Here’s a poem by Red Hawk, who is white but received it from his spiritual teacher, who must have taught him well.

We Drink with Cupped Hands

On our knees drinking with cupped hands
from our creek
is a kind of praying for my daughters and me.
In time of drouth
there is nothing holier
than the water in the bowl of our hands
poured over our unpraised faces
or sipped on bent knee,
giving thanks.
Religion is such a simple thing:
either it is cupping hands in deep gratitude
and filling them with creek water,
swallowing God whole
or it is nothing at all.