Medicine Bags

"When you leave here today", Noweta was saying, "it’s important to take a reminder of what happened here and why you took this time to come to the women’s sweat. How is what happened in the lodge a symbol in your life? We never just happen to go to the places we end up at, nor do we just happen to have the experiences that we have. Everything we do must be for reason. You must see the symbols around you.

It was the summer of my 29^th year and I was trying hard to make sense of my life. My marriage was troubled, and too often I would use alcohol to numb the pain. I heard in the teepee teaching that our time in the later twenties and early thirties were when we would shed a skin. Like all things in nature, we would let go of how it had been and ready ourselves for the newness we must take on.

"We sweat for guidance and healing," the old one was saying. "Everything we do must have meaning. If what you are doing is mindless, and you go about your daily routines like a zombie, then you are going to get yourself in trouble. You will get lead down a path that brings you sorrow or even danger. You must say your prayers to the 4 directions in the morning. Even the act of making your morning tea or coffee is a privilege. You must always be thankful for who you are and what is in your life at the time. Many women will never have this opportunity, for perhaps they are sick. It is said that when we leave ourselves too open, when we do not have ceremony or rituals, then we can get into trouble.

I asked the old one, "What are the things that could happen?" The old one looked at me and said. "We might get lead down the Black Road of alcohol, and all can be lost. The cost of being aimless is a great sorrow. I see it in many young people today. They must go back to the people where they came from. They must learn the old ways, and sweat, or do a Vision Quest, so they can hear the voice of creator, inside themselves, from the Great Beyond.

It was as if she reached into my soul and saw the pain within. “You must be willing to do whatever it takes to get back on the Red Road." she said. This was the first inkling that I perhaps had the disease of Alcoholism, but it would take a few years to let go of this spirit. Too often and to great excess, it was showing up in my life. “You cannot hide on the Mother; you cannot wonder, for even if you go across the sea to distant shores, all these things will follow you. You must turn around and address that which you run from, for it is like a shadow and is ever close, leaving its mark on your world."

The old one continued, "When you gather things today that remind you of this time that you shared with your sisters in the lodge where you prayed for all the women of the world, find something to remind you of that. Leave tobacco and walk carefully, do not run through this place. It is waiting for you, to help to remind you of what you have prayed for on this day. Go now and walk among the standing people (the trees) and look for your gift in nature, a reminder of your quest. It is but a symbol that can deliver you from what haunts you.

I went and picked a stone from the river. It was black and lumpy, and next to it was a small black one smooth and brilliant, but somehow I knew the one with lumps was my gift. It would, through the years, be brought out of my medicine bag she gave us on that day, and rubbed as if to make it smooth. Today I carry a smooth stone that is a reminder of what waits for me should I ever think that alcohol could have a place in my life.

Teachings From the Sweatlodge

The fire keeper stood back in the shadow of the trees. He held his hand drum up to the sky and began the song that called us into the sweat lodge. He thanked us for the opportunity to make this sweat for women on this day. He told us that his mother, who had taken her spiritual journey home, was looking down on us and smiling--happy to see her son helping the life-givers do what we have done from the beginning of earth time. He sang his prayers, and the wind, achimoo, carried it over the land and to the tops of snow capped mountains. He turned to the four directions and asked for the blessing of each place and the wisdom to be with us. His voice and his drum allowed each of us to prepare ourselves before we entered the east facing door of the lodge. A young man held a shovel filled with hot rocks and sage and we all smudged ourselves with the smoke before entering.

Sage is one of our Holy plants and we use the smoke from it to smudge ourselves. It cleanses us physically and spiritually before we do ceremony. We must do all things with a good heart so that we can walk in a sacred manner. We burn the Sage in a smudge bowl and we take the smoke into our hands and rub or brush it over our body. The old ones tell us to use it to cleanse our sacred objects and sometimes cedar and sweetgrass is used. My grandfather used to say, "The universe knows this smell, and when we burn it all things rejoice. We kept all of our articles, used in ceremony, in a place of honor. We were always careful, being told that we enter into a place with nature when we use her medicines.

The lodge heated up as 4 huge rocks were put in the pit in the middle. We could see that two had given their lives and had split into two. After we had all entered the sweatlodge, the doorkeeper entered and pulled the flap down. We saw only the glow of the rocks that had been brought in and sat upon the first 4 rocks that represented the 4 directions. Noweta began to sing her prayer for us, ”Let all things that have life rejoice, for we as sisters, here and now, ready our bodies and minds to go within to be one in spirit.” Her voice was strong and it rose over the steam that hissed off the rocks. She sang songs of her people from long ago and instructed us to go within, to the center of our being, to where we first began in spirit.

I was struggling to follow her and fidgeted. She brushed me with the cedar boughs she used to spray the rocks, and said to me, in the kindest of voices, “Young one. Let go of your body. Being stuck in our bodies brings us too quickly to an end of no good. Your quest is to seek the place before the body, when He still held you, when you came from the place that knows all things. Go, find the door and leave. Let the water that ran swiftly from the mountains, cleanse it. This time here is for your spirit, when you leave your body in sacred manner, it will heal. Go back to a time when there was only the song that we forgot."

She dipped her cedar fan into the water and sprayed us all. We all thanked creator for water and life.

As each round was finished, the door to lodge was opened and more rocks were brought in. I had no choice but to pray, as it became stifling inside. I prayed for creator to help me stay within and not claw my way out to the icy water that ran down from the mountain with old elder Albert Lightening face that looked over the valley below. I prayed to creator to help me with this journey, as for too long I had many sorrows and hardships. I asked for help to be clean in mind, body, and spirit. I prayed for creator to deliver me from the heat of the lodge.

Suddenly I was above the lodge and the fire, as if with wings I was carried over the rivers, roads, and fields. I went even higher and saw the edge of the snow that capped the mountains. I had never felt so free and light in my life. I heard a voice that said, "Even though the people confine themselves to their little Selves, they are all of this." In my mind's eye, my spiritual eye, saw a place more glorious than I can describe; a peace that knew no noise , and love that knew no ends.

This I remember from a summer day in 1973. I brought those teachings with me, and they eventually lead me to the biggest turning point in my life.

Prayer for women

“Come in," she says, "and find your spot. There is a place here for you.” I stoop a little to enter the teepee. It is the most colorful one with buffaloes painted all the way around and an eagle taking off in flight near the top where the smoke escapes. I have traveled a long way to be with the women sitting here around the elder, Noweta. The sweatlodge sits nearby and I can hear the crackle of the fire as they heat the rocks that will soon fill the lodge with the healing steam meant to cleanse our minds, bodies, and spirits.

“I have asked you young women here so we can join in prayer and healing for us, the life givers of Mother Earth. We are always busy caring for children and relatives, and too many of us forget ourselves. It is important to take care of our vessels first, for without us the way of traditional life is lost and our children will run wild without guidance. Some of these words today are not mine, for I
hear my old one who took me under her wing many years ago when my hair was still black and I walked without a cane," explained Noweta.

We are back at the campgrounds in the heart of the sacred mountains of Morley, just a short way from Banff, Alberta. I sit on the soft carpet of sage that has been laid around the edges of the old one's teepee. It is a hot day in August and the perfumed wind, laden with wild flowers, sage, and sweet grass, wafted in the door cooling us. I hear UTENACHIMOO, the wind who tells stories,
gathering his music. He hesitates over the poplar and they give up their rustling; he sweeps through the pines and bring their plaintive cries; he takes the soft sounds of the blue jays and sparrows in flight, and writes them into his the music.

“Listen to the story, for it is just for you," said Noweta. "Hear the words brought to you, for the wind is telling stories. Go to the place in your heart that knows all things. Let it tell you in your language, for we are made up of many nations. What that is, you will take home and keep to your breast. Listen for the long forgotten song of women who walk this earth, and the ones who have gone before us. Listen to the grandmothers of ages past who tell you to keep your mind and your body clean, for you will bring life to the planet.”

My prayer of gratitude passed softly over my lips. “Oh Great One, you who knows all things. You who knows my heart. Let me walk with pride. Let my morning prayers and your blessing be with the ones that fly, those who walk on all fours, those who swim, and those who crawl upon the earth. Be with my sisters who, today, die in agony in war torn countries; those who cannot feed their children, and those who suffer from sickness that takes their bodies and minds into dark places. Help them by your gentle touch from Grandfather Sun so they may take in warmth and light to guide them on their path. Be with my sisters in far away places so they can find their way home. Shine down on us as we come to the crossroads in our lives. Help us to give our men and children the right words so they see the path you have set before us. Help us to read the signs that you send so we may know, that with all things, we are guided and looked after."

ALL MY RELATIONS.

"Now is the time," says Noweta, "for us to prepare ourselves, for the lodge is ready, and many rocks have given their lives for our sweat, and for this we are grateful."

We sit close and drink the willow tea that will quench us for the sweat. Today is a day of fasting and
sweat for the women of the world. I sip slowly, savoring the taste of the medicine tea, grateful to be with women whose soft whispers fill the tent. Today is for all my sisters gathered here in the teepee, and for those looking for the road to go home. Thankful to be with women whose soft whispers fill the tent. Today is for all my sisters gathered here in the teepee, and for those looking for the road to go home.

Sip of the Soup

Tansi (a Cree greeting that means Hi, how are you? or Hi there.)

I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for the time you have taken to read my blog. Thank you, also, for your kind comments and questions.

We are gearing up, of course, for a retreat in Baja, Mexico in early 2009, but more on that later.

As a result of your enthusiasm and your questions about the various stories in my writing, I will be offering a series of classes via the internet. This series will be about the some of the aboriginal rituals and ceremonies, mainly how and why they are performed. The two ceremonies that people are always fascinated with are the smudging ceremony and the sweat lodge. Because there is always so much interest in these ceremonies and I have been asked to show how it is done, I am going to make it happen. Our first class will be all about the smudging ceremony. I will show you how it came to be, when you would use it, and how you would prepare for it. Likewise for the sweat lodge as well in the second class. Stay tuned for more on this subject as well. Good stuff and I will be answering all your questions as well.

I’m presently scouting out new locations for the second part of the award winning documentary, that I produced,entitled, “Childhood Lost. The Residential School Experience." If you would like more info about the documentary, go to this site:

http://www.filmwest.com/Catalogue/itemdetail/2274/

For more information about me, just go to Google and type in my name, Chalen Ewing.

I will, once again, be working with Doug Cuthand, director extraordinaire. For a list of Doug’s achievements, awards and productions, please go to http://www.sicc.sk.ca/faces/mcuthdo.htm or Google his name for all sorts of information about him.

Many aboriginal people have suffered and there is still pain and suffering in many communities. Basically, the residential school included removal and isolation from our families and communities, and the destruction of our culture, language and spirituality. Our documentaries tell the story of the residential schools and the resulting consequences.

I will post more of this in the days to come as I get past the mountains of paperwork, justifying the monies it takes to take on a project of this magnitude. I will be working in our beautiful port city of Vancouver, British Columbia, where I currently foster 7 children for the ministry. My travels will have me flying back and forth to Saskatchewan, my home province and the place where my ancestors lay sleeping.

Once again, it is an honor to be able to sit at my computer (Sadie) with a cup of tea in hand and just write. Thank you for joining me.

“We are always more than we know ourselves to be”

Getting Out of Dodge

One of my most favorite things to do was yard sales, 2nd hand stores, and salvage places. At one time it was a necessity, but later Eric would say, “The world is green again for us, Shady. You don’t’ have to go there. Go to the department store.” I still found fun and excitement in restoring, resurrecting, and remaking furniture, clothes or oddities of the special kind.

So in my mind, I had hit the mother load. The dumpster was brimming with southwestern design curtains and matching bed spreads. Wonderful lamps that were shoved carelessly into the
fray were showing me there beautifully carved stems. I had to give in, but as more of a keepsake, though I could just see the van and the new curtains I was going to make, hanging there.

"Chalen, for the love of Pete." Eric said. "We are on vacation and you are dumpster diving. I can't handle it and I’m not going to be a part of it.” He really had himself going, and us in jail, because of my insatiable scrounging.

I promised him I’d never ever do it again if he would just help me this one time. We went back and forth for a few minutes till he knew I was determined whether he helped me or not. “Ok this is it Shady. This is the last time. I'm just an accomplice. Just a lowly lookout for a dumpster diver.”

So we drove away, without sirens screaming I might add, with my booty and Eric breathing a sigh of relief. We ambled our way through Arizona, past wondrous mesas, red rock canyons, and a desert painted by a holy hand on high. Finally, we meet two of our friends Kay and Devitta in Calexico, California and crossed the border. I was energized with the glory of it all, the sights of the vendors on the street and new smells of the Mexican cooking wafting into my nostrils.

It was uneventful except that getting through Mexicali was touch and go at times. There was still enough of old Mexico around, and on that day no painted lines to let you know what lane to drive in. I settled back and just rested, silent with a prayer inside that thanked the Creator for this opportunity to travel to the desert. I had been brought through so many painful and difficult times in the last year while lead by a voice that showed me peace and guidance. I asked if there was something special I needed from this beautiful place to take with me, to let me see. I wanted to bring home something to remind me of healing, joy and a personal sign of what was to come for me.

Little did I know that she was waiting for me on the patio in San Felipe. He, the most high and the most holy, always listens as he knows our hearts, and he heard mine. There, I met the woman who is my mentor, guide, AA sponsor, and one the best friends that I have ever had, my B.F.F. Her name is Judy.

Road to Baja

We pulled out of the yard and left for new places. We didn’t have a time schedule, nor a destination on the road-- just the border city of Calexico, California.

It was good to be going away and every hour took me further away and the little fear inside of me that said to turn around and go home began to fade.

No phones, no places to go--just south. After crossing the Canadian border into the United States, Eric and I pulled over and did a smudge. We sent a prayer to the Great Beyond for guidance and peace as we traveled Mother earth to new sights.

When we were tired, we just pulled into rest stops and slept. Some days would see us by a creek that we pulled over to and there we’d camp and cook and sit under the stars. I always looked for the new stars in heaven and I took comfort in knowing he is still in life. Not in this world--transitioned, but still here.

Finally, we were pulling into the Grand Canyon area and I was driving. I thought 40 miles an hour was good, but Eric was straining at the bit. I said, “Look Eric, the sign says majestic views."
"Well just too bad it’s midnight. Might be real nice to see that." he said. "Just like some of our real estate ventures. Buy high, sell low.”

When we got to the gates it was closed, but we were able to drive in to a big empty parking lot. “Let’s park in the far corner." Eric said. So we did. We were both excited to finally have gotten to one of the few destinations we had planned. We climbed into bed and snuggled in, happy to be there and ready to so some exploring.

The sound of big motors running and people talking excitedly woke us up. "Holy cow!" Eric said. "What in the hell goes on." We pulled the van door open, both of us in our pj’s and my hair looking like an explosion in a mattress factory, then someone snapped a picture of us. There where about 6 tour buses full of Asians running around snapping pictures and leaning over a rail about 6 feet from the van. Eric threw his clothes on and went out to see where we were. In a minute or two, he was back in. "Shady,” the name he calls me “wouldn’t you know it. We are parked on a lot that overlooks the Grand Canyon.”

What a trip to have spent the night in a parking lot over looking on of the seven wonders of the world and we slept like babies safe within sight of a Higher Being. We took pictures and joined the throngs of happy tourists. Eric found a day trip that he wanted me to take. “Look. You are going to love this,” he says. We can ride these big mules down to the floor of the canyon." As I followed him, I knew exactly which ones. The scent lead the way.

I just couldn’t see myself on that big hairy creature and said, ”You go if you want, but I will just stay and read in the van." We both agreed to find another adventure.

It was wonderful and we were like two kids exploring. Each sight was more wonderful than the last. When we got to the lodge on the South ridge we couldn’t eat there as it was under renovations. There was a huge dumpster was brimming over with curtains and wonderful lampshades. I was going dumpster diving….

Baja Bound

Baja bound

It was March now and we'd had the life changing event of my brother’s spiritual journey home. We were back in BC and the promise of spring was in the air with the first few crocuses poking their little purple heads up to smile at Grandfather Sun.

I was different. I had always been guilt ridden in the past and I had either put off a lot of things I needed to do or I was rushing into the future. Little things could get me going in a sec and I was 6 feet off the tarmac, so to speak. Until he left and with that phone call, my life changed. Death is a great shake up. I don’t know if I would have this perspective if my brother had not appeared to me, next to me in my little house on the reservation, telling me, "This is how it is and I will always be with you". It slammed me into the now.

In the first year, I sometimes gave into the pain and on the way to work, I’d stop the car and duck into those shady glens that promised refuge. In the silence of the shadows, tears flowed and my screams of “Randy, where are you?” would echo off the canyon walls only to bounce around and come back to me.

Then one day I knew it--it was all too clear as they came back and settled in my being. I remembered, "that’s right. You are here".

"Do not look out into the world for reassurance. Find that shady glen, that quiet place in your garden, or your favorite chair. Leave the noise of the world and enter that place where, eventually, a quiet voice beckons. Come all who are heavy burdened, I will give you rest.”

Death can only rearrange your priorities. Living is here and now. My teachings have lead me and defined who I am and how I see the world. I remember, in these times, that death is but a transition--that nothing really dies.

Almost a year later to the day, my husband’s daughter from his first marriage died suddenly. She’d had juvenile diabetes and it took its toll on her 32 year old body. It was a shock once more that traveled into our lives via a phone call. It doesn’t matter who it is, we’re never quite prepared for death, and sudden death is a shock. It rocks your life and how you know it.

We had a wonderful medicine man who lived across the road from us, as we where still on the Bonaparte reservation. Percy came over, and with his love and guidance, we listened to his drum and prayers and asked for the strength to get through this one too.

Kerry had been a gift to this world. Her death was painful to the family and our children mourned for their sister who brought laughter to any situation and guidance to them when they wondered off the path. I was able to remind them that our native ways say she has left this world, finished here and left us the gift of her laughter.

When Randy died, my husband Eric had had his own spiritual experience. It was the night before we had to leave for Saskatchewan to bury Randy. We’d just done a smudge, and before going to bed that night, Eric's prayers, his cries to Creator brought tears to my eyes as I heard him say, ”Creator, I do not doubt your ways just please give me strength to go through this, and some meaning so I may rest and take care of my wife.” He then went to bed exhausted and fell into a deep sleep immediately. I was on the couch when Randy appeared to me a few moments later and gave me the message that this is how it is, he loved me, and would be with me always.

Eric woke suddenly and called to me from the bedroom, ”Chalen, come here. I have the best news to tell you.” He said that his last words prior to falling asleep were, again, asking God for rest and some understanding of what was happening. He said he went to this place
that was not of this world and that the colors and sounds he could not describe. He knew it was where the souls go to. This brought him so much comfort, and he cried thanking Creator for this vision. He said he knew he was going to be ok now, as he believed that this place for him was heaven.

Dealing with Kerry’s death was no less painful for us both and my heart broke to see his head bowed in sorrow as he mourned for the passing of his first born. If not for the experience, the visions and the dreams sent to us by the most holy, the most loving, we both agreed we’d have completely fallen apart. I thought of the loving words of my brother and his promise of life eternal and took strength. Eric once again was comforted, as he said he knew his baby was going to a place so beautiful he didn’t have words for it. He cried and gave into his anguish knowing he would come through and was left with the memories of his child who gave nothing but love and left all of us richer with her humor and her life.

Soon after, when the funeral was done and we were driving in the hills at the back of Clinton, I got a feeling. “Eric lets get home. I know someone has died and we need to be there.” I didn’t get panicked, as I had a sense this one was ready to go and we’d be ok. When we got home, the answering machine were blinking and a doctor's words informing us of his adopted mothers passing. She seemed in good spirits the last time we saw her at the coast and no one suspected she was leaving anytime soon. They say she went to the doctor because she wasn’t feeling well and was sent home to rest. When she was autopsied, she was full of cancer. Upon her, wishes we had a celebration meal and went to her favorite restaurant. She had told us on one of our meals out, "When its my time, I’m old. Don’t mourn for me. I'm ready to go whenever it is. You are still young. Go live your life and be good to each other and stay happy.” With her permission, we did.

So now it is just over a year later and we need to get away. We’d joke with each other and say “don’t answer the phone.” It had been a very emotional and stressful year, so we where going to Baja, Mexico. We’d had numerous invitations from one of our friends who lived there, so we were going. Soon as we made up our minds, a truck Eric had had for sale for some time, was sold. When I look back, I know that if it’s the right time and thing to do, nothing gets in your way. In fact, it is opened up and the road is revealed. Eric says the universe will rearrange its self for us, you just have to trust. We packed our travel van, made arrangements for the care of our little home to be safe, and we left for the new part of our lives unaware that the road we were traveling on would be one that we would drive many times to our home we now have in San Felipe, Baja Mexico.

So we were Baja Bound--the cowboy and the Indian. Life was (and is) really good and we drove into our future.

From a Distance

I was happy just to have found a good place at the campsite on the Sarcee Reserve in Morley, Alberta. It was the ecumenical council celebration. The sight and the sounds filled me with joy as I watched the tents and the tee-pees being set up in a circle. The center was where the dancing would take place.

My cousin Yvonne and I began to set up our camp and our children, young then, ran off to explore and find some more of our relations. An old man who we knew came over to greet and welcome us. "Joe, good to see you", we both said as we kissed him and shook his hand. We have waited for this to finally happen. "Why have they not celebrated this for the last three years," we asked.
"Chief and Council couldn't agree on many things and then 3 buffalo were struck dead this spring by lightning and they took this as a sign," replied Joe.
We know that buffalo meat is given to the people on the last day and it was a huge part of the gratitude and honoring ceremony.
He told us of the activities that would be happening. Sweats in the morning for men and women, teaching from the elders in certain tee-pees that he pointed out, and to the fire that would be lit later when we would begin the prayers and the homecoming.

Yvonne and I struggled to raise our tent. We tried different angles to get it up and finally she suggested she would go in and hold the centre pole and I was to put the top on and it would be done. Well, she got in and I dropped the pole and the tent collapsed on her.
"Get me outta here," she said. So I dropped to my knees and tried to crawl under. Just then two old men walked by and we heard them say, "looks like 2 buffalos fighting under a blanket." We completely collapsed in gales of laughter and rolled around inside, tears pouring down our face. Crawling out sweaty and still weak from laughter, we both agreed we wouldn't be asked to help raise any teepees. We arranged sleeping sides and made a cook fire and waited for the evening to begin.

We were called to begin, and come into the circle, by the drum hosted by the Sarcee people. It was a buffalo drum and has a distinctive deep tone that called everyone from their campers, tents, and shelters. "You who have heard this call to this place, welcome. I know that many of you have traveled for days to be here. Welcome. It is the time to teach, honor and be one once more with your relations. Welcome."

He was the hereditary chief, and dressed in his regalia, his war bonnet hung down to his waist. He held his head high and began to sing with his hand drum, a coming home song. His long black braids swung to his tempo. We bowed our heads as he asked for the ones who have gone before us, the old ones, to be with us now as we pass the teaching of the people down to the young ones. He asked for the power of the four directions to come and bring their knowledge, as he turned to each direction.

From the East where all physical life begins and where grandfather sun walks across the sky, be with us as we honor where all life begins. This is spring, oh holy one.

From the south, creator, we ask you to bless our young ones, our youth. Help them to learn trust and gentleness. This is the summer great holy one.

From the west, are with us all your adult relations as we humbly ask for the strength to see our vision and dreams to completion in the fall of our lives, great father.

From the north, bless our old ones, our elders so we may remember the truth that they now know, for it is the winter of their lives.

Creator, guide us as we gather for strength and unity. As he turned to face us, we saw his tears and he reassured us they where tears of joy and humility to be able to offer his land for this celebration that could change people's lives.

Little did I know that those teachings that I held in my heart would see me through dark times to come. This is how it was then and these are my memories and these are the words I heard. For me it was the truth brought to me by many people mostly old ones.

He told us the story of the Eternal fire. It represented the life everlasting that creator promised us. He said the picture was so great we would never see it in it totality. So we were left with the picture that we create, but the real picture was with no beginning and no end. So life never ends--it changes. It is presented by the grandfather sun. There are times coming when we will see many lives lost all for the sake of money and land he said. You may lose those you hold dear to your heart; it may be your parent of child, or your mate. Do not despair, you will see them again. You are not finished here, but they are. When that time of parting comes to you, do not hold back. Let the tears of grief wash away the untold things you didn't say to them. Do not hold back. Let them flow like a river; they will go back to the source of all life, and the souls who have departed will know. It is the right way. Do not argue with your mind and look for creator, he is not there. He dwells where there is no sorrow. Creator is where there are no shadows. Do not look into your mind you will see only pain, because the picture you have in this world, did not work out. So if you are here, and there is pain, it only because you are not done. Do not grieve for those who are gone; they have traveled their spiritual journey home. Gone to a place that we can only dream, for these eyes, they can not see.

In remembrance of holy life, all life here, and the departed, we light this fire to burn for four days and nights without end. Here is the time for you to learn and practice respect. When you walk by the sacred fire, put wood from the pile on it. Do not throw anything like garbage in it. Go there and say your prayers. Let go of your grief and the dreams that did not work out. Give it the holy plant, Tobacco. I will call you in four days to this spot and we will end with closing prayers. So begin now and may the power of the four directions be with us all.

ALL MY RELATIONS.

Through the years, when I dealt with the loss of my brother Randy, I would think of these wise words from this chief. He passed down the teachings of our people and helped me make sense of a death that threatened to rip my world apart. He gave me strength when I had
none, and a reason to go on, to hold on and know there is a certainty about living in the here and now.

All my relations

Morningstar woman

Grandmother Medicine

My kokum said to me, "What I’m about to tell you is what my grandmother told me and so it is from a time long ago. You must be up when the ones that fly begin to call the sun warrior to light the way. Wash the sleep from your eyes, eat your oatmeal, and braid your hair. Today pay attention to what you do, make yourself present, and look around. Do not skip too far away and run with the wind. Later we will go see the medicine ones that wait for us. It is the time."

I never knew what time that was, but it always had something to do with the earth, for I can hardly remember a calendar in my grandparent’s house.

I splashed cold water on my little face in the weak light of the morning and quickly brushed my hair and braided it with fast little fingers. I could smell my grandparent’s coffee and the oatmeal being spooned into bowls. They always rose early before the rest of the people in the little place at the end of the reservation where we lived.

I stepped outside to breathe in the clean morning air and saw the Great Sun Warrior, who rode across the sky each morning and carried the sun on his shield. I loved all the old stories and, in my minds eye I could see the pictures he was speaking about. Grandfather use to say come now and listen and see my words for they come from a long time ago. So now I saw the magnificent spotted horse and how proud the sun warrior rode bareback on his stallion, and I had asked, “grandfather, was this horse big?” “Oh very big, small one," he said. “This horse was picked special just look how he throws his head and with that great long tail he whisks the clouds away.”

My grandfather knew all these things, he told me, because he always ate all his oatmeal and I always ate all mine too.

So having done his job and with the great stallion riding high in the sky, I could see the shimmer off the popular leaves that shone like silver at high noon. U TEN A CHIMOO was the wind who told stories. He picked up the heat from the earth with his mighty fan, fanned the prairie grass, and all the leaves began to sing of old things and times from long ago. Grandfather said it was the elders sending us messages and guiding us here, for they have never abandoned us. I listened and I think I heard them singing and it made my little heart
beat with comfort knowing I was always looked after.

Grandfather said, “Wherever you are just listening they are always with you. I knew this was true because he always listened too and sometimes we just sat together, the young one and the old one, listening.

The fervor began weeks before when my grandmother began to pick medicines as the plants gave up their healing, each in their own time.

We are the Red Pheasant Cree first nation’s people and I was spending another summer with my grandparents. I knew by then that there is a sacred time and it is nature’s calendar. When the moon is full in the warmest month it is berry picking time. "There are more too", grandmother said, "and tonight I will show you.”

I walked softly all day being careful not to step on plants that could be the ones. I did not want to hurt anything that was a part of the old ones medicine bag. Finally with the Sun Warrior riding over the edge of the prairies, I could see our grandmother in the sky begin to bloom. When she was full my kokum called to me. “Come little one, see your auntie the stars and the old ones. They are all out waiting for us. Even in the night, there is light for you to see and to smell the medicine. Only when it is fullest will it be right to gather the healing ones.” I followed behind and her long skirt brushed up the grass and made music and sent the scents of the earth wafting in to my 6 year old nostrils. Her moccasin clad feet hardly made a sound as she gently bent to rub the leaves of sweet grass between her fingers.
“Yes this is the right time and the season for all these things.” She talked softly as if to herself, but I heard her say, ”I remember this time now, for it is when you, kokum, made me pick the healing ones.”

"Grandma, who is that you talk to, and do they talk to you?” She had been mending and was talking softly to someone I didn’t see. “Little girl, when you are quiet you can hear the old ones. It is just not the wind that sends you messages,. You too, in your time, will get spirit words."

She was right for when I least expected it, they came clear as a bell out of the corners of my mind. They have lead me and guided me through some very difficult times. Grandmother always said to me, "I do not know. It is only from the ones who have gone before that I know these things. Come here and take in the smell and let your body help you to remember this is what my kokum gave to me. “All things come of the Creator and this earth is only a garden. First to tend, then to pick.”

“kokum, what if grandmother moon is hiding behind our aunty the clouds, how can we see what to pick?”
“Then you must let your body tell you. See how this feels, how it smells only when it is right does it smell like this.”

So I watched her as she smelt the plants and I too let the fragrance rush into my being, into my nose and down into the storing place that she taught me, deep in the belly. "Sometimes you can not trust you head small one," she said, "it gets full of things of the world, you see, and it confuses you. When there is too much, people can even lose their way in the world. I couldn’t imagine being lost in the world so I dug deeper in my belly. “Small one, you will grow big and you will go to far away lands. Your knowing place--you will take it. It is given to us to use. That is the way Creator made this world.”

Years later, I see I stored many things that only covered the teachings. So after years of counseling, crying, tapping, purging, I let it all go. I uncovered kokum's stuff and, like she said, it is guiding me back. How did she know that by looking outside too much it makes the head full? Only by going within to where I still see the dark velvet nights of a starlit prairie and smell the medicine winds, I know that I have come home. She was so wise.

"Grandmother did you always eat all your porridge too?” She laughed, "Yes I did little one, but I too followed my Kokum on these prairies.
I also stored teachings in my belly and I remember that it is our way as Indian women to teach these to our granddaughters. Years later I came to know that as women, we carry the seeds of our grand daughter inside us. She was so wise this old one. She is in my belly in that grandmother place.

So I followed her through the moonlit prairies and I bent when she did and I too stored the old ways inside.

This was a long time ago and there have been countless full moons and I did travel to faraway lands like she said. But when the moon is full on warm summer nights and the owl hoots that all is well, I go into my medicine place and I always enter it here, just above the heart like she said.

Boots Under the Stove

His body went home to Lloydminister and I came back to my little house nestled between the hills and Bonaparte Creek. They had given me his belongings and when I got home, I took his new boots that he had received a couple of weeks earlier for Christmas and put them under the wood stove to dry. My husband was getting ready for bed. I sat with a cup of tea and snuggled into the warm chair trying to rest and not quite believing how it had changed in the last few days. How I felt was different and how I saw the world.

Thankful for a fire roaring in the stove and listening to a blizzard howling down the valley between the hills. The snow seemed to swirl and dance around the house looking for a crack to send its icy fingers in. The flames seemed to know and leaped up as if to answer and send them away laughing into the night.

I held his watch and wished the steady ticking of it was still the beating of his heart. No I can't do this. I can not begin to doubt the Creator's way. I thought of the old man who cries outside the sweatlodge before we enter calling on the power of the four directions to help us, as we are like children and we don't know. I thought of all the loved ones I had lost to Spirit's call home.

But the missing and the pain--the loneliness crept in and the haunting moan in my mind asked "Why did you go home Randy? Oh my Father who art in heaven bring the peace I know that some with letting go. Let the whispering winds tell him all is OK and guide him from this place to his spirit home."

I begged for peace. I pleaded for understanding and the strength to get through the last part of this journey. Soon a warmth crept in and sleep slid into the edges of my eyes.

I think of him who has gone and wonder what is to become of me and this hole in my soul that knowing him has left. Where is the peace? I so need to rest.

I sense a presence in the room and I look up to see him sitting next to me. It is him in the physical like a hologram vibrating, but it is him. Wondrous joy saturates my being. I look at him and in that instant, all the pain of the last few days leave like they have never happened.

He looks at me those big beautiful brown eyes and his faced is filled with the most incredible love. He said, "I did die".
"No Randy its not true," I say as anguish pours out of me. "You are here".
"I did die. This is how it is. I love you and I will always be with you."

He faded and I was left with the most wonderful feeling of peace and love I had ever experienced. I knew then, in that instant, there is no time and no boundaries, and that love is eternal and never dies--that his love for me was so great that He sent him to let me know and that his last act was to teach me this.

I knew that this was of the Great Spirit for in your greatest time of need he will send you a voice, one to call you out of the wilderness and lead you home. Love is all there is. You will get a sign and he will provide all you ever need in your deepest, darkest hour of need.

With renewed strength and a peace that I still keep in my heart, I went to bed to dream of a place where there is no darkness, no shadows, no mysteries, and I knew from here he could see me.

I am blessed by a man named RANDY.

The drum began its deep throb, quietly at first

At the graveyard, the drum began its deep throb quietly at first then building to a strong crescendo that ran over the prairies. It filled every crevice and slid through the trees bare of leaves. Winston's beautiful voice rang out calling Spirits to help our brother home. He sang to the ones who have gone before us so they may meet the man called Randy and help him cross this last barren stretch. He held the drum high to Father Sky and asked to help us, his earthly children and those left grieving for his life. His voice covered the Mother who lay sleeping in her whiteness. "Go home son; go home where there is love; go with the love of your earthly people; go with the love of your earthly mother who even now cries from the deepest part that began the birth of your being; go across the sky; go beyond this place and rest in your home on high".

I heard this in my being and I was humbled to have this man, my cousin, do the honoring ceremony for us. His words comforted us and he said, "All will heal with the drum, for it is the heartbeat of this nation and our beginnings".

The 60 degree windshield factor couldn't compare to he frozen state of mourning i saw in the eyes of my siblings. "Randy, let the love we have for each other be what helps us now,"

I prayed.

They lowered him into the opening of the earth. We threw frozen earth down so, once more, Mother Earth would cover him on the prairies, much like the fine silt she swept over him at the bottom of a cold clear lake. I knew that this was the right way for us to send him home. This is what we have done from the beginning of Indian Time.

We gathered in the church basement to eat and talk and take strength from each other. My siblings and I grouped up to take pictures, naturally leaving a spot where Randy would have stood. We have never been minus one, so we didn't know what to do or how to be. For a moment there was silence and the loss made visible by the empty space. We closed the gap and held each other tight. While hanging on, we knew this is how it would be until SPIRIT CALLS.

Leaving was painful. Everyone came and held us and said good by to a man they said was too young to die.

ALL MY RELATIONS

These are my memories of it. The pain as I write is still there in the Randy part. I am able to do this now, because I am no longer in this picture. I stand and watch it from time to time. Often when a big blue 18 wheeler passes me, I see him at the wheel waving and happy. I hear him in a crowded coffee shop filled with boisterous truckers. I hear him on the wind. I see his light in heaven whenever I sit on an open prairie, or in the quiet of my home by the Sea of Cortez. If I look towards the star blanketed skies he is there twinkling. Sometimes he is the wind U TEN ACH CHIMOO. It sings to me the song of long ago when he was here and he sang THE MUFFIN MAN.
I will always remember this, his last words to me, "This is how it is. I love you and I will always be with you".

Randy, my baby brother, loves Chalen Ewing who is MORNINGSTAR WOMAN.

Drum Song

So we did all the things one has to do to bury a loved one. The day dawned clear and cold and our very breath was snatched away through mittened hands. The wind screamed and stung any skin left exposed. The minus 40 temperatures froze the tears, already stinging our eyes, when we greeted each of the people who arrived to share the pain of the man gone home. It was a homecoming and he'd have been proud of the crowd that pulled up to share the loss of him our brother.

The big doors of the church kept opening letting in family and friends as they searched for each other and sat in close family groups.
It was healing to finally sit with my siblings. It was the only comfort we had for days and we leaned in close to share our common pain. Our sorrow was great and cloaked us, as we held each other up.

Winston Wuttunee, my cousin and a revered singer, spokesman and entertainer, brought his ceremonial drum and walked down the aisle. Our people stirred and a rustling was heard through the crowd as we turned to get a look at the drum and the voice coming in that would reach out to sing him home.

We were startled to hear the minister, upon seeing the drum, announce that he, (Winston)could not sing or bring IT into the church, as they did not allow any pagan ceremonies. The people would not like it. Apparently, he hadn't looked out into the church at the sea of black shining heads and brown faces. He then informed us he had no control at the graveyard so we could do IT there.

The pain of grieving had taken its toll and all I could do was to turn away. It was just one more blow to a mind and body now running on grief alone that threatened to consume it.

I was out of my body and not aware of much of what he had to say after that. It was probably something that addressed love and understanding. He looked at our drum with eyes as cold the snow coming through the cracks in the church door.

The presence of my brother Randy was there and I could still see his eyes telling me, "Its OK. They don't know," and that he would always be with us. I could hear the cries and quiet sobs of our family and friends. It was good to be here in a common place. I thought of why we where there and it was so painful like an open wound.

Tears ran down and scorched my face while stinging my swollen eyes that could barely stay open. What was left at that time, I wanted to leave there because I knew that only time could heal the gaping hole in my soul. It seemed as if the only thing that I had left of him was pain, but that it was OK as it was connected to him. I knew that here I could find comfort in the midst of sorrow, for too soon, I'd have to do this on my own.

If ever I thought that I would fly off the planet, it was then, at that very moment. Only the hand of my sister kept me from leaving my body forever.

The voice from the front of the church kept on pushing me deep into by being as I reached to touch my brother's essence once again. "Its OK", I heard him say, "I am here".

I thought of the teachings that had lead me this far on my earthly journey. The grandmothers and the grandfathers who sang the song with the drums, the heart of our nation. I thought of a hilltop high in the mountains of Norway--a Golden Face that had appeared to me in another hour of need. It told me to look around, that everywhere I looked I saw the face of God. Randy again said, "its OK sis. I am here".

For an instant I let go and was whisked away to a mountain high and again, love and light filled my soul. I felt the edges coming together reaching to heal me. I let go of thoughts of pagan drums and people who speak these words, and forgiveness washed my soul and angels sang the song long forgotten.

The Wind In The Trees

As we left the morgue, Grandmother Moon was shining through the tall pine trees and there was a freshness in the air. It felt like it was the the first breath I had taken or become aware of in days. I could hear the wind coming through the tops of the trees. We say the wind tell stories, U TEN ACH CHIMOO.

It came singing through telling all the winged ones, he is free. The bluebird has gone home and now he flies to the Great Mystery to talk to the angels. He is in the place that allows him to listen clearly and to see clearly, that which we miss here as we walk the Mother Earth. His head is no longer down. He sees the Great One now with eyes that can hold the beauty of all. All things were rejoicing for we are sending you a voice.

Tears flowed for the beauty of it all--for the No Place. I had walked through the No Place.

There was only the details now for the burial of his body. The tears no longer stung, but they ran for the pain of my relations and his son and his wife. A week earlier, we had sat on the banks of the Bonaparte Creek and ate apples that had fallen, "just for us," he had said. With our faces together facing and munching, we made our amends. Mostly mine, for today I walk the Red Road of Recovery.

"Hey boy,"I said.
"Don't call me boy," he laughed.
"OK then, Big Boy," I laughed.
I told him if I had ever hurt him in anyway in this lifetime, I was sorry.
"You never did," he said.
I laughed. He said he probably didn't ever do anything to me, but since we were coming clean, he was sorry if there was the remotest possibly of a little tiny hurt that he had done. I reassured him, there was none. We agreed times were hard when we were little, but we sure did all love each other. Yes, we agreed on most things. It was easy with him.

It seemed like a lifetime ago, his face and my face talking and laughing. Sitting beside the sweatlodge as the creek ran lazily by. The coyote called a lonesome call as the ole Grandmother Moon tipped over the trees. A promise of a light to show us the way home.

This I know to be just a small part of the stairway to heaven and each and everything is connected. Nothing by mischance. As I was strapping myself into my seat on the plane home, I heard the attendant say they had to phone the funeral home. I asked if there was a coffin on board. they looked at me weird.
"I think that is my brother," i said.
"Yes we're stopping to pick up a body soon in Comox."
It was him. It was where they had sent him before he'd fly home.

"Looks like its just you and I Randy," I said as we left.
So we flew over the mountains and I saw the inlet and the highway looked like a silver ribbon winding its way through the mountains. He had driven these roads lots of times. No more for you Randy. No more pounding tires, no more winding roads. You have traveled your last highway.

We weere above the clouds and the sky was bright with the morning light that burnt orange. Floating on the tops of cotton candy clouds, soft droning engines seemed to sing "Randy we are going home where our people wait for us. You will rest on the prairies where our ancestors lay sleeping. You who have gone before us, we will send you home in honor with our drums and our songs to guide you".

You Were The Rock

"Randy, for being my brother in this lifetime, thank you. For holding my children when they cried, thank you. You were the rock, the one who called us in every corner of the province and made us promise to be at the lake you picked out. You always told us what to bring, what we were going to eat, and how much.
Oh boy did you love to cook. You used to say to us, "No wonder I'm this big. I have to sample all this food to see if it's good enough." It always was.

I let his name echo through the pages of my memories. I saw him as a toddler, then starting school and coming home to sing us his songs. I HAVE A LOVELY BUNCH OF COCONUTS and the one about THE MUFFIN MAN. We agreed he was the muffin man.

His wedding and his children. Him doing all the cooking at all the get-togethers.
I thanked him for validating my place in the family that only other siblings can do. They know because we've shared the same womb.

My son and husband and my brother Ed stood nearby sobbing quietly, each man in his own pain and running after the memories of this special man. Brother, brother in law, and uncle.

The room was cold and gray, but the light that bounced off the walls was warm and felt free. I thought I heard him say, "It's OK sis, I'm here". I knew then he was free to fly where spirits go when Great Spirit calls. I said a prayer. I send my prayers on eagles wings way up into the sky, so I can see from mountains high where angels go to cry.

His truck was blue and I called it The Big BlueBird. Now he is the bluebird. "Go fly away home Randy. Its OK now, thank you for your being, for your love, thank you for loving me. Go fly away home, its OK".

I took a small snip of his hair and I could smell his essence. I kissed him and stroked his hair once more. "Oh Father, hold this one dear and keep him safe on his spiritual journey home."

I could leave now and as I held his lock of hair to me, I heard him say, "remember me in this."

Stairway To Heaven

My brother Ed and my husband were with me now. We talked to the R.C.M.P and were allowed to go out to the accident site. On the way out we listened to the radio. The announcer was talking like it was just another accident. "officials are saying the propane truck in Buttle Lake was potentially the biggest bang near the Campbell River since the Ripple Rock disappeared in 1958". He goes on and on and ends by saying, "The crisis ended Sunday with nothing louder than a long sigh of relief."

What! Is he crazy? A long sigh of relief for who? Oh, there he goes again, "this has to be the worst accident I've seen in 13 years, or at the least, the most difficult in terms of salvage, if not in the terms of loss of life," says one of the R.C.M.P constables. He goes on to talk about the video footage and how if it sparked it would create a bang like which they've never heard around these parts. It never ends. Now its a closed road to the site of the accident and a NO FLY zone.

But we had to go. We had to see for ourselves where it happened. Maybe it would make sense of a world gone mad. I had to go to the place, the spot that spirit had called my brother home, just to drive those last few miles. Oh ya, I could see him now driving along with my son laughing and talking with his big brown arm out the window.

We rounded the corner and there it was, his tanker floating in the lake and skid marks that had left deep gouges in the highway. With everything I knew about myself and death and grieving, I knew I had to be here. I'd just wonder every time I saw water, is this the last thing he saw? We got out and walked to the edge of the cliff. I looked over and saw my son's clothes on the rocks below. My heart skipped a beat as I was told by search and rescue that he'd hung onto the ledge for 6 hrs.

The divers were just taking off their gear and they told us they had just found the body and we had passed it on our way there. I could see their lips moving and heard snatches of the danger if the tanker blew up. They were sending in experts across Canada to get the truck out.

We drive back along the road and I now know where he died and it was important so there would be no more holes in my heart, that was wounded more with every new bit of information. The scene was unfolding, but I didn't care. I couldn't.

Next we were at the morgue to identify the body. This was bittersweet. My rational mind knew he had gone home. The elders say this in not our home. We are here for a short time and its a gift of the Creator and when we leave we go home. Creators grace could never take us to where his love won't look after us. Even it it was in death i had to be with him and to make sacred the last sight of his being.

The coroner asked if I was afraid. I told her no, that the body that housed my brothers spirit was what I needed to say good bye to. She was so kind and compassionate and asked if there was anything she could do. Just don't' cover him up. Take the sheet off his face please.

When i walked in there he was filling the whole table that he lay on. A big beautiful man resting as if in sleep. Looking at him, I saw his perfection. His chiseled face, a beautiful straight nose, his mouth soft and full. This was no death mask. This exquisite man whose long eyelashes lay resting on his brown velvet skin had gone home and mother earth had gently covered him in the soft silt of the lake bottom. I wiped the creases in his nose and I stroked his hair and told him what a gift to have had him in this lifetime as my brother. I thanked the Great Mother for covering him and rocking him gently as if to sleep.

My son Russell was with us now and told his uncle it was a good day to go home and that he would always miss him and remember him. There was no hint that he had fought in his last moments. On the quiet clear bottom of a cold mountain lake, he heard the forgotten song, slipped out of the body we loved and the winged ones took him home, safe in the portals of heaven.

When Spirit Calls.

I thought that I might just die from this pain that was slowly crushing the life out of me. He is dead. Oh my god! He is gone from this world. It just can't be.
The sharp loud ringing was disturbing the report I was writing at the addictions centre I was working at.

Waking up that morning, everything was familiar, as was the Bonaparte Creek gurgling its way past my window. The car purred along as I drove the winding highway to work. Oh Creator, thank you for filling me with this beauty everyday. The majesty of the interior of British Columbia is still one of the most beautiful places that I have lived in. Gentle hills rolling into the Thompson River, an eagle swooping down to pull a trout that dangles from mighty talons. Dark green pines with a short shadow, as the morning light sent beams of silver into the water tumbling from mountains high. I loved to see the hills lying like full breasts on the Mother Earth who was now getting ready to wear her winter coat. A view from the hilltops let a glimpse of the valleys below beckon me to enter to the silence within.

That persistent ringing not only interrupted my writing, it changed how I was to understand and live my life. "Who is this?," I asked. "its me, Russell," sobbed my eldest son. "What has happened?" I shouted. "Oh god mom, I don't think I can make it. It's awful. There's been an accident and uncle Randy is dead and Billy is in the Campbell River hospital in intensive care."

Dead? this totally foreign thought brought white shocking pain like someone was crushing my head. "Oh God mom, please come. I can't make it. Please come here. I just can't make it," pleaded Russell.

As I left my body, I could hear the anguish and moaning of us both, that carried me into a grey misty place. Someone's screaming slammed me back into the room that was now void of any warmth. Shaking and numb, I could hear him trying to tell me what had happened. "They were on their way to Vancouver Island; Uncle Randy picked up Billy and took him with him. They were going around a series of S curves and the semi-trailer flipped over the guard rail and down a 70 foot cliff into Buttle Lake. He was carrying 39,000 litres of propane."

Randy, my brother, dead and my youngest son was clinging to life in the hospital on the Island? There was more, but I didn't hear, except the part that he was leaving for the Island and would see me as soon as I got there.

I was in a NO Place. There were muffled sounds of my co-workers making plane arrangements. Someone driving me home on the highway that hours earlier, was magic. The world held no colors, no more magic or beauty--just the wind screaming over the tops of trees that seemed to have suddenly dropped all their leaves. They too felt a life stripped and barren.

Oh my God, Randy is dead, echoed in my being like an endless loop of sad, sad song.
"I'll see you in 3 days," he said. "I'll be back for supper on Wednesday, I won't be long."

The sudden wrenching away of a loved one steals what you know to be normal. How you see the world and how you react to seemingly everyday situations changes in that moment of time. There is no beginning or end, just that loop calling you to leave and go away from the pain.

How can anyone just be gone in the blink of an eye? One moment here talking, laughing, seeing their smile, holding them, hearing them tell you they'll see you soon. I suspected that there are times in this continuum, (that we know as time)that is your portal to go to the great beyond. Like we came with a map and when we get to that portal, something reminds us this is where we leave and we have no control over this. It takes you as you are, finished or not. So was this it? Oh Randy, did the elders who have gone before us, meet you here? No, this was the doing of the Great One and I screamed to him, "I know you who makes all things and knows all things did this. I have walked and always knew you lead the way, but this has got to be a mistake. This can't be right. We had no warning. No time to say good-by. He had every reason to live. Why did you take my brother? Why??? became the endless loop. Another verse of the sad song.

His Journey Home

My husband Eric and I met him at the Husky House restaurant--the one at the corner in Cache Creek. As usual it was busy, as all the truckers stopped to eat together and bring log books up to date. He was quiet and seemed distant, and amidst the clatter of dishes I heard him say, "I just don't want to do this." He told us he had to pick up a load of propane--35,000 litres. The mine was on strike and only natives could cross the line. He said he gave them such a high quote hoping not to get it and they accepted, so he had to go.

He sat and talked to Eric about his new truck. I pushed over and sat closer. I could feel his leg warm under the table. As i looked at him I could see his black hair glistening and beads of water on the nape of his neck. His aftershave was familiar and I thought about how much I love this big gentle man.
I was born with the gift of insight and many a time in my life, it told me things. A voice inside that lead the way and cautioned me. On the reservation it was not made fun of. My elders would talk quietly about what was in store for me, with that gift, in this lifetime. Nothing told me anything at the table, but he did seem distant and quiet. We agreed we'd have a spaghetti dinner when he got back.

It was Dec 31st, the day of the year I brought my journals up to date. I looked back at what we had done, what we had learnt and dreamt of the happiness I wanted to come.
I settled in the big chair with a cup of tea and began to write. Immediately, I felt an ice cold wind blow seemingly through me. It took my breath away. My husband heard my gasp and asked what was wrong.
"Eric, someone we know will be taken away from us very soon, its like I felt the angel of death come into our house and suck out a life."
"Wow, that's a big one. Who is it," he asked.
I don't know I said. Just someone we know. I wrote, Creator, someone we know is going home soon. Please give me the strength to go through it.

"Gotta go. See you soon." Randy had said.

Is soon time? Well death takes soon away too. It makes all the days and nites run together. Phones rang in the distance, murmured voices crying, loved ones with red tear filled eyes because death turned on that tap too.

At the hospital, I bent over my son, my baby, grateful that he at least was still here. My mother heart aching to make him all better and then remembering the scream and the thud as my own mother fell to the floor, her heart broken upon receiving the news her son was dead. She had a heart attack and was taken away.

His breathing was so shallow, but he was here and the pain bore witness to that.
"Bill its mom," I said. "can you hear me?"
When his eyes opened, I could see that somehow a light had gone out in him.
"I saw you when I was in the water. I saw you all. I called for you, for anyone to help me to help us. I tried, i really tried. I couldn't find him and he couldn't stay up. We were calling to each other. Uncle. Uncle kick your legs. Bill, I can't he said. I can't. I lost him mom. I went under the water and I got lost. I didn't know which way was up. I thought I was going to die. I wanted to just take in water and let it be all over. It was just so much. But something came and lifted me up under my arms. A strong warm strength brought me to the surface." Was this my brother's last act, even in death, to help? "Mom, where is he, where is uncle Randy?"

"Oh Great One, help me say the right words at this time," I prayed within myself.
"Help me, you are the most Holy and you know my heart. Keep us safe with your eternal love so I can give my son the right words so that he can begin to heal."
Bill, they haven't found him yet. They have divers going to look for him."

The nurses had just given him his pain medication and I could see him slipping away.
"Oh mom, did I make the right decision? Did I do the right thing?"
"Oh Billy, you did the right thing. You did all you could."
"Yes, but can I live with it now?"
A shutter shakes his body and he lets go and slips into sleep.

There is no end to this anguish that threatens to completely unhinge the door to my heart where this fear and the icy fingers of death reach out to pull me through to this time that has no end.

I was born into the Red Pheasant First Nation in the middle of the prairie in Saskatchewan, Canada. I am a traditional woman. I am more than pow wows and drumbeats that fill my soul. I am more than braids, feathers, and beads. I still hear the steady beat of moccasined feet dancing into the night. We are camped at the Sundance grounds and...

Sundance

Sundance is coming. I can feel the excitement. "Braid your hair young one and say your prayers." says kokum always making sure I braid and pray.

My prayer is this, "Oh Great Father, you who are most holy and reside in all your people, thank you for this time. We are the Red Pheasant First Nations and we are gathering to thank you for all that we have and all that we are. Father let us feel your love as we see the old ones who come to help us remember the ways of our people. Let all that is sacred rejoice for we are sending you a voice. All my relations."

I could hear the wagon groaning and the horses snorting as grandfather pulled the team up to the tent. "Child, get in. The people wait for us. It is time to start the ceremonies."

It is what we do as Prairie Cree. It is the time now and even the oldest one, great Grandmother Maggie, hurried as much as her old bones would let her. We will give thanks and dance and run on soft green grass.

I sit on top the teepee poles and hold onto a large black pot that will swing over a campfire. We are going to Sundance.

Morningstar Sees

Welcome and come with me to sun and sand on the warm white beach in Baja Mexico. My name is Morningstar Woman, a Cree elder walking the Red Road and living the way of the ancient teachings.

We are the ancient ones remembering the forgotten song that whispers to us, "Here is your shelter. Here in the midst of life's journey. Lay your burden down and bring forth the wisdom that lies hidden in your heart."

Grief is the knock, pain is the symptom, this your calling to release and listen, see your destiny written on the sands of time.