Dust swirled through the air as the sun was setting, tucking itself beneath the black hills near Rapid City, South Dakota. We must have looked clueless as all of the men circled around the women who circled around the children, all dancing to the beat of a drum. The high pitched moans of the Lakota drummers were ringing through the smiles and laughter of us all as we clumsily ran into each other. We were united, all together in one Spirit.

It was a celebration.

I shed tears that night. Knowing the filthy history between our tribes, and feeling guilty about the way our brothers and sisters were treated. It was difficult to keep my head up. But those feelings were overshadowed by the kindness of these people, the Lakota, who welcomed a bunch of strangers into one of their most sacred traditions.

It was a Pow Wow.

As the dust shrank it’s way back to the ground after our group dance, the real dancers were called to the center and we all watched in awe of pure beauty. The dancers wore colorful suits with tassels and beads. One kid had a homemade outfit made of ripped bedsheets and shirts. They were spinning and jumping and ducking and looking. I may not know much about dance, but I know when something is so