Crickets chirped as the night sky rose with the chants and drum beats of the American Indian Dance Theatre Tuesday night at the Maine Center for the Arts. In the corner of the stage sat a shaman washing himself in smoke that rippled in a light breeze. Tapping their feet in a basic walking step, elders looked on.

Haunting and noctural, this chilling scene began a resplendent evening of varied song and dance by the country’s first national company to celebrate the heritage of tribes native to the Americas.

In a fusion of history lesson and showmanship, these 22 emissaries, representing 16 North American tribes, brought a repertory that represented far more than the 600 years it artistically encapsulated. In the five short years since this group was founded by producer Barbara Schwei and playwright Hanay Geigamah, these ceremonial dancers have managed to tap deep into the most elemental nature of humanity, affirming its relationship both with the earth and a creator.

In “Eagle Dance,” six men wore human-size eagle wings on their arms and white eagle feathers on their heads as they gracefully arched and glided around the stage. Muted shades of sky blue lit the background and, as the human eagles spread their wings, it seemed as if the entire audience was lifted into the sky and were among a flock of soaring birds. It was as close as anyone could hope to be to taking such a flight.

As a centerpiece to the first act, the “Eastern Woodlands Suite,” based on dances still used by local eastern tribes, showed male bravura and female sharpness in social dances, and the rich symbolism of harvest and war dances. Rattles, drums, and chants accompanied the stomping, shuffling, and swinging of bodies. The suite, which had particular significance for local tribes, also included a solo flute song, played by a single man on an empty, dark stage. Sweetly sad and mournful, like a wolf howling at the moon, the song intimated the tragic history that lay in the subtext of the entire evening’s performance.

A similar series of dances, using decorative masks and props from the Northwest Coast tribes, was the centerpiece for the second act. The mythical movements told stories of hunting, whaling, and the animal kingdom. Men, dressed in grass skirts, stabbed spears into the air. Then, wearing raven heads, they whirled in the woodsy shadows cast onto stage.

The tour de force of the evening, however, was the “Hoop Dance,” in which a single dancer — without ever stopping his dance — manipulated 30 some hoops to create sculptures of animals, abstract shapes, and flowers. Using his body as a frame, he spread out a wing span or lifted a shield, his artwork always symbolizing the connection between all things in nature. His final creation was a sphere, representing Mother Earth.

Brilliant colors illuminated the stage in the virtuosic “Fancy Shawl Dance,” the only piece performed completely by women (as traditional dancing is man’s work). And the stage was ablaze with pulsating colors and energy during “Fancy Dance,” a warrior dance in which each of four males donned the most extravagant of plummage (with feathers, bells, fringe, and jewelry on every available surface of the body) and displayed fanciful stamina. The dance was so quick and frenetic that each dancer, looking more like a spirit than like a human, melted into a wash of color in a fiery explosion of individual expression. In contrast to the opening scene, this final small-group display was breathtakingly wild and real.

Several curtain calls and a standing ovation met the American Indian Dance Theatre after its grand finale of dance and song. Though the audience may not have always understood the repetition and nuances of the ceremonies, it surely caught hold of the larger message of this troupe. Contained in the insistent beating of drums and feet, the gloriously ornate costumes, and the welcoming arms of the performers, the lasting image is of the beauty to be found in living in one’s essential nature — the human, spiritual, and animalistic core — and in being thankful for the miracle of life.