Sacred Nínaiistáko

by Richard Seifried

Signal Hill Musings

May, 2008

Signal Hill is a remarkable place where we are privileged to live.  Jean and I have seen the orbs flashing in the night darkness, sensed the ancient ones who lived here so long ago.  Yet, our home ridge is not, as far as we know, a sacred place, but most certainly is a mountain possessing spiritual energies.

Recently I have, at night, heard four knocking sounds on walls within our home.  They are the same noises that were so prevalent – and sometimes frightening – at our home in Norman, Oklahoma.  Apparently “something” has once again found us.

Despite what I have just written, Jean and I, like many of you readers, choose to consider such experiences as being scientifically explainable.  However, science just hasn’t gotten around to it.

We have been at the special sites in and near Sedona, Arizona, but although others do, I felt no supernatural spiritual forces, no energy surges.

Such is the case almost everywhere else.  We receive glimmers of something spiritual but can’t really say that we have been blessed with contacts from other dimensions, other mystical forces.

Chief Mountain is one exception.

That is what we non-natives call the great sedimentary rock, posing at 9080 feet in elevation, on the extreme eastern edge of Glacier National Park in Montana.  The Blackfeet name is Nínaiistáko, Great Chief, the sacred dwelling place of God, however one perceives the Creator.

Chief Mountain is part tribal land, part national park.  Somewhere on the lower heavily forested slopes, the Blackfeet have a cemetery (like the one shown in the epic film Jeremiah Johnson).  Non-natives are encouraged to stay away.

When explorer Henry Stimson and a Blackfeet friend first summited it in 1892, they discovered bison skulls and other ceremonial trinkets, obviously placed there by early Native Americans. The mountain clearly has been important to them for many, many years.

When I would drive north from my duty station at the St. Mary Visitor Center, I would always pull off to gaze at the magnificent prominence.  Although I appreciated the awesome spiritual presence of Nínaiistáko, I can’t honestly say that I never felt anything other than respect and a sort of humility for the Blackfeet holy mountain.    

But, others have.

Every summer that I worked at Glacier, I would make it a point to drive north to Cardston, Alberta, located just north of the U. S. boundary.  The Canadian customs official would inquire of me, “Why are you entering Canada?”

I would simply respond, “I’m going to get a cup of tea at the store (a little service station-restaurant-souvenir business).”  He’d then wave me on.

I liked the elderly people who ran the place.  Obviously, they were English – and the only time I ever drank tea with milk.  Wonderful.  The last time I was there, the gentleman was filling my car with petrol, and we both were looking to the west where Chief Mountain rose off of the plains.  Both spoke of the beauty of Nínaiistáko.

The storeowner was telling me how enchanting the holy mountain was.  Then, he began, “One morning I looked over at the mountain and I saw . . .”

His voice cracked.  I looked at him and tears were running down his cheeks.  He was sobbing.

He didn’t need to finish his sentence.  I more than understood. Yes, now I do feel, sense, the sacred mountain’s spirituality. 

How privileged I am.