In many of my past writing journeys here, I speak much of growing up Dineh’—about the uniqueness of the culture I come from—about the sacredness of ceremonies and the brutality of the government boarding schools. I speak of life and living within the horizon that is my universe. I want to speak more on the beauty and the magic that makes my own life as an artist.
The wonders that began within my hogan, my landscape, my passion of family. I want to speak on my three wonderful daughters—my ultimate muses.
I want to know I carry that sense outside of my familiarities. The radiance emanating from within is so profound, that beauty is all around indeed. To trip into “love” around every corner of our town is proof that life is still very full.
I spent the summer falling in and not totally out of love. These are the days to treasure. I spent this summer traveling with songs of love upon my lips as wondrous mountains, mesas and lakes passed into more of what makes the heart cry with joy. I spent this summer rediscovering the beautiful art of putting pen to paper and writing love letters with substance.
The pouring of the heart’s content in all of its truth gave me much salvation and pain so delicate. There were many rediscoveries, within and without. I spent the summer carrying pink envelopes and postage stamps. Does anyone do that anymore?
These compositions of wonder do not occur by happenstance. That is why there is lavender tones and tortured writers and painters. As of this writing, I have a rib out of place. I am pained, and so earned.
But enough of that, I want to speak of my three beautiful daughters.
In my search for that defining beauty (Hozho), I look to my own wonderful children I helped bring into this world. I see and know them as the most profound treasure of lives being lived in the light of our beaming. Last night I dined with two of my daughters and this piece of writing was inspired between pieces of pizza. In my eyes, I have three very talented and beautiful warrior goddesses.
They each possess passions that will do them a great deal of justice in life. Passion for the Mother Earth, passion for the arts and their culture(s). My son Dante has the same quiet warrior stance for love of music. He is my only biological son and, of course, I see much of me in him. The other young man I call “son” and he calls me “Shi’zhe’e” (father) is Daniel. I gave him some years of my life and the love of family is never lost on him.
In time of great trouble and humility, they tell me we have what many families do not, and that is a sense of the Begay love circle. Needless to say, we are very proud and honored parents. We are glad to have raised them in both cultures of the arts, as well as a sense of their placement in the heart of their Dineh’ traditions, though their mother is Tohono O’odham and their maternal grandfather is of German and Hessian descent. We raised them in various national parks and that was a good thing, as I was a ranger for a decade.
It is in these early years that they learned and knew not to step on cryptograms and to love the Earth as Mother, to sprinkle corn pollen into the new day, as well as rollerblade Central Park and speak urban tongue through Rez eyes. I see them as the children of the Rez world as well as the world as we must all be. In the knowledge of the placement of their umbilical cords embraced by the Earth allows them to feel home anywhere in the world.
The eldest of them is Enei and she is a passionate eco-warrior. Through the years, I’ve seen her bloom into a young lady with gestures and vocabulary for nature, especially the water that courses the veins of Mother Earth. Once, as a child, she was introduced as Shonto’s daughter, now that is reversed and it’s only right. Beauty, brains and passion is the superpower she possesses directed in the protection of this planet, this continent and especially this land we call Dinehtah’ (Navajoland). She has brought the world of beautiful, like-minded allies to our doorstep. I can only paint pictures. I am in awe of her between my brush strokes. She has graced me with three strong and smart granddaughters. Home for them is now Fairbanks, Alaska.
Another perk in my own travels. I was 23 when we brought her home. So delicate and tiny. Reina is my middle daughter and she is probably most like me and therefore we butt heads at times, but very briefly. She is fire. She turns the mirror back onto me at times. She has the most compassionate heart for her grandmothers. She has had many adventures and misadventures and knows the terrain of that world as I believe I once did. She has given me much advice and sometimes I took it to heart—a very intelligent young lady in her own brand of organic knowledge. I see my own maternal strong grandmothers in her features—an avid reader and quite a chef.
My youngest daughter is Shonri, who is a quiet and reserved one. A quick learner and a future medical doctor. She lives very full in colors and imagination as I was and am. She spent parts of the year in Alaska with her eldest sister’s and nieces. She went to Paris years before I did. She visited Jim Morrison’s grave, I hear. There is much to laugh at with her. In spite of her quiet demeanor, she is quick to laugh, and laugh heartily.
We traveled together into the great Northwest where she was a student at Evergreen State College. We drove a 1980 El Dorado Caddy which was an adventure in itself. The great Northwest. Someone once said that this might be what it feels like living inside a salad bowl.
So yes, when I am asked where the true source of my inspirations comes from, I say my three beautiful, strong, smart, witty and loving daughters. Just like their mother. Just like their grandmothers.
