Spring blossoms beckon
The fruits of summer’s labor
Spring blossoms beckon
The fruits of summer’s labor
Healing is not for the faint of heart. It’s a contract built on a vow to harness and clutch only at ironclad strengths.
It’s quiet now; calmed are all those bouncing cells of thought and feeling that ricocheted through my panic borne in another round of ‘growth’.
I have been brought to this hushed place only by the grace of my Relations.
They, who took the suffocating lifetime of pain and lifted it to the skies – where our Ancestors tenderly pulled it into their own hearts.
Toward the centre of the Ancients where such things are cleansed; healed and rendered harmless.
To the place where all things are made sound again and holds a promise that surely
we’d all choose, if we knew.
This painlessness was not instant, oh God, not hardly. I wailed all through their processes.
They let me feel every piercing facet of what we’d endured, and then they mercifully
returned with understanding.
Every sting was an exposed hurt that hadn’t been acknowledged, sometimes for centuries.
Every prickle that scratched through my soul was a reminder to honor it and to turn toward where to offer it.
With every step in every ceremony they led me to, they walked me out of the darkness.
They didn’t need me to believe in them; they already knew I was too lost to know what to believe.
I only needed to follow what was offered, including the smallest fragments of feeling
that said – maybe.
I am a blank slate, as clean as the newborn, my future standing right in front of me, unseen.
I don’t know what to wish for anymore; I don’t know what my dreams are.
I only know I’ve been brought to this place, where every moment is a choice that I can feel only in my heart; a knowing that prompts me to accept it without even a clue as to why.
My canvas is a wide open space and I observe in wonder at what and at who is being placed onto it.
I don’t feel the immediate inserted images are the story, I only know that the reality, which traces to every soul that follows, is so much bigger than my pitiful imaginings.
They’ve taught me the reasons behind the hurt and soothing are far bigger in purpose; every healing moment is for every generation before me and all to follow.
It’s the only teaching I’ve ever been given that I know some day, will permanently alter everything.
It’s quiet now, and I know this is a gift – a treasure granted for maybe only
5 more minutes…
It’s getting close to that green time of year again, and by green, I mean green beer, green rivers, green paraphernalia of assorted insanity, and oh yeah, Spring.
It’s also my 6th year of using this platform to assuage my compulsions to opine and write, which for some reason I decided to launch on March 17th. Maybe it was after a couple green beers; I don’t know, but here I still am. I remain absolutely grateful to those who follow and especially so for those who have stuck around all this time. I couldn’t be more thankful for your support, wisdom and kindnesses through every bump and grind I’ve written about, and in sharing a laugh or two. I hope today’s merry mirth wins a smile from you too…
Happy weekend, all. May the road not meet your face too quickly on Sunday.
February 14th was changed forever for Indigenous communities 28 years ago. While we still share in acknowledging and celebrating love, we also use the day to recognize and memorialize our mothers, daughters, sisters, cousins, aunties and grandmothers lost to us inexplicably and/or violently.
We memorialize them in a march through town and city streets to remind all of those still missing and that despite calls for justice and formal inquiries, we have yet to receive any for those murdered. It’s a national disgrace that, as Indigenous women, we remain the most vulnerable demographic in all colonized countries.
Remember that time
You trimmed the thickened branches
A hostage was claimed
Little game of tit for tat
Forgotten loss; willow’s gain
It’s been about a month’s worth of thoughtful weekly beginnings. Something in the air… change, newness, the call of Spring? I don’t know. I do know each one gave me something personal; something not quite typical…
Maybe merely fine-tuning
Eerie, the Blood Wolf Moon Eve
Life is never easy, not really, and not for anyone, and especially if you’re a person of color living within a colonized country. It honestly feels like we’re always living in an ongoing classic movie. The underdogs fighting the Borg, the Establishment, “The Man”. Man, this fight never ends…
I’ll take heart in a recent Jeffrey A Sachs Twitter thread that announced: “The SJWs Are Winning and You’re All Just Going to Have to Deal With It!” …Wakanda forever!
I don’t know what it’s going to take for the equities we crave to come to pass, but I can hope and I can pray and I can take to the streets when it all becomes too much. In between the battles, respite is precious. This is when we take stock and take in what means the most to us at our deepest levels. At least, I hope we do.
So, this is one of my moments, when I breathe in gratitude for what lifts my heart and grounds my soul…
Friends for life, literally
Touchstones, sound boards, life rafts, all
My finest treasure
The gift that holds my heart firm
Love guarded fiercely
Most dear; smiles that create bliss
Reminding always, the point
May the best of peace, genuine joy and healthy successes meet you all in 2019.