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"Give to the people of Po-Woh-Ge-Oweenge all that they are dancing and praying for today," I solemnly asked the Great Spirit, as I stood at the west end of the plaza facing the dancers. As I sprinkled my sacred cornmeal, a sudden gust of wind took the white grain, scattering it in all directions, which was good.

It was Jan. 23 at San Ildefonso Pueblo, a village lying under the sacred Black Mesa near Pojoaque, on the way to Los Alamos. A dozen of us volunteers from the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center made an educational and pleasure trip to San I's feast day. The pueblo famous for its black-on-black pottery has a spacious plaza with a museum, gift shop and galleries.

As is the tradition of other pueblos, the women of the community had cleaned house, cooked and baked bread in hornos for days - yes, even in the winter bread is baked outdoors - in preparation for receiving friends and relatives who come to visit on this special day. The dining areas were set to feed numerous guests, while the living rooms provided warm, friendly places for visitors waiting to get to the table. Many of you know that this is the Pueblo way to celebrate a feast.

The celebration had begun the evening before, with vespers in the Catholic church and a procession through the village. At dusk, many small bonfires illuminated the plaza, making flickering shadows of people standing in wait for the firelight dances. By the time the burning fires turned to embers, the dances had not begun, and our faces waned to cold patches of skin and feet too near frostbite. We boarded the bus to White Rock to spend the night.

The day dawned in semi-darkness with a snow storm threatening. The storm did not materialize. Instead, a gentle snowfall filled the air for a short time, and when the horizon lightened near the pueblo's mesas, we could hear the drumming and chanting of the men's chorus for the sunrise ceremonial.

Then smoke rose from a fire on the southern hill of the pueblo, and we could hear calls like those of the animals the men were portraying. Soon, they came down the side of the hill, past cedar trees and over snow-covered slopes. So spiritual was the event that the whole atmosphere became permeated with humility and prayer, as the antelope, deer, mountain sheep and buffalo dancers came into the village.

Men wore white shirts and colorfully embroidered kilts, faces painted black, with visors at the forehead below the horns or antlers of the animals represented.

A black goatskin covered the buffalo dancer's head. Two hunters with faces painted red held bows and arrows and danced alongside the animal dancers. The female dancer, in traditional dress, with long, flowing hair down her back, red discs painted on her forehead and cheekbones and waving a spruce-sprig spray, gracefully led the group to the plaza. Residents of the pueblo, clad in colorful Pendleton blankets, stood in a row to the dancers' right to welcome them to the village.

Daylight came, clouds dispersed, and the singers and dancers went into the kiva. Everyone else went home for breakfast before 8 a.m. Mass.

The rest of the day was like any other Pueblo feast day, only somewhat cooler than those that go on in the heat of summer.

Finally, a lunch of hot green-chile stew, Pueblo bread, fruit pie and coffee at the home of a friend filled the body and soul. Once again, it was a tremendously wonderful feeling for me to participate in another ceremony of my Anasazi ancestry. I need this periodically to survive and practice the historic beliefs of my roots.

Etiquette should always be observed: no picture taking, tape recording, loud talking or laughter. Show respect, enjoy, and you will leave having had a great experience.

Augustine, an Albuquerque resident, is a member of Laguna Pueblo, a retired nurse and a volunteer at the Indian Pueblo Cultural Center. Her column runs the third Thursday of each month.