TheBanyanTree: Listening to the Stone - kinda long

[Russ Doden]

Listening to the Stone

Last night I finally started the process of making a couple 
sacred pipes once again.  I have been a member of the  Keepers 
of the Sacred Tradition of Pipemakers for some time now but 
have not made a pipe for over a year.  I have made maybe 10 
to 12 sacred pipes, but had put my tools aside for some reason.  
I have had a two pound block of pipestone sitting there for 
over a year, waiting. Waiting for what I didn't know.  I also 
have several good sumac wood branches (regular sumac, not 
the poisonous variety) to use for stems. 

Over the last 6 months I have been trying to figure out how to 
cut the stone up, to make the sacred pipes it held.  I wanted to 
make 3 pipes out of it.  There was enough stone for 3 but for 
some reason that just didn't seem right.  The little block of 
catlinite (pipestone) kept telling me it was 2 pipes.  I know 
better than to argue with the stone after making several pipes 
now.  I argue anyhow.  Maybe that was why I hadn't worked 
on this block of stone for a while.  We were not in agreement.  
My "cheap" side wanted to make as many as possible.  My 
more aware side said listen to the stone.  

I may have been waiting for myself to settle down enough to 
listen to the stone again.  My mind has been . . . distracted.  
My mom has been in and out of nursing homes and hospitals, 
and my business has been . . . doing poorly, and I have been 
exploring myself.  Now my mom is better than she has been in 
months (maybe years) and my business is showing signs of 
recovery.  Maybe I had to go through that bleak time in order 
to be alive again.

Last night the time "felt" right to start the long slow process of 
turning stone and wood into a sacred pipe.  I gathered my tools 
and went out on the side patio.  Ick.  It was hot out there.  
Another record high temperature had been set earlier in the 
day.  That makes several record high temperatures already this 
year.  I'm not a fan of being overly hot.  I decided to sit on my 
front step and work on the stone.  It is in the shade there in the 
afternoon.  That turned out to be an amusing decision for 
several reasons.  

I sat holding the stone, listening to it one more time before 
starting to work on it.  I gathered my white sage and smudged 
my tools, the stone, and lastly myself.   Sitting there I felt the 
texture of the stone, and opened my mind to see what the stone 
would tell me.  It is good stone.  

I had marked it a while back where I was going to cut it.  
Cutting could be done with a rock saw. In fact the whole 
process could be speeded up a great deal using nothing but 
power tools and pre-formed jigs.  I prefer other methods.  My 
only concession is a power drill.  The drill us used to drill 
holes where the saw blade has to make 90-degree corners and 
to drill the holes for the stem and bowl.  The holes in the block 
of stone allow me to make the cuts to free the pipe form.  Two 
small side by side holes are drilled per corner.  Then I chisel 
out the stone between the two little holes so a hack saw blade 
would go through.  Then comes the cutting of the stone with a 
hack saw blade.  Slowly the blade slides through the stone, 
creating the first rough shape of what will become a sacred 
pipe.  

As the rough shapes started to break free of the stone, a feeling 
of appreciation crept over me.  Appreciation for the history of 
these pipes.  They have been called peace pipes for many 
years, mainly because when the white men made treaties with 
the Native Americans, the pipe was almost always smoked.  
They didn't understand that the pipe is smoked when any major 
decision or word-bond was to be made.  There is much history 
behind these pipes, not only in North America, but in many 
parts of the world.  I know I'm but a distant faint echo of those 
who have made these pipes before me.

As I sat there holding the two pipe blanks, I felt them start to 
stir.  They told me of things I had forgotten as well as things 
that I needed to be reminded of.  I sat there, covered in red dust 
and sweat, and listened for a while.  Then it was time to drill 
again.  I looked at the stem end and the bowl top, seeing where 
to make the holes.  Nearly always, I "see" where to start the 
bit.  A "pilot" hole is drilled down the length of the stem 
toward where the bowl will bottom out.  This is a long hole, 
nearly as long as the drill bit. The way I do it, all of the drilling 
is done "free hand" as to me that is part of the making of the 
pipe.  For this task, I prefer to not use modern technology, but 
to ask for guidance from a higher source.  As the drill bit 
slowly goes into the stone, I seem to drift into a state of being 
the "observer" rather than the one doing the work.  The drill bit 
goes in deeper and deeper, until it is up to the jaws of the drill.  
In fact, the last half inch the bit had to be just barely held in the 
jaws of the drill in order to reach in "far enough".  Is it going 
where I wanted?  That is up to the spirit of the stone and the 
real maker.  Then the pilot hole is drilled down through where 
the bowl will be.  Again, this hole is drilled "free hand."  As 
has happened so many times before, the two blind holes meet.  
The bottom of the future bowl, and the end of the stem are now 
one hole through which the smoke will pass.  

I sat there with two pipe forms in my lap.  I felt the stone, the 
sharp edges, the crude shape, and the texture of what was to 
be.  Red dust was everywhere.  This dust . . . speaks of . . . 
change to me.  I sat there saying a prayer of gratitude to All 
That Is for using my hands and guiding the drill.  I know I'm 
little more than a tool, just as the saw blade, the drill and bit, 
and the other tools to yet be used are.  Later a rasp will be used 
to begin shaping the block of stone into a rough shape of what 
it will be.  The stone will guide the rasp just as much as the 
rasp will wear away the stone.  It is a cooperative process.  For 
me it is a time to observe and learn.  Then files remove the 
rasp marks, then finer files, then sand paper, then steel wool 
until the stone is shaped and smooth.  Somewhere along the 
line, the bowl will be enlarged to the size and shape it is to be.  
The same applies to the stem hole where the wood stem will fit 
into the stone bowl.  The wood for the stem will be shaped by 
hand tools and fire when it is time to form it.  Each stem is 
made for that bowl, and that bowl only.  They fit together, their 
shapes conforming to each other.  

It may take only a few weeks to finish one pipe, or it may take 
several months.  This is not something one rushes through.  
One listens to the stone and the wood.  It is a time of learning 
as much as a time of making.  It is a time of being in gratitude 
for every experience and there are many experiences during 
this time.  Feeling the stone change shape and becoming 
smooth, feeling the wood do the same, feeling yourself 
echoing these changes.  

While I was working on this, some neighbors walked past and 
stopped to visit.  Some couldn't understand why I would do 
this using just hand tools instead of doing it fast with a variety 
of power tools.  They said I could do the whole thing in a few 
hours with power tools.  I said I needed to feel the changes. 
Some understood, some didn't.   One person was walking past 
and stood in the street watching a bit.  I could "see" he had 
Native American heritage.  He looked younger than me, but 
not by much I would guess.  He finally came up and sat on the 
grass watching, not saying anything.  I hadn't seen him before.  
When I said hello he said was visiting a friend that lives in the 
condo complex where I live, and needed to take a walk.  Then 
he asked me how long I had been making sacred pipes.  When 
I told him several years, he asked who taught me.  I told him I 
just "knew" how to do it at some point.  He nodded his head 
and sat there holding one of the stone pipe blanks.  He asked 
me what nation I was part of, and smiled when I told him, "I 
am of no nation.  I am not of any direction, I am not red, white, 
yellow or black."  This is my standard answer now when I talk 
to many people about these things. These colors the colors 
often associated with the four directions and also happen to 
match the 4 races of humankind.  He looked into my eyes and 
said, "You have much wisdom.  I am the son of the son of a 
leader of my people, but I now am nothing.  It is good to see 
that some ways continue on.  It is good to see that others, even 
those who say they are without blood (meaning Native 
American heritage) know the old ways."  There was a sadness 
in his eyes, and at the same time there was something else, 
something I couldn't place.  He rubbed some of the red dust 
from all around me between his fingers and smiled.  He 
reached out and marked my face with the dust, and said, "You 
have blood, or you wouldn't know these things."  With that he 
stood up, and walked off.  I don't know if I will see him again 
or not, but I hope he comes by as I sit and shape the stone and 
wood, and listen.  

As I sit here, I can't help but wonder, was he really there, or 
was he something from another place, another time.  All I 
know is that I was shaped and changed as much as the stone.  

Russ Doden
Crystal Heart
April 2006