The following poem was written by a lady who decided to take on the roll of a helper at the sundance of 1997. You may want to read this over at different times for a complete understanding of what she felt.
Drenched in sweat, bent in fatigue,
They crawled from the mother's womb.
Like squirming infants glazed and wet
Left bare in a birthing room.
These men I love, each heard the call
And trusting elder's ways,
Had starved and purged to purify
In a process of four days.
I watched in awe from midwife's role,
The gift of fire to tend,
I ate their food, I drank their drink
Its strength, I was to send.
What visions bloomed, what words emerged,
While held in Spirit's grip?
I longed to know what their eyes show,
But silence claims each lip.
Then deep within, with humor's twist
As if coyote told,
A voice rolled words like thunder drums.
I felt my blood run cold.
Sweat and purge till truth pours out,
A price you have to pay,
When nothings left but Spirit's cup,
You will find The Way.