by Makaya Jensen
Contributing Writer, In5D.vip
These Seven Grandfather Teachings are not just lessons. They are the bones of a life well lived, passed down from my grandfather’s quiet voice, from my mother’s patient hands, from the long line of those who walked before me. They are not just for one person but for everyone, woven into the land itself. The animals carry them, moving through the world as reminders, waiting for us to listen.
Wisdom and the Way of the Beaver
My grandfather used to sit by the river, watching the beavers work. He would say, “See how they move? They do not rush. They do not waste. They take only what is needed and use it well.” Wisdom is like that. It is not about knowing everything but understanding how to use what you do know.
The beaver does not fight the river, it shapes it, knowing when to build and when to let the water flow. I think of my grandfather’s hands, rough from years of carving, steady in their work. He never spoke just to hear his own voice. He waited, he listened, and when he did speak, his words carried the weight of rivers.
Love and the Vision of the Eagle
My mother had the kind of love that stretched beyond just family. She would leave food out for stray dogs, gather medicine plants not just for us but for anyone who needed them. “Love isn’t small,” she would tell me. “It doesn’t stop at blood.”
The eagle knows this. It flies high enough to see the whole picture, not just one piece of it. Love moves the same way, reaching past what is easy, past what is comfortable. It holds even the broken, even the difficult. My mother loved like the eagle, with wide wings, lifting prayers where words would not do.
Respect and the Offering of the Buffalo
My uncle would take me out to gather wood, teaching me to thank each tree before we took a branch. “Nothing is just for us,” he said. “Everything we take, we owe something back.”
The buffalo understood this. It gave everything so the people could live—its meat for food, its hide for warmth, its bones for tools. It did not take more than needed, and neither should we. Respect is seeing that all things have worth. It is how my uncle never left a piece of wood unused, how he taught me that even the smallest stone had a purpose. It is walking in a way that leaves the world better than we found it.
Bravery and the Heart of the Bear
When I was young, I watched my father stand up to a man twice his size. Not because he wanted a fight, but because someone smaller than him needed protection. “Bravery isn’t about being the biggest or the loudest,” he told me after. “It is about standing firm when the moment calls for it.”
The mother bear does not hesitate when her cubs are in danger. She moves, no matter what stands in her way. Bravery is like that. It is not about the absence of fear, but the refusal to let fear decide for you. My father’s hands were not fists—they were steady, sure, and ready when needed. That is the kind of strength I try to carry.
Honesty and the Truth of the Raven
I remember my grandmother looking me in the eye when I tried to lie about breaking her clay bowl. “If you cannot be true with small things, how will you hold the big things?” she asked. Honesty is like that. It starts small, but it builds the foundation for everything else.
The Raven, with its sharp eyes and sleek black feathers soaring through the forest, does not pretend. It caws its truth without hesitation, never shrinking or puffing up—it simply is. To be honest is to be like that, to live in a way where your heart and your words match. My grandmother never had to raise her voice. She lived her truth so clearly that just being near her made you want to do the same.
Also see: American Indian Teachings: Teepee In The Water
Humility and the Song of the Wolf
My older brother was always the strongest of us, but he never bragged about it. When we played, he let me win sometimes, but not always. “You are not less than me,” he told me once. “And I am not more than you. We are only as strong as the pack.”
The wolf understands this. It does not need to be the leader of everything. It moves with the others, knowing the strength of the whole is what keeps them alive. Humility is knowing that we are all part of something bigger. My brother still carries that lesson, never seeking the spotlight, always making sure no one is left behind.
Truth and the Path of the Turtle
My great-grandfather lived past a hundred years. His stories stretched back to times before cars, before electricity, before the world moved so fast. “Slow down,” he would say. “Truth does not rush.”
The turtle has walked this earth for longer than we can count, carrying wisdom on its back, moving steady and sure. Truth is like that. It does not shift to make things easier. It does not hurry to please others. It waits, firm and unshaken. My great-grandfather told his stories slow, letting each word settle, because truth is not something to be thrown around. It is something to be lived.
I remember my grandmother looking me in the eye when I tried to lie about breaking her clay bowl. “If you cannot be true with small things, how will you hold the big things?” she asked. Honesty is like that. It starts small, but it builds the foundation for everything else.
The Raven, with its sharp eyes and sleek black feathers soaring through the forest, does not pretend. It caws its truth without hesitation, never shrinking or puffing up—it simply is. To be honest is to be like that, to live in a way where your heart and your words match. My grandmother never had to raise her voice. She lived her truth so clearly that just being near her made you want to do the same.
Related: Animal Symbolism, Totems And Dream Analysis From A To Z
These teachings do not sit alone, separated like books on a shelf. They are woven together, like the hands of my family guiding me through the years. They live in the stories told by firelight, in the quiet moments where the wind carries an old lesson to those who will listen.
If you want to walk with them, start with the small things. Listen like my grandfather before you speak. Love like my mother, without limits. Respect like my uncle, taking only what you need. Bravery, honesty, humility, and truth—they are not just words. They are the steps of those who came before us, waiting for us to follow.
Also see: Native American Animal Symbols Of The Zodiac
The earth does not forget, and neither do we. These teachings are in her breath, in her rivers, in the way she holds us all.
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About the author: Makaya Jensen carries Cherokee, Lakota, and Hopi roots, raised on elders’ tales and learning from all Native American teachings about the earth’s spirit and the star family calling from above. He’s walked his life guided by those voices, pulling wisdom from the beaver’s quiet patience, the eagle’s wide view, and every tribal lesson, always gazing up to where his kin flicker. Sitting by a river or under that vast sky, he feels the Creator in rustling leaves and far-off stars, rooted in the soil and reaching beyond. What he’s soaked up, truth from the turtle, respect from the buffalo, he shares with anyone who’ll sit and hear, keeping the breadth of Native wisdom alive.
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