To my Tiwa family, everything means something. Every sign, symbol, occurrence, event, and element in their surroundings has meaning. The wind blows out of the south, that means something. The weather warms up considerably, that means something else. A deer crosses the road in front of your car, that means something. A pebble on the hiking path causes you to trip, there's a message for you from the stone, the old one. The elders in my Tiwa family live in constant interaction with life and all its elements. It's very different from the way most of the rest of us live, which (by contrast) might even be characterized as half-asleep. I count myself among the dozing folks, so it's not a judgment. It's HARD waking up and staying awake to everything, recognizing everything as having some symbolic or sacred importance and honoring that. It takes every ounce of focus, and leaves me almost no time to check my email or fluff and buff so I look presentable, blog, make calls on my cell phone, even just zone out and go stupid for a while. This being aware all the time is exhausting if you're not conditioned to do it. And I'm not conditioned to do it.

For example, I recently caught a bad cold. No big deal, right? You stock up on tissues, get some cold meds at the drugstore, push the fluids, take some naps. You spend your waking time imagining productive uses for the gelatinous stuff you're exporting into the tissues: could be bottled and sold as an industrial lubricant, used for glazing outdoor furniture, road resurfacing, whatever. That's how I do it, anyway, under normal conditions.

But enter my Tiwa dad, who tells me to listen to this invasion of bacteria, viruses, whatever these ornery little buggers are. Which means I'm not supposed to suppress the symptoms, or I won't "hear" what I'm supposed to hear. "You maybe learn something," he says. The maybe part meaning: if I can get past the fact that I'm so stubborn, willful, set in my own ways, generally inept at decoding the Universe, etc. And get this: he has his own health challenges, and yet he sees them as part of his sacred journey. As teachers. Shapers and strengtheners. Challenges not to be overcome, but to be understood and appreciated so that he can receive all the gifts they offer. Life companions, in some cases, sent to him to have a positive effect on his growth and evolution that could not be attained in any other way. This, I think, is faith beyond measure.

So back to the everything-has-meaning thing: let's take another example. It snowed a foot overnight and is still snowing hard today, last day of winter. What does this mean? To me in the mundane world, this means I don't know if I can make it down the mountain and all the way to Denver for a gig tomorrow, even with four-wheel drive and good snow tires and chains. To my Tiwa grandma, this means winter is not ready to give the world over to spring yet. Seems obvious enough, but then I have to report that winter means more than just a season to my Tiwa grandma. It is about growth at a level beneath the conscious, germinating things under the surface, increasing personal wisdom, drawing down and getting still and quiet, gaining strength and tenacity as a result of the physical challenges inherent in winter. And developing certain skills and attributes. If winter is not ready to give the world over to spring yet, then somehow, we haven't quite completed our current tasks. Grandma has a set of stories that are only told in the winter. They contain meaning and lessons so subtle that they can whizz right by you on the tremor in her high-pitched voice and you can miss them. If that happens, you have to wait another cycle around the medicine wheel before you can try again to get their meaning. To the Tiwa, the winter is the perfect and only time for certain lessons. Certain songs, certain rituals, certain stories. If you get a cold and it snows a foot and a half, that means something about your particular journey around this segment of the medicine wheel. If you miss the meaning, you are doomed to repeat the same lesson again and again. And make everyone else immediately around you wait for spring, in some cases. Or fail to grow through the cycle and be stunted, thereby not fulfilling your role in the tribe in a timely way. Think about that in the global sense. Talk about responsibility!

Now, back to the conversation with my dad. The Tiwa consider it rude to be asked a direct question, in most cases. So, I said to my dad, "If you have any ideas about what this cold is trying to teach me, I'd love to hear them." (Because I really wanted to hurry up and get it figured out so I could take a decongestant and some other things so I could stop coughing and sneezing and get some sleep.) To which he replied, "Maybe if I had a cold, I would know. But I don't have a cold. You do."

Time to wake up.