The parable of cedar fever

Last night I had a dream that the a-tsi-na tlu-gv had split into two families. One was the family of sweet aroma and warm fires. This was the tree of our ancestors, the tree of balance and memory, the tree of patience and contemplation. The other family was born of excess and chaos. This was the cedar of consumption, the cedar of fevers and swollen sinuses, the cedar of brash action and willful ignorance. In my dream the cedars lived side by side. Each knowing the other was simply a reflection of the earth they grew from. The two families remained separate, but shared the bounty of the soil, the messenger wind, and the radiance of the sun. The people knew that it was the cedar that was causing the great pounding in their head, the burning behind their eyes, and the exodus of mucous but they could not discern which tree belonged to which family. So they cursed all cedar trees, forgetting their creator and the rebirth of day and night, forgetting themselves, forgetting their fallen ancestors. They were no longer able to see their part in its duality. The culture of now had closed their eyes, their minds and spirit. A great war was declared on the cedar. The people set about girdling every tree. They tore the skin off and poured salt into the wounds. They burned them in vast fires and poisoned the land to kill the roots. When they were done the sky was dark, the land covered in ash, and toxins reached deep into the soil. The animals had run away. They had no plants to eat. It did not take long for them to realize what a terrible mistake they had made. They sought out their fathers and their father’s fathers for counseling. They gathered at the ancient sacred places and asked the creator to bring back the sun and the animals, and the plants that they eat. They listened as their fathers and mothers chanted old songs nearly lost to their memories. They waited. The creator considered his children and though they had done immense wrong the creator loved them and so it was decided that the earth would be restored and that the a-tsi-na tlu-gv families would be combined once more. This new tree exploded with pollen in winter to remind the people of the war on themselves. It was hardy and plentiful, but it made poor fires and bore little fruit. And so it was that the cedar became the tree of our ancestors and the tree of fevers and tears. In my dream, a tradition was born. Each time a person sneezed it was a reminder of the cedar trees, the ancestor, and the two families; and anyone who heard them would say bless you to give thanks for lessons learned and for a forgiving and loving creator.