Are ‘They’ Spiritually Ill?

A recent exchange on Facebook began with something like this: "Are racists and xenophobes mentally ill?  No, they are 'sick people' who are spiritually ill. They have lost their connection to the community, to hope and to love." That's not an exact quote but it gets to the gist. When I asked how 'spiritually ill'... Continue Reading →

The Voices, They Come

They began arriving in August 2017. One and two at a time they came. The choir grew day by day, led by Pihtokahanapiwiyin, Kamiokisihkwew, Shingwauk, Keeseekoowenin, and Isapo-Muxika. And still, they come. Day by day. Horse Lake, Beaver, Bush, Yellowknife, Salt River, Birch Narrows, Black Lake, Sunshield, Paul Band, Maskwacis, Ermineskin, Louis Bull, Sampson, Montana,... Continue Reading →

I Am Not an Activist

An activator for many things, perhaps. But, never in my mind or heart have I identified as an activist even while creating change in systems unaccustomed to the same. However, there appear to be others--many of them-- who feel differently and have paved the way for me to join the #noDAPL protest in Cannonball, North... Continue Reading →

Walking Between

 Weaving Past & Present with the Ancients There a several aspects of the work I do. One I hold most dear is what I call 'the weaving'. The weaving we do is a three-stage process, much like the creation of a hand-loomed rug. It starts with the gathering of materials. Here, though, the weaver is a... Continue Reading →

Fire

by Joy Harjo   a woman can't survive by her breath alone   she must know the voices of the mountains she must recognize the foreverness of blue sky she must flow with the elusive bodies of night wind women who will take her into her own self   look at me i am not... Continue Reading →

A Trip to Choctaw Country

Dispatches from the Drivers Seat Earlier, I shared an experience of my relationship with the elements and etheric that  developed as I moved from Montana to Mississippi late spring. I was led by vision and a new Missouria-Choctaw guide to find an alikchi (medicine man) named James Johnson in Philadelphia, Mississippi. Unlike other ventures into the... Continue Reading →

Can I Get a Witness?

The  Power of Being Seen Aspects of the work I do are profoundly intimate. It's close enough that men have said, "I feel like we just made love" when clothes are never removed and women have said, "How could you know?" when I merely touch them and am flooded with every.thing because their body and psyche speak... Continue Reading →

Baraka

Are you First Nations? Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.  ~ Guy de Maupassant Although there are a few experiences I've written about, I don't share much of my work related to indigenous peoples publicly. They include my initial relationship with the... Continue Reading →

Denial of

There is something unique about being denied by one's father that cannot quite be expressed. It cuts differently than other pain. Or, maybe it's not the cut itself. Maybe it's the emptiness, the tangible void of a such a thing missing, that's left after the cut. I mentioned in yesterday's post that I've recently been to... Continue Reading →

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑