In Service to the Land:
Indigenous Research Methods in the Natural Sciences (Abridged).
Vol. 2, No. 1a, October 2016

NOTE: This paper was presented to the annual meeting of the American Indigenous Research Assocation on October 23, 2016. This text on this page is an abridged version prepared for, and delivered, without slides in a 30-minute time slot. The complete version of the paper, with images, is available here.

In Service to the Land: Indigenous Research Methods in the Natural Sciences (Abridged)

Dawn Hill Adams, Ph.D.

Tapestry Institute Occasional Papers, Volume 2, Number 1a.

October 24, 2016

To cite this article: Adams, Dawn Hill. 2016. In Service to the Land: Indigenous Research Methods in the Natural Sciences (Abridged). Tapestry Institute Occasional Papers, 2(1a). http://tapestryinstitute.org/occasional-papers/in-service-to-the-landindigenous-research-methods-in-the-natural-sciences-vol-2-no-1a-october-2016/

When Lori Lambert asked me to talk about my experience in science as a Native woman, I asked myself “What do I wish I had known, going in, that could have prepared me for the hidden obstacles that face a Native person in science research?” I decided it’s not the “how-to” of the concrete ways I applied Indigenous research methods to my work. It wasn’t actually hard to apply Indigenous ways of knowing and learning to my work. Like you, I do it in my regular life. So of course I do it when I teach, and of course it’s how I approach my research. It’s second nature.What I wish I had understood is how deeply Western science was going to resist my methods, and how relentlessly it would try to change them. And . . .  I wish I’d known why. Because this is the key to realizing you can’t fix the problem. What looks like a stone you can dislodge with a bit of effort when you trip over it is actually the visible tip of a buried mountain.

Let me give you an example of how serious the method problem really is.

Margaret Hiza, a Crow geologist doing climate research for the United States Geological Survey on the Navajo Reservation, recently wrote: “The truth is that the USGS is just an old-fashioned and rigid government institution that doesn’t see it’s own inability to think outside the box. Add to that that I work in Native American communities in part because they are more susceptible to climate change, and I am sometimes construed by fellow USGS scientists as a liaison. It has been hard for me to gain recognition as a scientist because I chose to work on climate change studies and include local knowledge in what conventional USGS scientists would see as unscientific. This is not an intentional or deliberate act of discrimination, it is just the inability of people in mainstream science . . . to understand what I contribute to the science dialogue.”[1] Given that science has been inviting us to bring our diversity to research for over 40 years now, this is deeply troubling. Why are we invited to bring diversity of method to research when it isn’t really accepted?

In the mid-1970s, I worked as a curatorial assistant in museum exhibits in the Museum of Natural History at the University of Kansas. One of my jobs was to care for specimens on display, including a stuffed horse named Comanche in the museum’s “American Indian” hall. At that time the label on the display case still described Comanche as “the only survivor of the Battle of the Little Big Horn,” which of course he wasn’t. And that particular hall was a strange place for him to be, in a case next to a really sacred ceremonial shirt that I tried not to look at straight on. So here I was, a young Choctaw woman, and this was my job, and it was pretty weird. But that’s not why I’m telling you about it.

The important thing is that there wasn’t most of that horse there. Inside the moth-eaten, slightly threadbare skin were some of the bones – the skull and the legs, in places where the skin normally lies very close to the bone and has to have that kind of support in a mount. But the rest of the horse was wire and wood and paper. That horse was kind of a tent stretched over a frame, going by the name of the horse that used to be Comanche. Its heart wasn’t there at all. Nor was the heart of what had happened at Greasy Grass — or in any of the other places represented by the exhibits on that floor.

This is an issue in every museum. You can learn a lot from fish preserved in alcohol and bird skins stuffed and laying in specimen cabinets, because they don’t run away. But they are NOT fish and birds any more than the mount of Comanche is a horse, and they are not kept in a sacred way that preserves any of their power. In gaining the ability to make things hold still to be observed and measured, science loses the heart of the matter.

Science knows this happens. Physicist Werner Heisenberg demonstrated nearly 100 years ago that the position and the velocity of an object cannot both be measured exactly, at the same time, even in theory. Further, he wrote: “It seems to be a general law of nature that we cannot determine position and velocity simultaneously with arbitrary accuracy.”[2] You cannot extrapolate directly from the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle to the notion that you can’t research how a bird sings in the wild and measure its exact wingspan at the same time. But it’s still true that doing one thing costs you being able to do the other thing. In gaining the ability to measure a wing, science loses the song. So, many scientists choose not to use rigid methods of testable observation, but instead use methods that seem very much like those of Indigenous science. And none of them has to fight for their colleagues’ respect. Let me give you four important examples.

Harvard paleontologist and evolutionary theorist Stephen Jay Gould,[3] president of the American Association for the Advancement of Science in 2000, proudly asserted his non-use of the scientific method, saying he used a variety of methods to reconstruct a “unique and complex” history of life on earth that is  ontologically non-reproducible and non-testable.[4] He insisted that a dogmatic view of anything, including scientific method, blinds innovation, writing: “Science is not a heartless pursuit of objective information. It is a creative human activity, its geniuses acting more as artists than as information processors.”[5]

Albert Einstein “generally preferred to think in pictures, most notably his famous thought experiments, such as imagining watching lightning strikes from a moving train or experiencing gravity while inside a falling elevator.  ‘I very rarely think in words at all,’ he later told a psychologist.  ‘A thought came, and I may try to express it in words afterwards.'”[6] I should point out that the “words” into which Einstein put his ideas were frequently mathematical. Though Einstein’s ideas often generated testable hypotheses after the fact, most were not testable at the time for technical reasons. The recent detection of gravity waves just finally confirmed Einstein’s theory of space-time a hundred years after he published it. [7] Does that mean the physics community did not accept Einstein’s work on space-time as valid until now? No. Because despite textbook claims to the contrary, science is not actually bound by the so-called scientific method.

James Watson and Francis Crick figured out the structure and function of DNA, for which they won a Nobel Prize, by manipulating a model made of tinker-toy like pieces to puzzle out how the various atoms could be arranged in space in a structurally stable configuration. The final key to the puzzle was information from an X-ray crystallographic image of DNA taken by Rosalyn Franklin — whose lab supervisor, Watson explains, stole her work and gave it to Watson and Crick to help them. Watson faulted Franklin for this, explaining she was so hopelessly bound by the scientific method that she was unable to use creative methods like tinker-toy models, so could never have solved the problem of DNA structure herself.[8]

Finally, the chemist August Kekulé made a breakthrough by understanding that carbon compounds are shaped like circles rather than lines, an insight he gained from dreams or visions he had when working on the problem in the 1860s. In one dream he saw a snake swallowing its tail, and in the second he saw atoms dancing in a circle holding hands.

A list of the methods used by the scientists in just these four examples gives you an idea of the real diversity of Western science’s epistemic system. It ranges from standard methods like the scientific method and testability, observation and logic, on one end, all the way through model-building, story, thought experiments, and then dream way over on the other end. This matches well enough to the methods of Indigenous science that it literally doesn’t make sense for Indigenous science students to be told “you have to use the scientific method in your research because that’s how research is done,” or for Indigenous scientists to have a problem getting their work published, being taken seriously as a scientist by colleagues, or even experiencing actual career sabotage.

I knew about the epistemic diversity of science by the time I got to Berkeley. That’s why when they gave me a fellowship for Native students that was intended to increase diversity in the sciences, I immediately began to apply Indigenous methods. When I was instantly told in no uncertain terms that I needed to use only positivistic, testable, objective observation – that the scientific method was literally the only valid way of doing of research – I was therefore shocked. When I countered with examples like the ones I just gave you, I was told: yes, some scientists use these methods in their research, but those scientists are geniuses; the scientific method is the only appropriate epistemic system for non-genius scientists.

As I thought about this response, I realized there does seem to be some sort of connection between the more creative methods and genius in Western science. Einstein was a genius. Watson and Crick copied their modeling system after Linus Pauling and Watson wrote “only a genius of his stature could play [with tinker-toys] like a ten-year-old boy and still get the right answer.”[9] Gould said it’s geniuses who do science as an art. And I wondered if it wasn’t that only geniuses could use these methods . . . but if it was using these methods that was so brilliant — if the methods were what powered the big breakthroughs. But that insight just made the situation more puzzling, because you’d think scientists would be all over themselves trying to copy the methods of brilliant and successful scientists.

Over the years as I’ve continued to struggle with this issue, I’ve realized it’s confusing because the problem of epistemology isn’t really about epistemology itself. It’s rooted in the ontological view of reality that is the foundation of a culture’s epistemic system. So let’s look at ontology in Western and Indigenous science. I’ll use the example of generational trauma to do this, since that’s something that interests a lot of us.

The way generational trauma works is basically this: A person experiences trauma, which causes neurons and other cells in the body of the traumatized person to produce certain biochemicals. Those biochemical trigger a whole cascade of effects in the body, the way one thing leads to another in that old “mousetrap” game. At some point the chain reaction causes a molecule made of one carbon and three hydrogen atoms – CH3, which is called a methyl group – to attach itself to the nearest DNA molecule. Such DNA is said to be methylated. Of course, many methyl groups are produced at the same time when this kind of thing is happening, so many DNA strands in many cells wind up with methyl groups attached to them after a traumatic event.

Normally, DNA is copied by RNA, which carries the DNA’s information out into the cell. There, this information is used to build proteins, enzymes, hormones, and all the things that make up a body’s structure and function. But if there is a methyl group glommed onto a DNA molecule, that part cannot be copied by the RNA; it’s blocked. The proteins, enzymes, or whatever should be manufactured from that part of the DNA cannot be made. So it’s said the gene that piece of DNA codes for for has been “turned off.” If genes we need are turned off and we cannot make the things our bodies need to function properly, the result can range from depression and anxiety to cancer or heart disease. If the genes that get turned off happen to be in an egg or sperm cell, any baby that grows from them will inherit a methylated DNA strand with a turned-off gene. So then the effect of the trauma gets inherited.

The idea that all human structures and functions are produced by molecules that are manufactured inside cells, by copying the instructions coded into DNA, is a foundational concept in biology. It’s called, for real, The Central Dogma. The Central Dogma draws an arrow of control from DNA, to RNA, to the production of every molecule responsible for body, brain, emotion, creativity, language – everything a human is capable of doing or being. The Central Dogma, indeed science itself, sees all these things as determined by genes. The Central Dogma is therefore materialistic, assuming life is entirely matter. Even language, creativity, and consciousness are seen as biochemical and biophysical processes acting on the molecules of cells. The Central Dogma is also reductionist, which means it sees big things like consciousness as the product of processes that occur at the level of atoms and molecules.

Epigenetics doesn’t change anything about the Central Dogma. It simply adds a little extra onramp into the system. Epigenetics explains how an external stimulus – something outside a body — can cause changes inside the body, in the DNA. The mechanism is that chain-reaction sequence of biochemicals I described. So epigenetics is still about matter, cells, and molecules. It is still materialistic and reductionistic.

Please notice that cells are the lynchpin in all this: cells are what have DNA in them, cells actually do the manufacturing of proteins, enzymes, and other biochemicals, cells transmit chemical and electrical signals, and so on. The Central Dogma is therefore based on an even more foundational idea in biology, called the Cell Theory. The Cell Theory states that all cells come from pre-existing cells, that all living things are made of cells, and that all the functions and actions of living organisms are explainable in terms of cell structure and function. Because the Cell Theory is the foundation of The Central Dogma, it is also the foundation of Epigenetics. That means the whole idea of generational trauma, which is in many ways gratifying to us, exists completely within the notion that every living thing is made of cells and that all the functions and actions of living organisms are explainable in terms of cell structure and function. This is a strong expression of Western science’s ontology. How does it compare to Indigenous ontology? Let me ask you some questions.

If everything living thing is made of cells, then is a stone alive?

No. Because stones are not made of cells.

If the physical and chemical processes that take place in cells under the control of genomic expression are responsible for behavior, intelligence, and language, as stated by the Central Dogma and its materialistic and reductionist premises, then is it possible for a mountain or a stone, which do not have cells, to communicate information to someone?

No. It is not.

Crashing head-on into the ontological difference between Western and Indigenous science helps us really understand that Western science sees reality as material, and sees its processes as reducible to atomic structure and the physical and chemical processes that take place at that level. It sees all the structures and functions of living beings, including human thought, language, and creativity, as likewise produced by these physical and chemical processes inside the material cells that make up the body. As a result, Western science sees living things as completely separated from everything around them, with a very strong barrier between “inside” and “outside.” Every thought a person has, every dream, every vision comes from inside that person’s own body. THIS, incidentally, is why epigenetics is a big deal in science: it outlines a physical, mechanical, material mechanism by which events outside the body can come inside and alter it. But the process is still materialistic and reductionist.

Of course, this is not the ontologic system of Indigenous science as it’s generally described. Indigenous ontological reality is that everything – including stones, of course — is alive, and that we are in deeply connected relationship to everything else. There’s no “inside/outside” barrier in the Indigenous ontological system.

Now, let’s consider how this difference in ontology impacts method. In Western science, if a chemist has a dream that solves a problem, it’s because his subconscious mind was biochemically processing the data while he slept. The automatic program that produced a solution simply finished running during the sleep state instead of the waking state. Kekulé, for instance, suggested his dreams or visions of carbon molecules were the natural outcome of working on the problem for so many years.

In contrast, Chickasaw Linda Hogan wrote in Solar Storms, one of my favorite of her books: “But there was a place inside the human that spoke with land, that entered dreaming, in the way that people in the north found direction in their dreams. They dreamed charts of land and currents of water. They dreamed where food animals lived. These dreams they called hunger maps and when they followed those maps, they found their prey. It was the language animals and humans had in common. People found their cures in the same way.”[10]

So if we include ontology with epistemology, we can see that dreamas a method of acquiring information in Indigenous epistemic systems — IS NOT the same, ontologically, as dream as a method of acquiring information in the Western science epistemic system. We’re pretty clear about our ontology and where we think the knowledge in dreams and our other “creative” research methods comes from. Science pays attention to that. So now we start to see why science restricts our methods: it’s because of ontologic differences that change how we each see these methods.

There’s a second reason, also at the level of ontology, that helps explain why Western science restricts our use of Indigenous research methods. And it has to do, surprisingly, with Western religion. In the mid-1990s a very highly-placed person in the American Associate for the Advancement of Science warned me that a lot of science policy-wonks were worried Indigenous science would inadvertently open the door to conservative Christians trying to gain control of public policy and education in the United States. He cautioned me that Indigenous scientists needed to be extremely careful about what we said, especially in public. Like I said, scientists are hearing us way better than we think they are. Let me explain why the AAAS official said this.

Western religion, historically Judeo-Christian, is not materialistic or reductionist. Whereas in Western science, life is made up only of matter, in the ontologic system of Western religion, matter ranges from “not important” to “dead” to “not even real”. What’s alive is spirit, which is eternal and therefore ontologically real. In humans, and only humans, spirit inhabits matter like a hand in a glove. Things like art, story, and the wisdom that comes from dream or insight are seen as part of spirit, not matter, and therefore as coming from outside a person, specifically from God.

Notice that both Western science and Western religion see Inside and Outside as separated. So dualism is an important element of Western worldview, and very different from Indigenous worldview, in which there’s no separation of that sort.

The bigger point for our discussion, however, is how completely opposite the views of Reality are in Western science and Western religion. In one, life is matter. In the other, life is spirit. As a result, they’ve been in a power struggle over control of society for centuries, often violently. This continues today in two main arenas: creationism vs evolution and legislation to protect ecosystems. Creationists have been working for years to get the Genesis account of creation — in which humans are not biologically related to any other living things, and those things exist specifically for human consumption — into the textbooks of the public school system. The same general group works to block legislation that protects the environment because the natural world is material and doesn’t count; spirit, and the humans spirit occupies, are all that matters.

Science attempts to resolve competing truth claims about things like evolution and creation by encouraging the American government to establish public policy according to facts acquired through objective, repeatable methods of testing, transparently open to everyone, to make certain the information is correct. There’s the outline of the scientific method right there. So the scientific method is used to legitimate science and keep religion from gaining an upper hand in public policy.

The epistemic methods used by Western religion include things like individual experience, story, spiritual insight, vision, and dream. Those are the methods scientists do their best to disallow from public policy decisions, saying they do not produce reliable information. So when Indigenous people talk about using story, art, dream, ritual, and spiritual ways of knowing in our research, scientists get nervous. They feel like if they acknowledge and accept these methods from us, they will have to accept them from the religious groups trying to change public policy. Because science and religion are locked in such a deeply-rooted power struggle with each other, I don’t see a solution to this problem.  But one thing I am pretty sure of: I do not think we can heal that split in Western culture. We can only create a new space that some of those people can come join us in if they want.

Anyway, this is a second reason science resists most Indigenous research methods. It tells us the scientific method has always been part of our peoples’ ways so we feel we can use the method without sacrificing our cultural integrity. And since observation and trial-and-error testing is something we seem to have in common, that may seem fairly reasonable.

I have a story about that.[11]

Some young Native men were not doing so good with their elk hunts any more. They decided they’d be more successful if they did things the old way. So they started running to get their stamina up. They learned to make strong bows and straight arrows. They practiced shooting until they could put an arrow all the way through a target at a dead run. They became superb trackers and learned to slip through the forest in absolute silence. When it came time to hunt elk again, they were feeling pretty good about themselves. They took their bows and arrows and went into the forest.

But they didn’t see a single elk. Not even sign.

So they took some tobacco and went to the house of a local Elder who was known to be the best elk hunter in the community. They asked if he would come hunting with them the next day. The Elder agreed to go. So the next morning before sunup the young men waited outside his door with their bows and their arrows, eager as pups watching a kettle. Finally, mid-morning, he came stumbling out with his hair going every which-way and sleep in his eyes, and an old rusty rifle in his hands that looked like it might not even fire any more. “All right,” he said, “Let’s go get some food for the people.” And off he went, stumbling and crashing through the woods. The young men shook their heads and asked themselves what on earth they were ever going to learn from this guy.

Then they came into a clearing where an entire herd of elk had just been grazing. They’d heard the men coming and were already turning to run away. The young men whipped arrows from their quivers and started to run in pursuit.

But the Elder said, “Stop. Wait.”

The young men stopped. They turned to face him. He was an Elder, after all.

“Help me get up on this rock,” said the old man.

The young men looked at each other. They shrugged and helped the old man clamber up on top of a big rock at the edge of the clearing.

And the Elder started to sing. His voice rang through the forest, thin like an old man’s voice, but strong the way a wind is strong.The herd reappeared, and the women elk pushed three young bulls into the clearing. The Elder shot two of them with his ancient rifle. Then he thanked the elk for offering themselves and climbed down off the rock.

In Spirit and Reason, Vine Deloria wrote about the difference between rifles, arrows, and songs this way: “We have reduced our knowledge of the world and the possibility of understanding and relating environment to a wholly mechanical process. We have become dependent, ultimately, on this one quarter of human experience, which is to reduce all human experience to a cause-and-effect situation. As Indians look out at the environment and as Indians experience a living universe, relationships become the dominating theme of life and the dominating motif for whatever technological or quasi-scientific approach Indian people have to the land. Indians do not simply learn survival skills or different ways to shape human utensils out of other natural things. In shaping those things, people have the responsibility to help complete their life cycles as part of the universe in the same way they are helping people. Human beings are not above nature or above the rest of the world. Every species needs to give to every other species in order to make up a universe.”[12]

In calling tool-making and survival skills technological and quasi-scientific practices of Indigenous peoples, Deloria is saying: yes, these practices have gross similarities to “the scientific method”– but that this is not the part that matters. Relationship to a living world is the dominant motif of Indigenous worldview, and Deloria is saying that all the things we do that parallel the scientific method are done within that context of relationship — which fundamentally changes their meaning and power. Further, he’s saying that to see these things as somehow proving our people have always engaged in the scientific method reduces the core of who we are to a paltry one-fourth of what it is, always has been, and should remain for the sake of future generations who need its power.

After all, the elk did not appear simply because the young men used arrows instead of guns. They showed up when the man who knew the song came into the forest.

It’s not just our dreams that are ontologically different from Western dreams. Our observations — participatory, relational — are ontologically different from the objective, separated observations of Western science. The reality out of which we operate changes everything.

We all know the earth is in serious trouble. Sustainability is not about simply taking less. Sustainability is about living in mutual relationship so that the Elder’s people and the elk’s both thrive because of each other’s sacred actions and the song that binds them together. We understand that. Western culture does not. Reclaiming, restoring, preserving, protecting, and healing our relationship with the living land is essential for the survival of anything that’s going to make it through the process of destruction that has already started. We need the deer, the salmon, the beaver, the corn, the prairie dog, the mantis, the wren. And they also need us.

I think Indigenous scientists are potentially like the Elder who knows the elk song. Ed Galindo, who’s maybe here right now, I bet he’s in relationship with the Beaver people he rescues. I think Jane Mt. Pleasant is in relationship with Corn. For myself, I’ve integrated my knowledge of geology with Indigenous knowledge to find sacred places people don’t remember any more. I do ritual for them. They need it, you know? We Indigenous scientists serve the Land.

But you know, there’s that worry everyone has about “What happens when we lose the Elder knows the song of relationship with the deer?” Oren Lyons says “When we lose an Elder who carries a great deal of traditional knowledge, people say it’s gone: ’When she died, we lost it.’” Then he explains, “It’s not lost. It’s still there. It’s not lost at all.”[13]

The information passed down through the Elders, the songs and rituals and words, where did all that came from to begin with? It came from the Land. And the Land is still here. We can learn those things again for ourselves. And we need to, because the land is changing right under our feet because of climate change. The land’s got to give us a lot of new information, very quickly, and we’ve got to learn how to hear, how to understand, how to assess, how to test, and how to apply. And why do I think we can do that? Because we’re Indigenous scientists, for goodness sake! We were born to figure this out hand in hand with the Land!

Cherokee chief Wilma Mankiller said: “Every step I take forward is on a path paved by strong Indian women before me.” The path I am describing to you is the path our ancestors walked. But they walked it in a time of less serious challenge to the survival of everything, and they had more time than we do to figure things out. We need a new generation of Indigenous scientists to serve the Land – which serves everything, including our people. What we’re doing in AIRA matters a great deal. And it matters that we do it Indigenous. We also need a new kind of foundation that has the goal of serving the Land, that can get endowments to support this kind of research, and that operates within Indigenous worldview.

Linda Hogan wrote “. . . it is not that the ways are lost from us but that we are lost from them. But the ways are patient and await our return.”[14]

Let us return – and go forward — together.  Yakoke.


Footnotes to Cited References

[1] Margaret Hiza Redsteer, personal communication, June 3, 2016. Italics added by Dawn Adams. For more information about how Margaret uses narrative data in her research, see: Redsteer, M.H, Bogle, R.C., and Vogel, J.M., 2011, Monitoring and analysis of sand dune movement and growth on the Navajo Nation, southwestern United States: U.S. Geological Survey Fact Sheet 2011–3085, 2 p., available at http://pubs.usgs.gov/fs/2011/3085; and see also: Assessment of Climate Change in the Southwest United States. A Report Prepared for the National Climate Assessment. NCA Regional Input Reports. Angela Jardine, Robert Merideth, Mary Black, and Sarah LeRoy; Edited by Gregg Garfin. 528 pages. Washington, D.C.:Island Press
[2] Werner Heisenberg. 1927. “Über die Grundprincipien der Quantenmechanik” (“On the fundamental principles of quantum mechanics”). Forschungen und Fortschritte, 3: 83. (Italic emphasis added by author.) For more information, see: Hilgevoord, Jan and Uffink, Jos, “The Uncertainty Principle”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2016 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), forthcoming URL = <http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2016/entries/qt-uncertainty/>.
[3] A bibliography of Stephen Jay Gould’s books is available on this website: http://www.stephenjaygould.org/bibliography.html. Accessed Septemeber 25, 2016.
[4] Stephen Jay Gould.  1980.  The Panda’s Thumb:  More Reflections in Natural History.   W.W. Norton & Company, New York.  p. 18-27
[5] BBC News. “Acclaimed science writer dies” (obituary for Stephen Jay Gould). May 21, 2002. Available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/science/nature/1999341.stm. Accessed October 5, 2016.
[6]Walter Isaacson. 2007. Einstein: His Life and Universe. NY: Simon & Schuster. Quoted passage appears in Reference 4 for Chapter 2: “Childhood”. It cites material from “Vallentin, 17;  Einstein to psychologist Max. Wertheimer in Wertheimer, 1959, Productive Thinking, NY Harper: 214.  Antonina Vallentin.  1954.  The Drama of Albert Einstein.  NY Doubleday.”
[7] “Gravitational Waves Detected 100 Years After Einstein’s Prediction.” February 11, 2016. LIGO Hanford Press Release. (LIGO is Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory.) Available at https://www.ligo.caltech.edu/news/ligo20160211. Accessed October 15, 2016.
[8] James D. Watson. 1968. The Double Helix: A Personal Account of the Discovery of the Structure of DNA. NY: Atheneum. 226 pages.
[9] Op. cit., p. 69.
[10] Linda Hogan. 1995. Solar Storms. NY: Scribner, pp. 170-171.
[11] This story was shared with me, and I was told I could share it in this paper with you as I have. The original teller approved this version and asked that I not “credit” him, as he saw no need in this situation.
[12] Vine Deloria, Jr. 1999. Spirit & Reason: The Vine Deloria, Jr., Reader. Edited by Barbara Deloria, Kristin Foehner, and Sam Scinta. Fulcrum Publishing Co., Golden, CO, p. 225-226. (Italics added by the author.)
[13] Oren Lyons video clip: “The Circle of Life is the Bottom Line.” Produced and posted by naturakademin learning lab. Available at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7KAy5AHYIK8. Accessed March 26, 2016.
[14] Linda Hogan. 1995. Solar Storms. NY: Scribner, p. 346.