she had never believed much of what he said, especially the part about talking to Omahkapi'si. Now she was witnessing the truth. Her father was intimately connected with Omahkapi'si. This wild animal communicated and understood him, and was now leading them through the forest.

Perhaps communication wasn't the right term. Áípi didn't need to speak. They didn't seem to need to be near. There were no normal channels for the flow of information. It made Abby think of an interdisciplinary course she had taken involving physics, psychology and information technology. The discussion had turned to the current research and debate around quantum physics and psi. There was strong evidence that something exciting was going on and it included quantum physic's entanglement and psi's telepathy. Although, to quote Einstein, it was a bit "spooky", the evidence was strong that there is a connection between all sentient beings that could account for what is known as telepathy. Here Abby was witnessing such a connection, such a communication without the use of any of the "normal" methods of communication. How did this wolf know that they were coming?

Martha too was amazed at Áípi's relationship with Omahkapi'si but her mind was mauling over why this Blackfeet shaman wanted so desperately to see her. Did he think she was his lost Martha? Did he think that she was an incarnation? Abby had decided that she was Blackfeet, but she had never been west of Pennsylvania until she left there to study at the University of Wyoming. This man was a shaman. He was a seer. Did he know something about her that she needed to know? She ignored the pain in her legs from walking in the awkward snowshoes. This enigmatic man was becoming more and more important to her.

It was beginning to grow dark when they saw a tipi. There was no smoke coming from the vent and no signs of life. Omahkapi'si stood to one side as Áípi moved as fast as his snowshoes would allow for the last fifty yards or more. Quickly removing his snowshoes and instinctively standing them in deep snow, he started digging his way into the tipi. Martha and Abby we right behind.

There was no light in the tipi, nor was there a fire. With Áípi's flashlight they could see a man. His long, heavy salt-and-pepper braids hug down over the blanket that was pulled up to his chin. Martha could just barely see his face but it seemed extremely familiar. Abby looked from the man to Martha and gasped.

"Get a fire going, Áápiinikimm" Áípi barked. "Martha, bring me the first-aide kit."

The girls sprang into action. The man was awake and talking to Áípi in a language Abby recognized as Blackfeet - one of the Algonquin languages. Soon Abby had a fire going and the cold tipi began to warm. Throughout this time Martha could not really get a good look at the injured man.

Áápikiááyo pushed Áípi aside so that he could see Martha. "Is that Martha?" he asked Áípi. Áípi nodded. If Martha had been looking at Áípi instead of concentrating on Áápikiááyo she would have seen the tears running down Áípi's face.

Kneeling down at Áápikiááyo's side she got the first really good look at him. She began to cry. She knew why she was to be here. It was like looking into a mirror.

"Child," Áápikiááyo took Martha's hand. "I am your Father. Your Mother was taken from me when she was carrying you in her womb." He paused as he fought back his tears. "She sent a letter to my sister, Lowa, saying that you had been taken from her as soon as you were born and that she was coming home. One night I heard her scream my name. She never arrived. I searched for her for years. When, in my anguish, I called out her name you responded. That's when I knew that you existed and that you carry your Mother's name. And you are beautiful, like your Mother. The infection in my leg is very bad. I may not survive. But you came. You fulfilled your Mother's promise. If I die, I will die happy because my Martha is home."

Crying tears of joy and sadness Martha lay down next to her Father and put her head on his shoulder. Now she knew that she was home. Now she knew that 'something more'. It was her Father and her heritage.

REFERENCE

(1) Radin, Dean. (2006) Entangled Minds: Extrasensory experiences in a quantum reality. New York. Paraview Pocket Books.

(2) Nadeau, R., and Kafatos, M. (2001) The Non-local Universe: New Physics and Matters of the Mind. Oxford Univ Press.