Cre8pc says no topic is too strange or taboo at Akesana, so I decided to tell the story about how I became known as “Dancing Thunder”. Everybody thinks it’s an odd tale, but it is a true story, so here goes.
Sometime around 1993 I began having a series of dreams in which I was meeting my lover in a secret place in the mountains somewhere in the Carolinas of the United States. Ever since I can remember, I “felt Indian”. My ancestors are Cherokee. My grandfather told stories of a Cherokee woman in our family tree who married a French Canadian. In my heart, I always felt like I knew her, but of course, there was no sharing this with anyone.
In my dreams I was running off to see my lover. We’d meet at a certain rock that jutted out from the edge of a hillside thick with evergreen trees. From our meeting spot you could look out and see the valley below. It was incredibly beautiful. There were no houses, no buildings and no people anywhere. My lover was a tall Native American man. He was older than me and wise. I never understood why we seemed to be hiding. I did, however, get a sense that he was a warrior and in some of the dreams I was saying goodbye to him. I sensed that there were wars against the white man at that time and I was caught up in love with a man who fought them.
As the dreams continued, I began to “remember” bits and pieces about the Trail of Tears. I remembered the dread and agony of saying goodbye to my home. In my waking state, during this time, I had tremendous urges to go to the mountains. I live near some and would often drive out to be in them. On one such trip I was driving along the highway and a huge thunderstorm rushed in. Lighting was everywhere and to my surprise, I could hear a sizzle of electricity near my rear view mirror. I believed the mountains had a message for me.
In my dreams, I learned my name was “Timid Thunder”. I loved this name! It described me perfectly! I’m very shy. I’m not comfortable around people unless I know them. But, if I come across anything unjust or unkind, I develop such fury. I can rebel and spin on a dime when I or someone I love is threatened.
Months of these dreams turned into years. By the time I got AOL and a computer, sometime in 1994 or ‘95, I was used to them. I had grown my hair long and studied Native American spirituality, metaphysics, and read everything I could on karma and reincarnation. Because by this time, as you may have figured out, I thought I was remembering a past life.
In those days, it was unusual to use your real name in AOL chat groups and places where like-minded folks gathered to discuss topics of interest. I had joined many spiritual and metaphysical groups to meet people from around the world who were also exploring and asking questions about religion, dreams, eastern traditions and so forth. I used the name “Timid Thunder” as my computer name.
That is, until my online friends got to know me! Before long, I was teased for the “Timid” part. It was clear I could be the “Thunder” part. I loved feeling like I had a dancing soul…free, non-judgmental, open minded, and oh, yes….loving laughter and sharing new ideas, no matter how ridiculous they may sound at first.
One day someone emailed me with a scolding that included the sentence, “And, by the way, you are in no way TIMID Thunder! You need to change your name to what you really are!” And with that, I switched it to “Dancing Thunder”.
The name became mine for years. Even my family stopped calling me by my birth name and called me “DT” or “Dancing Thunder”. All my friends at home and especially new friends called me Dancing Thunder. It was a name that just felt perfect.
In time, the dreams stopped. I kept my studies going and to this day, anyone who knows me is aware of my love for all things Native American. I connect, somehow, with the strong Cherokee woman who was respected by men and honored in her later years as a wise ancestor.
For now I am older, and while I no longer search for my lost lover and mourn my homeland, I am proof that a dancing heart lives on forever, lifetime after lifetime.
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