From the Horse's Mouth...

A New Path or True Path?

2011-02-24T17:41:00.002-06:00

Just when I think I may be in a certain place for a while, life changes. I made another move in November of last year. Not wholly unexpected or cataclysmic, but still monumental. I am home on the rez.

What does this mean? As I was preparing for the move, I was told that I was on a "New Path" then once I returned home, I learned that I am back on my "True Path." One that I've been well prepared for.

Hmmm...

This sounds so serious! It all makes me quite thoughtful about how I want things to be. So, for the first time in my life, I do not feel rushed into anything.

And I like that feeling!

Since September of last year, I experienced an intense amount of healing and understanding taking place in my spirit. Like my cells were rearranging themselves. I made peace with some very important people in my life, and as I did so I felt the fear evaporate and my heart become solid with love. I let go in order to continuing walking forward on my path.

I have many plans and am setting those plans into motion. Some extend way beyond myself and others are very short-term.

I've received an invitation to visit a Sami school in Norway this spring, and to spend some time with young students who are interested in Native people from the U.S. I, too, am very interested in learning more about the Sami people in that region. This experience will also help me to refine the ideals for my school, Path of the Sun.

I am hearing the Omaha language spoken, once again. I am taking that in, slowly, as well. Savoring the feeling for the moment. It's an immersion in joy. Preparation for what's to come in Path of the Sun!

I am continuing my work as a Teaching Artist and am working with Omaha Nation Public School. Working with younger students this time around. Coming up with concepts for them that they will remember for the rest of their lives.

I love to sing! I love to write! I love to teach! It's all here to breathe in!

True Path...resonates in my spirit.

What it means to me is that, at long last, I have gained confidence in my own abilities to do what I have always wanted to do!

And it feels so right!

Striking Flint...

2010-10-19T08:02:00.004-05:00

This is the first part of my Introduction in the Nebraska Educator's Guide to American Indian Singing and Dancing: Making Connections to the Classroom, to be published by the LIED Center for Performing Arts.

Striking Flint...

Any body of work produced by an artist or any lesson taught by an educator, most often feels in the beginning, as if one is striking flint to ignite a spark in a field of grass. This task may seem overwhelming and even, at times, impossible.

During the spring of 2010, my children and I witnessed a fire lighting ceremony in northern Wisconsin. It began right before sunrise in an enclosed structure, much like a shed with a large opening at the top. As we gathered that morning, the firekeepers, men who were presiding over this ceremony, cleared a space toward the center of this structure. My children and I stood to one side with many others. Several firekeepers stood in a circle and began to hit sticks together, rhythmically, as if they were beating on a drum. They also started singing a beautiful ceremonial song of renewal.

One of the men had the responsibility of lighting the fire by striking flint together until he was able to ignite a bundle of grass into a smoldering flame. He blew on the grass until it burned higher, then added small pieces of wood so that the flame grew large enough for more wood to be added, until finally, he had a great fire, burning brightly. The song ended once this was achieved, then all the men added their rhythm sticks to the sacred fire...one by one. For four days, the ceremonial fire was kept burning until the spring ceremonies were completed.

In many Native cultures, the gift of fire came from the Thunder Beings, who are the givers of life and death. This gift was to be kept in a sacred manner and was never to be abused or discarded. It was through fire that the people were able to cook their food and to stay warm during the cold seasons.

The key in striking flint to ignite a flame is to do so, patiently, and relentlessly. It is a process that is well understood in the act of creation, as well as in teaching. The goal being to bring an ideal to life through art or to ignite the imaginations of young minds that are placed within our care, much like the firekeepers whose responsibility it is to bring the sacred fire into this universe.

And, as such, it is indeed a beautiful and mysterious process to behold. One that requires our total concentration and commitment as artists and educators, just like the fire keepers.

Laying Down Tobacco for Yvonne...

2010-09-10T17:08:00.004-05:00

It's not often that I share this side of me with those who are unfamiliar with the action of laying down tobacco.

When I went home to the rez this week, I didn't get to spend much time outside, which is my preference. The weather was overcast most of the time and it rained off and on. A gentle rain that made me think that the clouds were crying.

I wound up going to the cemetery before returning to Lincoln. Checking on relatives lying up on the hillside of varying greens. There were lots of flowers here and there. Some were actually real.

I went to my relative, Yvonne Ortiz' graveside, to lay down tobacco and ask for a blessing of peace for her mother and father. They miss her. Unbearably so.

I miss her.

Her voice came to me for a moment, from two years ago, when she told me how her tumors had returned. She asked for prayers. And I prayed.

Then my sister Tara's voice came to me when she called me one morning last November, to tell me that she was preparing to come to Macy. With Yvonne. That they were bringing her home.

During the wake and funeral, I don't think the Omaha Indian Reservation had ever had so many Ojibwe's, (Midewiwins at that), and Dakota's in one location in a very long time. If ever.

And they came for Yvonne.

At 29, she made her Spirit Journey. She left a strong legacy behind of living a healthy lifestyle. She was dedicated to serving the Native community in researching the traditional uses of natural tobacco. The 5th Annual Connecting Our Lifeways: Traditional Tobacco Use and Contemporary Use Conference honored her by hosting a 1k memorial walk at the Prairie Island Indian Community, Minnesota.

I think of her in this way, while she was here, she put her entire being into everything she did, thoroughly, and she smiled all the time. A magical, gorgeous smile that dazzled everyone who saw her this way.

So, I thought of her smile, as I lay down the natural tobacco on her grave. It was for her parents, that they can go on living with perhaps a little less pain.

The clouds had cleared and the sun smiled down, gorgeously, on the beautiful place where she lies.

Making Connections: Am I unwilling to emotionally invest?

2010-09-02T19:04:00.003-05:00

I had a great visit on the phone with my sister, Tara, last night. She was on her way to Rapid City for a job interview and had just stopped for the night somewhere in South Dakota. Our conversation ran along the lines of where we are in our lives right now, at least, career wise. Both of us are single mothers and are very dedicated to a way of life that is in service to the people.

One of the things that I have always valued about my connection with Tara is that I need to do very little explaining about what's happening in my life. She gets what I am saying.

In talking with her, I said, "I have been here in Lincoln for a little over two years now and although I have a really strong connection with our sundance circle here, I still have held many people at arms length! I haven't really connected with anyone here, like I did in the Twin Cities!"

She replied, "Well, it's because you have been uncertain about what you are going to do, whether you are going to stay there or not. You haven't made any emotional investments! Especially if you plan to move again."

Hmmmm...this gave me much to think about today.

I went to the Talking Circle last night. I got to share and again, feel very connected to this circle, as well. I really do love people in the Lincoln Community! But I know this about myself. I hesitate to get close. Getting close to someone, anyone, can be an absolute joy but can also be terrifying if one has to leave.

Okay. So what do I do?

I have been spending time with different friends, from time to time. I have hosted birthday parties at my house and have had ceremonies, too. So, I am not totally reclusive! And, I am continually surrounded with my children.

This is an interesting time for me. I feel that I am becoming the writer I've always wanted to be and I am doing the things I love to do! But there is still that one element of letting anyone get close to me.

I need to grow...again.

On This Path

2010-06-23T16:55:00.003-05:00

Moving forward on this path, I desire to understand...

The ancestors.

The ceremonies.

The medicines.

The land.

The languages.

The future.

A way of life that brings them all together in a good way.

WibthahoN, Pilamaya, Miigwetch, Thank you.

Remember Who You Are...

2010-02-03T18:02:00.003-06:00

I had a great conversation with my Kanai relative, Jack Gladstone, the other night. Whenever we talk, it's about the words we use in our work as artists. I admire Jack's work as a poet/lyricist/singer. And he's a great storyteller.

I shared with him about how difficult it has been for me to write lately because I've been in a slump. So, how do I overcome that? Hmmm...

Jack helped with some insight. He talked about acceptance and told me that I need to accept that Yvonne has passed. And, that once I've accepted that, then I can began the process of making connections to her life and writing about her in the lyrical form, through organic metaphor.

To a poet, like me, words are magical. In these suggestions he gave me, something took root in my brain cells and began to flourish. Organic metaphor...

All of this, takes me back to 2007 when I wrote the poem View from the Holy Fire Place for my Uncle Ralph "Rocky" Preston and read it at his wake. After the reading, I was approached by Sheila Rocha, founder of “The Indigenous Collective of Theater and the Arts" (TICOTA), a non-profit organization based in Omaha, Nebraska. Sheila and I sat outside by the fire for some time that evening and talked about the scarcity of Native Women poets in the Midwest. During our conversation she spoke about her upcoming production called "Sacred Sites: Honoring Native Lands" and she invited me to submit my poem View from the Holy Fire Place.

In this poem, I wrote about the Holy Fire Place, which is a sacred site on the Omaha Indian Reservation where the Omaha people went for their vision quests. Throughout the years when I was living on the Omaha Reservation, I continually went there seeking solace and usually came away with a calmer frame of mind.

The Sacred Sites: Honoring Native Lands production was performed in February of 2008 at the Rose Theatre. I traveled from Minneapolis to Omaha to attend one of the performances, which were quite beautiful and involved many Native dancers, singers, and actors.

I think it's every artist's dream to have their work performed in a production such as this. When it was time for the scene, which featured my poem, it was performed by Richard Borea, one of my Omaha relatives. I was so touched and felt my spirit lifted.

Richard and I talked afterwards. He told me how excited he was to be a part of this production and how he really appreciated my poem because he knew about the Holy Fire Place and understood the feeling behind it. Then he shared with me his Omaha name, Yellow Horse. I just looked at him in surprise for a moment, then I burst out "that was my father's name, too! This was meant to be!" We were like kids, jumping up and down, crying.

We are all connected and by writing about these connections, well that involves a unified experience or Organic Metaphor, which we experience in our tribal circles or as "All My Relations!"

So it leads to this present time for me. A time for healing. And, once again, I can revisit the Holy Fire Place in my spirit, and continue my healing through acceptance.

"As you are making all these connections, remember who you are!" said my cousin, Jack.

Words are like magic..

Thanks, Jack!

Never Give Up!

2010-02-01T13:18:00.002-06:00

Never give up! A message I received over the weekend in sweat. Just in time to help me stay focused on my path. Lots coming up for me and my kids over the next few months. Ceremonies, ceremonies, and then more ceremonies!

It is so good to see things stabilize for my children in school. I think I can actually take a deep breath here and say thank you to the Above! WibthahoN! My kids are happy!

So much going through my mind, voices, or words more like, that I am trying to capture on the written page! It could be that I just drank too much coffee from Starbucks! Got coffee nerves now! Ha, ha!

Been putting a lot of prayers out there for friends and relatives. Especially for the women who have been so supportive of me all these years. It's hard to see them become ill. They don't deserve this when they have such beautiful hearts and work so hard! My thoughts are with them today, too.

Today is also the birthday of my relative, Yvonne Ortiz. She made her journey to the spirit world in November. Since her passing, something in me changed. An understanding came, as a mother. Yvonne had twin baby girls last spring and she was also battling cancer. She loved her babies more than anything. Her mother, Felicia, made a request of me to write a poem about Yvonne. This, too, has been on my mind. I wish to honor her in a good way through the gift of words...

But it is hard...

Because every time, I think about writing for her, I cry. So I wind up praying instead.

Yvonne's determination to have her babies in spite of what was happening in her body is what has struck me most. She was so strong and believed in her prayers, life, and love.

I am in awe of her determination. And that has changed me. So those words I heard this past weekend, reinforce that change.

I love you, Yvonne!

Pow-wows, Everyday Life, and Twilight Dreams

2009-08-14T20:30:00.007-05:00

Returning home is always a blessing. Last weekend I went home to the Omaha Tribe's Harvest Celebration Pow-wow in Macy, NE. This years pow-wow was rumored to have been canceled due to funding issues, however what I seen upon arrival was a full celebration going strong.

Found my mother, Alice Saunsoci, who was sitting behind my brothers' drum group, Rock Bottom. She looked beautiful and relaxed in her light colored regalia and she was extremely happy to see me and the kids. She gave me a hug and kiss and told me to set my chair next to hers.

I sat in my star spangled pow-wow chair for a time mesmerized by the dancing and singing. Kids took off right away to see whatever there was to see. I had told them, as we were traveling back to Macy, about my escapades when I was little. I used to run all over the pow-wow grounds with my cousins chasing the Moore Boys from Pawnee, Oklahoma. So I knew the entire place like my own palm. Lots of good memories there. Heh-heh.

After a time, I became thirsty and got up to go in search for something to drink. I stopped suddenly when I heard someone call me name. My cousin/sister Mary waved me over to where she was sitting. She stood up and gave me a hug as soon as I walked up to her.

"What? No famous writers with you this time?" she asked playfully.

"Nope. No writers, actors, or producers came along with me this time around!" I responded with a smile, "Just me!"

I let my eyes roam the crowd as we stood and talked. Everywhere I looked were familiar faces of my Omaha relatives, with a few unknown ones scattered here and there.

The atmosphere was so very warm and carnival like. It felt good to be amongst my tribe once again.

Mary's question, though said in jest, sent me into a contemplative state. As I walked the midway, continuing my search for some thirst quenching concoction, I realized that the last time I'd been to our pow-wow was in 2007. And, yes, I was accompanied by Christopher Cartmill, the writer/playwright, Mary was referring to. Chris and I had forged an unbreakable bond of friendship and understanding that year. He became my brother.

2007 was about change. Then 2008 was a blur. And 2009?

Contemplation #1: This year has been about rebuilding a life...

We've been in Lincoln for little over a year now and have a comfortable little home in a quiet neighborhood surrounded by good people. It's exactly what I had hoped for.

I heard the M.C., Chiefy, (everyone knows Chiefy!) announce that there was going to be two intertribals before the next special. I hurried back to my mom and we went out to dance in the arena. One of the intertribal songs was sung by my brothers, Omaha Lodge. As they sang, I felt my spirit fill with happiness so I started dancing with a lot of energy. I even felt some tears slip down my face at some point. This was exactly where I needed to be in that moment.

When the song was over and we found our seats again, my kids came bounding over to me smiling like big puppies. They all had snow cones that their Aunty Alison had bought for them. They each said that they were having a good time, then they bounded off once again to who knows where.

Contemplation #2: My kids' happiness is the mainstay of my life...

I have been totally focused on helping my kids adjust to all the changes in their lives. I have been relentless about building resiliency in them and within myself. Standing strong no matter what. A description of resiliency goes like this:

"Resilience is a term used to describe a set of qualities that foster a process of successful adaptation and transformation despite risk and adversity (Benard, 1995). Persons who are resilient have the capacity to withstand, overcome, or recover from serious threat (Masten, 2001). Simply put, resilience is the ability to bounce back from adversity."

My kids and I have been through some extreme test of adversity in the past year.

A year ago, we stood in a place where we had no home. We faced a situation that held a great threat to our well-being. And we survived it.

Contemplation #3: Our family resiliency is based on our spirituality...

As the pow-wow wound up for the year, the endnote was on a happy one. Everyone was happy! Seeing my kids happy and having fun at our pow-wow brought me great joy, which I am very thankful for! Spending time with my mom also brought us happiness.

This year has been all about building our resiliency through our spirituality. I have been dedicated to going to sweats and sundance, and to learning the Lakota ceremony songs and then singing them to my kids. They are Lakota. They frequently attend sweats and ceremonies with me. They know what I pray for...just as they know what I work on everyday.

In everyday life, I strive to exemplify those virtues that Native people hold dear: Humility, compassion, respect, and fortitude. There are others, of course, but I just wanted to mention those ones right now.

I dream at times when I am still awake. Twilight dreams between the night and day. Glimpses of the strands of time, if there are such things, though I've heard that they are called "strings."

We drove home the next day after pow-wow. Refreshed and ready to began anew. Our little home was waiting for us just as we had left it the day before.

A Journey to the Heart...My Home

2009-04-23T10:01:00.002-05:00

Many have heard me recite this poem in the past year. It is an epic about the migration of many tribes from the East but it is also my own story. It took me many years to find it and by doing so, I am continuing to walk this journey to the heart, it's unending...

A Journey to the Heart…My Home
By Renee Sans Souci

Dedicated to Bawdwayidun (Eddie Benton-Benai), Grand Chief of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge

It actually began millennia ago…that journey
Brave ancestors walked these pure paths unbridled by self-doubt or shame
We knew as Midewiwin people even then that there was no beginning or no end
And anything was possible we were told…

My grandmothers and grandfathers once trod those sunrise shores
Known as the Atlantic in this new language we speak now
We lived in the hills and the mountains amidst unquenched beauty
Rooted like medicine to a way of life that beheld all of Creation

Our lives were filled with the wonder of the Earth and the Sky
That swirled around us like the protective aroma of cedar and sage
The days were redolent with the offerings of our sacred tobacco
A gift from the Creator for the intercession of All Our Relations

We thrived during this quiescent time at the height of our splendor
Until the seven prophets arrived to prepare us for the coming flood
They sent out a call in urgent proclamation up and down the coastline
Beseeching us to leave our beloved homes for the inland breathe of life

Many were importuned to join this Great Migration to follow the Sacred Shell
So we poured out from the land of the Morning Star People tribe upon tribe
And like a surging river we flowed together with one mind, body, and spirit
Destined to reach the grounds of Manomin the food that grows on top of the water

Out of the woodlands we heard the reverberations of the Little Boy Water Drum across the Great Lakes
Then it came to pass that my people chose a route south of the streaming movement
So we took up the Little Boy and pooled in the Ohio Basin for several generations seeking the plentitude that was offered there
During the era of the lively multi-tribal trading complexes known as the Angel Site and Cahokia

Eventually we proceeded onward through the magnificent Michizeebee along with our Ponca, Quapaw, Osage, and Konze relatives
Where we emerged as the Omaha or those who traveled upstream against the current
Adopting new ways of life we absorbed knowledge from our relatives the Iowa, the Arikara, the Lakota, and the Pawnee
Interspersed in our lives were especially the teachings of the Midewiwin and the Little Boy

Always in motion the people of Turtle Island reflect the teeming movement of the stars
Our energy pulsed in time with the Cosmos, the Four Directions, and the atomic subparticles of the earth
The Omahas referred to this lifeforce energy that permeated everything around us as Wakonda
In this way Wakonda helped us to discern and develop relationships with all the first beings who are the natural elements

Our new source of life was our relative the river Nishude aka the Smoky Missouri
Moving downriver along this watercourse we became known as exemplary peacemakers and agrarians
Experts in settling conflicts and in harvesting corn, squash and beans, the Three Sisters treasured by us all
Earth People, Sky People, our tribal circle was our law, our homes, and our relatives

Generations marked the passage of time with the turning of the sun and the appearance of the moon
Until the light skinned race arrived as was foretold by the seven prophets in the land of the Morning Star People
The first were the Voyageurs, traders from the French Nation, who came bearing gifts of good will
They married into the Omaha and assimilated with an ease as if they had always been a part of us

The others who came after the French brought diseases that ravaged our villages and brought us to the edge of obliteration
The few who survived witnessed their proud lifestyle vanish in the smoke of meaningless words
Millions of acres of land were ceded through treaties made with the United States in false promises of the reservations
Only to find that as wards of the government we were no longer in control of our very breath of life it seemed

The following are words from the Omaha, White Horse:

“Now the face of all the land is changed
and sad. The living creatures are gone.
I see the land desolate, and I suffer
unspeakable sadness. Sometimes I wake in
the night and feel as though I should suffocate
from the pressure of this awful feeling of
loneliness."

So said White Horse on August 13,1912.

My Grandparents and parents lived through the aftermath of such devastation with great resiliency
They were products of an education that strove to silence their beautiful voices and break apart our unending traditions
At a time when we lost so much including the heartbeat of the Little Boy Waterdrum
We were visited by the Sounding Voice, Bawdwayidun, of the Lac Courte Oreille Ojibwe Nation in 1958

My Grandmother was a member of the Shell Society, our midewiwin lodge that began in the time of the Seven Prophets
She was one of those who feted Bawdwayidun and offered him gifts to hear the voice of the Little Boy once again
In those songs were contained the history of our migration which had been dormant memories in my elders’ hearts
Rivulets of my Grandmother’s tears ran unchecked down her face in longing for the original teachings of the midewiwin

Tears are as strong as prayers and leave a trail in unborn hearts that have yet to beat in the future lives of our children
In 1962, I was born, four years after that historic meeting between the Sounding Voice and the Shell Society
What was forgotten by the time I grew up were the connections between all Native people of this land
Unawakened as I was for many years I wondered why I was living in such a barren state of belief

I felt isolated in my own unbearable sadness living through such heartbreak that I thought would never end
But a sound from a distance came my way and I heard my name addressed in a language unfamiliar to my ears
Yet the drumming was quite familiar and it spoke to my wounded heart through ancient beats from earlier times
You belong to me, he said in a young voice, come this way and I will show you the lifeforce of your people

So I followed this calling without hesitation to the woodlands of the Ojibwe Nation
And there I was introduced to Bawdwayidun, the Sounding Voice of the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge
Through Bawdwayidun I learned that for 50 years he kept the tears of my Grandmother close to his heart
Our tears mingle together now and mark my journey to the Little Boy who has welcomed me home to the Way of the Heart that is mine…

- Manitou Ishta Duhmoo Quay (Sacred Horse Woman)

“I’m just a human being trying to make it in a world that is very rapidly losing its understanding of being human" - John Trudell (Isanti Dakota)

“Find us Spirit Horses and teach us how to ride! With Seven Generations of promise at our side!” - From the song Spirit Horses by Annie Humphrey (Ojibwe)

Golden Feather...

2009-04-20T01:42:00.002-05:00

One of my favorite songs by Robbie Robertson. Found this video on youtube. Lyrics are below...

Golden Feather by Robbie Robertson

I think I'll go on back to Shenandoah
she said that she'd meet me by the fork in the road
I jump start my one eyed Ford
I'm heading for the pow-wow
follow the red path that leads to you.

I gave my love a golden feather
I gave my love a heart of stone
and when you find a golden feather
it means you'll never lose your way back home.

Should I paint my face
should I pierce my skin
does this make me a pagan
sweating out my sins
we ate the sacred mushroom
and waded in the water
howling like coyotes
at the naked moon.

I gave my love a golden feather
I gave my love a heart of stone
and when you find a golden feather
it means you'll never lose your way back home.

In the autumn night
when there's no wind blowin'
I could hear the stars falling in the dark
when you find out what's worth keeping
with a breath of kindness
blow the rest away.

I gave my love a golden feather
I gave my love a heart of stone
and when you find a golden feather
it means you'll never lose your way back home.

Love Remains the Same by Gavin Rossdale

2009-04-08T11:29:00.003-05:00

This song suits my mood today. As I am understanding that love really knows no boundaries. Remembering the past as well as what is in the here and now...because I know that no matter what...there is always still love.

a thousand times i've seen you standing
gravity like a lunar landing
make me want to run till i find you
shut the world away from here, drift to you, you're all i hear
everything we know fades to black

half the time the world is ending, truth is i am done pretending

i never thought that i had any more to give
pushing me so far here i am without you
drink to all that we have lost, mistakes that we have made
everything will change, love remains the same

i find a place where we escape
take you with me for a space
a city bus that sounds just like a fridge

walk the streets through seven bars
i had to find just out where you are
the faces seen to blur they're all the same

half the time the world is ending, truth is i am done pretending

i never thought that i had any more to give
you're pushing me so far here i am without you
drink to all that we have lost, mistakes that we have made
everything will change, love remains the same

so much more to say, so much to be done
don't you trick me out, we shall overcome
cause our love stays ablaze

we should have had the sun
could have been inside
instead we're over here

half the time the world is ending, truth is i am done pretending
too much time to love defending, you and i are done pretending

i never thought that i had any more to give
you're pushing me so far here i am without you
drink to all that we have lost, mistakes that we have made
everything will change, everything will change

oh, i.........

this could last forever

oh, i........

we could last forever

love remains the same
love remains the same

Peace by Colleen New Holy

2009-04-07T13:54:00.003-05:00

My daughter Colleen wrote this last night because I was overcome suddenly with such a longing for my former life in the Twin Cities and all that I had gone through there. I have found my peace through her and everything that I do in my life.

For my Mom, Renee...

Peace
By Colleen New Holy

Sunshine is gleaming like dewdrops
On a warm spring day
Untouched by wind and protected by light
The breeze is slow and gentle
Peace...

Peace is hard to find but when you do find it...
Ecstasy
Like your one with everything
The tips of grass, the tinkling of leaves on a tree
The warm feeling of the sun

Drifting like snow or blossoms, one by one
You miss your friends, family, and parents
Feeling the calm of day and the dreaminess of night
The warmness of sun
The cold of moondrops

The dew shines like small moons in the moonshine
Peace...
The leaves shift and sing the birdsong
Trill and twitters of love and kindness
Love...

Love is a mystery
but so is the warmth
Of someones love and the love to you back
The slow rhythm of breathing
The rise and fall of waves in the ocean.

In the darkness, a loon calls out
Lake Superior with it's swiftly tilting bowl of water
The calmness of waves on the red shores of the earth
Peace...Peace...
Peace is a measurement of ecstasy

"Give me a small measurement of peace and ecstasy."

The Thunder Crib...

2009-04-01T17:09:00.000-05:00

The Thunder Crib
By Renee Sans Souci

When we were born
The Sky cradled us in
Blankets of Thunder
While lightening danced
To Creator’s heartbeat
The Earth shared in echoes
Far and wide announcing
Us to the universe
Beginnings are raindrops
Which graced our smiles
In joy through
Our flashing eyes
We knew one another
Before we were sent
To walk with our Mother
As our steps lead us
Back to the Thunder Crib

For the Thunder Dreamers…

Omaha Nation Water Walk Benefit Performance Program

2009-03-17T17:18:00.002-05:00

Omaha Nation Water Walk
Benefit Performance

An Evening with:
Renee Sans Souci, Native Poet/Spoken Word Artist

Diane Robinson-Kerr, Flautist/Songwriter
Fran Collier, Guitarist

Welcome: Clair Guthrie

Opening musical piece by Diane Robinson Kerr and Fran Collier

Intro of Renee: Diane Robinson-Kerr

First Reading by Renee, Accompanied by Diane:
Return of the Thunders (spring drum)

Second Reading by Renee (Solo):
Finding the Beauty

Third Reading by Renee, Accompanied by Diane on Big Flute:
Sky & Earth, Blue & Green

Intro of Diane & Fran: Renee
Storytelling by Diane

Fourth Reading by Renee, Accompanied by Diane:
View from the Holy Fire Place

Fifth Reading by Renee (Solo):
Water is Sacred, Water is the Life (Written especially for this event)

Final Reading by Renee, Accompanied by Diane & Fran
A Journey to the Heart…My Home

Final Performance by three women and audience

Omaha Nation Water Walk Benefit Concert Tonight!

2009-03-17T01:41:00.001-05:00

Omaha Nation Water Walk Benefit Concert
Raising funds and awareness for Omaha Nation Water Walk

Date:
Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Time:
7:00pm - 9:00pm

Location:
Unitarian Church

Street:
6300 A Street

City/Town:
Lincoln, NE

Spoken word artist and poet Renee Sans Souci, songwriter and storyteller Diane Robinson-Kerr, and guitarist Fran Collier join together for an evening of poetry and music to raise awareness and funds for the Omaha Nation Water Walk. E-Coli contamination of water on the Omaha reservation in northeast Nebraska is a continuing problem. The Water Walk, to take place in April, will be a prayer for healing, and will draw more awareness to the problem and possible solutions. Percussion will be provided by the audience!

A Letter To The Community...

2009-03-05T09:49:00.000-06:00

Ewithai Wongithe! All My Relatives!

Good Morning to each of you! I am forwarding a message that I received today about the National Day of Action for Water in Canada on Monday, April 13, 2009. This event is being co-hosted by the Native Women's Association of Canada in support of the Mother Earth Water Walk started by Grandmother Josephine Mondamin.

The message I would also like each of you to consider here is this: What can each of us do to support this effort in our own communities and in Nebraska?

There is a lot of concern at this time for the contaminated water problem on the Omaha Indian Reservation here in Nebraska. Many families are effected by the contamination such that there are unable to drink any water from their taps out of fear of the E-coli bacteria. This has been on-going for the past several months.

I visited my mother two days ago and saw the situation first hand. She has been drinking bottled water from the one gallon plastic jugs that have been provided by the Omaha Tribe, which is a very good thing. But I am still concerned about the water in those plastic jugs after all the training I've been through last year on bottled water contaminants.

We are all busy, I know, and we must all pick our battles each day as we arise for work. Yet, in this work, is there room to help support an effort that will shed light upon an on-going battle to have safe drinking water in our Native communities?

I propose that we sponsor a Water Walk here in Nebraska not only to show support for our sisters in Canada but to also bring attention to what is happening right in our own backyards. I have heard that it takes a single drop to start a wave...

Contact me via email if you have any more questions! Wibthahon! Thank you!

Ewithai Wongithe! All My Relations!

- Renee

Congressional Hearing on Native Youth Suicide Rates

2009-03-03T17:53:00.001-06:00

Congressional Hearing Explores High Suicide Rates Among American Indian Youth

Eight policymakers, tribal members and health care experts discussed the high rate of suicide among American Indian youth on Thursday during a...

To read the full article, please go to: http://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/140867.php

Moving Forward...

2009-03-01T01:24:00.004-06:00

Moving forward.

I've been working on that this year. Come through a lot these past several months since leaving Minneapolis/St. Paul. I made so many mistakes and have experienced the guilt that goes along with those mistakes. Huge lesson for me in humility.

It's true I had never really intended to live in Lincoln. Wound up here with my kids. Struggled to survive every single day since arriving here.

I thought I had accomplished something by starting to work full-time. That was short-lived. Not long after I started the new job, my youngest son began to unravel. I had just gotten to work that morning after getting everyone off to school. About mid-morning, the school called me and told me to get there as soon as possible. It was an emergency. My son was threatening to kill himself.

I had no car at the time. It hit me so hard that I could hardly stand or think. What was I supposed to do, run over there! I told my supervisor and he recommended that I talk to one of the women upstairs, which I did. Jacinda agreed to drive me to the school.

When I got there, the assistant principal led me upstairs where they had my son. He was being held in a small room with no furniture, windows, or anything. Only bare walls and carpet. He was lying on the floor. Holding his neck with his hands. Every so often he would squeeze himself really good and I could see his fingers turn white.

What had I done wrong? That's all I could think. What am I supposed to do? All I could do was sit down beside him and ask him what was going on. Then I took him into my lap and held him tightly. After a while, he relaxed into my arms and just hung onto me.

I cried as I held him and I kept telling him that I loved him over and over.

The assistant principal asked to talk to me. She said that she had called the children's psychiatric unit and that they were prepared to take my son in for observation. Since he had been saying to everyone how he wanted to hurt himself and had been hitting his head against everything and choking himself, they thought it would be the best thing for me to do.

What was I to do?

I felt totally helpless with no where to turn. So I made several calls. Made arrangements for my other three children. Called my brother, Tony to pick them up after the youth program. And, then I rode with my son the hospital.

We went through a lengthy process of filling out papers. There was a police interview and then an interview with a social worker. I was filling so numb. My son clung to me the whole time. We both just sat in shock holding each other.

Once he was admitted the police then escorted us to the psychiatric unit. Everyone in there was extremely polite and scrutinized me from head to toe. My every move was recorded no doubt. It was so terrifying.

They checked my son into his room. Went over all his belongings and then interviewed me about what led up to his breakdown.

Yes, I thought, that is exactly what has happened. He's had a breakdown and I was unable to prevent it.

My son liked his room immediately. He liked that he had all sorts of toys to play with, especially legos. He liked that he had a TV to himself. His own little bed and his very own bathroom. He seemed to just relax.

When it was time for me to leave. I didn't want to go. How could I leave me son in such a place? The nurses and their assistants more or less pushed me out the doors. So there I stood in the lobby of this hospital. Not knowing which direction to go. In shock. Where were the nurses, psychiatrists, and social workers for me?

When I got out onto the street, the feeling was even worse. What the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't have a ride to go anywhere, so I made my way over to the grocery store. If nothing else, I would just buy a sandwich from the refrigerated section and find a place to sit down.

My friend Nancy called me at that moment. So I poured my heart out to her. She was so supportive and helped me to calm down. Then I called Christopher. He, too, was extremely supportive, even though he was over in New York. Still just to hear his voice was a relief.

I didn't get a sandwich but wound up with some chicken instead. Then I returned to the hospital to find a lounge area where I could sit and think for awhile.

I only knew that I did what I had to do. Not what I wanted to do. I would much rather have had my son with me at that very moment instead of having him in the hospital. What did I do wrong?

Life had been quite rough for us over the years. We saw the break up of our home. We went in separate directions for a time, when my kids went with their dad for a time. We came back together so that we could start over. Rebuild.

So how did it get this bad? I didn't see it coming. Yet, I realized that I had seen this coming. But I had no idea how to prevent it. What was I supposed to do?

I sat in the hospital lounge for an hour or more and then returned to the psych unit for visiting hours. Then I stayed with my son for three more hours. We just held each other and breathed.

Again, when visiting hours were over, I was ushered out. This time, it didn't seem so traumatic but still the feeling that I was abandoning my son was overwhelming. I went downstairs and waited in the lobby for my brother to pick me up. When he did, my three other children were in there and we returned to the family shelter where we were living for a few months.

After my brother dropped us off. I took my children up to our room and got them settled. They had all their snacks and were quite content to just sit back and relax. So I went downstairs to talk to one of the staff members on duty. She was my counselor for the evening.

There's nothing like having someone there just to hear your crying. She listened carefully and was very sympathetic. Prepared to do anything that was called for. All I wanted was to be comforted. When I felt better, she asked if it would be alright to say a prayer for me. I told her that I respected all prayers and that I would appreciate it.

When I returned to my room. I looked at my other children. They asked me what happened, so I explained to them that their brother was in the hospital and that he would be there for several more days. Then we smudged off and went to bed.

In the following days, we fell into a routine. Kids went to school and I took this time to reflect. Then we went to visit my son in the evenings. My brother picked us up each evening after visiting hours. Then we'd return to our room and start over again.

I felt that my faith was being tested to the limit.

The day came when it was determined that my son could be released from the hospital. And as we left that day. He looked up at me and said "Mom, I don't want to go back there again! I just want to be with you!"

How do we shield our children's fragile minds from the onslaught of challenges that threaten to swallow us mind, body, and soul? All I could do was pray.

This traumatic experience has definitely left me on edge. I have not worked since this happened and am not so willing to just accept any position, especially if it would require long hours away from my kids. Just not willing to go there...

Moving forward can be a challenge. We can make it as difficult or as easy as we would like it to be, so I've been told.

Me, I'd just prefer it to be easier for a change. I want to be happy as much as the next person.

Remembering my Father...Frank Saunsoci

2009-02-28T11:13:00.002-06:00

It's been eight years since my father made his journey home. Things have changed considerably since he's passed. Kids are older and we no longer live in the country with all our animals. We're urban dwellers now with no pets.

This is a reprinting of a previous blog two years...

This poem is one I wrote a few years ago for my dad, Frank Saunsoci. It so happened in 2003, on this very same night, I could not sleep. I was stressed out from work and in a lot of emotional pain. And, I missed my dad terribly. I stayed awake all night crying and wishing for his comfort. Before he got sick, he always knew what to say to make me feel better.

Well, I realized that night that it was up to me now to comfort myself. So, I started to write and as I finished this poem, I felt a lot better.

My Father’s Voice
Take a moment to imagine my house…
My house has four children, Colleen, Rain, Remy, Amber
Plenty of animals…
At least four dogs (would you like one?),
A calico cat named J.P. (for the painter, Jackson Pollack),
And a turtle named Shellshocker, after a Pokemon of all things.

My house is always so loud with my children’s voices,
laughing, crying, arguing, and yelling for attention
"Mom, I’m hungry!" says Colleen
"Mom, Colleen took my blocks!" says Rain
"Mom, Remy hit me!" says Amber
And the dreaded…
"Mom, Amber needs a diaper change, again!

There are some days when I want to slap my hands over my ears
Just to be able to hear my own thoughts!
And, I always have to yell for someone to turn down that TV!

As each day arrives, it is another adventure into motherhood,
And, I've wondered for the hundred thousandth time, how…
Did my mom and dad do this with seven children as well as other family members?

Then I realized that what is most important to me is that my children are happy
…No matter that there is a ton of laundry to do
…No matter that toys are scattered from the living room to the bedroom
…No matter that there are letters, reports and memos to finish for work
…No matter that the phone is ringing again
…No matter that there is so little time to get anything done

As long as my family is happy, then I am happy too.

But there is always a day, a rare day like this one
…When I hear a voice that is no longer a part of this world
…So well known, so familiar
…It slices through all the other voices in my house, in this universe even…
And, I have to stop whatever I am doing and look around
I search for that person with that beloved voice

Then it hits me painfully...

And it always surprises me to see that it is one of my own children,
Speaking clearly with my father’s voice.

Then I remember the times I spent with my father…
Riding in the back seat of our car, safe and content
Visiting his mechanic friends in their garages
While I drank my Pepsi mixed with peanuts sitting on old tires.

To this day the smell of grease and oil is as nostalgic for me
As the aroma of baking bread is for many others
I remember that my father always took the time to explain how things worked
Because I always had to know…
How things worked.

I knew I could always count on him to listen patiently
And to dispense his wisdom with clarity
But the best thing he ever taught me was how to take care of my family,
This he showed me each day with his love.

So, now when I hear the echoes of my father’s voice
I know that he is still here with me in the voices of my children.

--For my father, Frank Saunsoci who passed away on February 28, 2001. Written by Renee Sans Souci, February 28, 2003

When Do We Actually Heal?

2009-02-24T02:24:00.003-06:00

On a healing journey, when do we actually heal?

While talking to a friend yesterday, she related to me some of the most painful incidences in her life. The physical and mental abuse she endured in her relationship. I listened to her with understanding because I know in many ways what she has been through. And, I can only pray for her that she will come out of it in due time.

In presentations I have given on Native Women and healing, I speak about identifying what has hurt me in the past, confronting what has hurt me, and then letting it go. Forgiving the past. Healing those memories, or more specifically, those cells that carry those traumatic memories.

Not everyone knows that I suffer from a form of Social Anxiety Disorder that stems from childhood incidences of abuse. Particularly from physical and mental abuse from a teacher when I was in the second grade.

My family had just moved to the reservation in 1969. After spending an idyllic summer playing in the countryside of my mother's home. The time arrived for my first day in school. All kids are anxious about the first day, especially when they are new to the district. Being only seven, I had no idea what was in store for me.

The second grade teacher, I was assigned to, was an elderly white woman. She had been teaching on the reservation for years, I'm certain. Probably retired from there, as well. I don't know what it was about me that caught her attention but it seemed from the start, she sought to humiliate me.

I often felt like I was on trial for a crime I didn't even know I had committed. There were times when she would make me stand up in class to answer her. The questions made no sense to me so I often gave her answers which she found unsatisfactory. Her response to "my mistakes" were to shame me and put me down in front of all my classmates. And what made it so bad was that my classmates reveled in my humiliation and laughed at my torture.

As the days continued on, I became more resistant. I did not want to go to school. I fought and cried and begged my parents not to send me into class. It didn't work.

I found myself in the middle of a nightmare that continued for months.

When I refused to respond for this teacher, she would then come over to my desk and drag me out of it and force me to stand up. Often times she hit me with anything that was handy, books were most often her choice.

Then I had to stand in front of the class once again, sobbing my humiliation and hurt, while they laughed openly at me. I had no defenders come to my rescue. And the ultimate betrayal in all of this was that most of my classmates were also my relatives.

I don't know what finally got through to my mother, maybe one of the students from the other classes said something to her. But she came to my class with me one day and confronted the teacher. Whatever this teacher had said to my mother must have set her off because the next thing I know, my mom was chasing her around and around her desk.

I can still see that clearly in my mind.

My parents removed me from that school immediately. But by then, the months I had spent in that teacher's company had left a mark on my spirit.

Children are resilient and heal quickly, they say. I believe that is true for most part. Yet, there is still healing that must occur with the hurt inflicted upon us as children. Many of us adults are still carrying around such hurt that is not healed.

I avoid almost any situation that resembles having to stand up in front of a classroom to be ridiculed. Even the most innocent social interaction sets me on an edge where I don't care to be. So instead of welcoming such interaction, I flee, much to the consternation of friends, colleagues, and relatives.

So, over the years, I realized that in order to heal that part of me, which is that child that still carries those memories, I had to confront those fears and anxieties. I forced myself to stand up in front of classrooms by becoming a teacher myself. Only I am hopefully, one who is more considerate of the young spirits in my charge.

The other thing I have done is to become a performance artist of the spoken word. The poetry I create and read to others is based on the hurt, the healing, and the spiritual relationships we have to one another and to the Earth and the Sky.

And, of course, I write.

And I champion those whom I feel need my support. Especially the children. Since I am also a mother of four intelligent, sensitive souls.

I am still learning to heal myself.

King Without A Crown by Matisyahu...

2009-02-16T23:33:00.002-06:00

My brother Chris Cartmill turned me onto Matisyahu about three years ago. I just love his song "King Without A Crown." When I hear it, it makes me happy because this is how I feel about the Grandfathers everyday...

25 Random Things About Me...Taken from Facebook

2009-02-01T14:32:00.003-06:00

I'm addicted to Facebook! This list came out over the last few days and many of us, bravely decided to fill it out. Then I thought I'd add it to my blog. I still haven't figured out how to link my blog to Facebook. See how that goes!

Anyway here is the list:

25 Random things about me:

1. One of my Indian names is Sacred Horse Woman, which mostly all my friends and relatives know me by. (I have two others.)
2. I grew up hearing the Omaha language all around me but did not speak it!
3. As a result, I advocate for Native language revitalization.
4. Studied 4 foreign languages: English, Spanish, French, and German.
5. Studying 3 indigenous languages: Omaha, Ojibwe, and Lakota.
6. I have designed a Native language immersion school.
7. My goal is to bring it into existence as I was instructed to do by the Tunkasilas, Manitous...
8. I love reading and writing poetry.
9. One of my poems, "View from the Holy Fire Place" was read in the Sacred Sites Production last year. (Credit to Sheila Rocha who did a wonderful job in creating an amazing show!).
10. I saw and touched the Berlin Wall a year before it was torn down.
11. I have actually sat in a beer garden with singing Bavarians (But I forgot to wear lederhosen).
12. I climbed the steps of one of the spires of the Cologne Cathedral nearly to the top but couldn't make it because I'm afraid of heights!
13. I love skydiving...just kidding, I'm afraid of heights, remember? Checking to see if you are paying attention.
14. I love riding my bike because when I do I feel like I can do anything or go anywhere.
15. I love singing (no, not with the Bavarians, I just love singing, with my bros, especially).
16. One of my favorite songs is Native Dance Hall by Native Roots, a reggae band.
17. A few years ago, I became a spiritual runner and ran for the youth and for sacred sites! (Am still on call for all spiritual runs.)
18. Heyokas are attracted to me or I am to them. (So what does that make me?)
19. Last year, I became a danzante (Aztec Dancer). I love Danza.
20. I used to smoke.
21. I long to live in a home that is more aligned with our Native traditions, like an earthlodge with a contemporary twist.
22. I only watch t.v. for about 15 minutes a day or less.
23. I love the mountains, the badlands, the deserts, and the woodlands, and any place there is water.
24. Water is sacred. I am a protector of water.
25. My kids are my anchor, without them I don't know where I'd be, probably living out in the wild somewhere...ferally.

Jim Main, Sr. Being Laid to Rest Today...

2009-02-01T13:37:00.002-06:00

Friday, January 30, 2009

Jim Main, Sr., takes flight to Spirit World

Found this posted on another blog entitled Censored News...

By Tia Oros Peters
Photo of Jim Main, Sr, at home by Brenda Norrell
Dear Seventh Generation Fund Relatives and Friends,

With a heavy heart I share with you the news of Jim Main Sr., (Gros Ventre) passing to the Spirit World. As many of you may remember Jim Main, he was a steadfast and unrelenting warrior for Indigenous Peoples and especially for our homelands and sacred sites. In fact, his words and guidance helped inform our Sacred Sites Protection Campaign – including our memorable person Sacred Earth Summit in 2001 in Seattle, WA, and again, in 2002 in San Diego, CA.

A member of the White Clay Society, Jim was a treasured leader to Seventh Generation Fund for many years. He will be sorely missed by our organization. We trusted Jim. We were honored when he attended our convenings and shared his great wisdom, wit, and generous spirit. He taught us through his conduct and his dedication. We looked to him often to help us. And, he was always generous.

Jim was a true and consistent warrior, to be sure. And, as such, he was also a gracious, kind, thoughtful and honorable leader that set for us a clear pathway of how to continue work on behalf of our respective peoples.

Jim would be so pleased to know of recent sacred sites victories in places like Panhe in California, and just a couple of days ago in Zuni, New Mexico. It would have been great to march with him in Redding, in the struggle to protect Hatchet Mountain (Pit River Country) from (so-called green) windmills that will damage a sacred area, and severely impact golden and bald eagle habitat. He knows, where he is now in the other world, that we will continue the good fight for our peoples. Today, in mourning, and reflecting on how much we have learned from Jim Main Sr., we carry forward – heavy hearted but as determined as ever to strive, to fight, to honor our ancestors, as he did.

It is always so hard when we lose one of our elders. The world seems that much emptier, bigger, more difficult to travel through. Jim’s presence meant a great deal to so many of our community and projects. SGF sincerely hopes that our work continues to carry forth the great legacy and integrity of Jim Main Sr., a warrior of character, determination, and outstanding leadership. On behalf of our organization, board, staff and the Indigenous communities we serve throughout the Indigenous World, I extend a heartfelt condolence to Jim’s family, community and Nation.
May he be in peace.
All Our Relations,
Tia --Tia Oros Peters, Executive Director, Seventh Generation Fund for Indigenous Development, Office Ph: 707-825-7640 x111 http://www.7genfund.org/
Supporting Social, Environmental and Cultural Justice for 32 Years (1977 – 2009)

In memory of Jim Main, Sr., the following interview is posted, written while I visited with him and his family at home, on Gros Ventre land two years ago. Sincere condolences to his family. Jim was a true warrior, arising with courage in his lifelong fight for the people, Brenda Norrell

In Montana, Indians are guilty until proven innocent
By Brenda Norrell

HAYS, Montana – James Main, Sr., Gros-Ventre and longtime advocate of Indian rights, said some conditions have improved for American Indians in Montana, particularly the treatment of Indians by government officials. Ranchers in north-central Montana often get along well with
Indian cowboys.
However, the treatment of Indians by the Montana Justice System has not improved its treatment of Indian people.
"We've got a long way to go with the Justice system. I'd like to see a handful of radical attorneys come over here and shake this place up, attack the system," Main said.
Main, known internationally as a voice for Indigenous Peoples, now in poor health following open-heart surgery, has a personal view of the state system.
James Sr. laughs remembering how Bill Means said Jim Jr. should be a comedian because of his impersonations of John Wayne and others. Jim Jr. was the caregiver of his mother, Vernie White Cow Main, who lives on the homesite where she was born on Big Warm Creek on the Fort Belknap Nation.
James Sr. said, "Jim took care of her. He almost had to be a nurse for six months. He trained himself to take care of her."
James Sr. spent his life traveling for Indigenous rights, helping those who needed him. "I decided to do some good," he said of his decision to live a life in service to humankind.
"I learned a lot about different people and different cultures. I never knew there were other Indians in California. I thought John Wayne got them all," James Sr. joked.
"It's good to travel, travel around."
Seated at home in the community of his childhood at Hays, James Sr. is surrounded by memories and the passing of time.
"I don't know how long I'm going to last. I have got a lot of people praying for me. These Mayan Indians went up on a pyramid in Guatemala.
It must have been a very powerful ceremony. I knew; it was in my mind."
On his living room wall, there is a huge poster of a Gros Ventre man. It reads, "Sits on High, EK-GIB-TSA-ATSKE, of the White Clay People A'AH'NI NIN."
James Sr. looks at the poster and says, "He did what they wanted him to do, settle down. Then, they took his land."
Speaking about those who took the land here, rich in gold, water and forests, he says, "They make a fortune and they die."
These days, James Sr. teaches his grandsons the philosophy that he has lived by. It is the philosophy of pride, self-esteem and honoring the culture.
"Go back to your old ways, traditions and culture. That is what I teach my grandsons. Try to get the language back," he adds. There are only a handful of speakers left.
James Sr. remembers the harsh years at St. Paul's Mission School.
During second grade, when the children went to pray during Christmas mass, the nuns told them Santa Claus would come if they had been good.
If not, there would be willow switches waiting. When they returned, they expected presents and instead found a stack of willow switches. There was also writing on the blackboard.
"I recognized the writing. It was a priest's, telling us how bad we were."
The little children were often beaten. James Sr. remembers, "They would slap us around for nothing."
Remembering his father Tom Main, James Sr. said, "He was a humanitarian, a real leader. He did things for nothing. He could have amassed a fortune, but he didn't."
James Sr. said Tom Main served as an interpreter at a time when few White Clay People spoke English. Tom served on the executive committee of the National Congress of American Indians.
"I learned a lot from him, he was honest to a fault," Jim Sr. said of his father.
"We had a pretty rough upbringing, we were poor and we had to haul water a long way. We burned wood, so we had to saw wood. My mother used to wash on Saturdays, all we did all day long was haul water."
James Sr. grew up with three brothers and four sisters. Today, all of his brothers are living and the oldest is 86. He served in the Air Force in Japan and was there when the Korean War began in 1950.
James Sr. also worked in the copper mines for 15 years. "That's where there was never racism, a melting pot."
The happiest days of his life were spent during his high school years. "We rode horseback, we rode bucking horses; there were lots of wild horses. We had powwows during the holidays, I really enjoyed those. We had bone games, hand games, we would sing songs and have a guessing game. We tried to guess whose hand the bone was in."
The men and women played each other. Kumeyaay have similar games, he said. During their travels, both Jim Sr. and Jim Jr. earned the respect of Indian people.
Read entire article:
http://bsnorrell.blogspot.com/2007/11/in-montana-indians-are-guilty-until.html
From Indigenous Environmental Network: Jim Main Sr., elder and warrior was an intregal part in the founding and creation of IEN, and was a long term National Council member for IEN. He was also a member of the International Indigenous Treaty Council and the Grand Governing Council of the American Indian Movement. His teachings of wisdom and the memory of his humor and traditional songs will stay with us.Ga-a-woo-wuss (Coyote Bear), a.k.a. James Main, Sr., of the White Clay Nation died peacefully in his sleep at approximately 4:30 a.m. on January 29, 2009. His hard-fought battle with End-Stage Congestive Heart Failure over the past several years finally took its toll about two weeks ago. Like a true warrior, he did not go down easily, but went with honor and dignity. To the end, he maintained his humor, making those around him laugh…and cry as he used his dwindling strength to sing, talk Indian, pray, and tell of old times. Always at the center of his heart and spirit was the survival of the Red Nations. It is an overwhelmingly sad day for his loved ones here on earth, but truly a victorious day for a warrior who is so deserving of the peace, love, and acceptance he will meet as all our relatives take him to his rightful place in the spirit world, known as the “Big Sands” to the White Clay people.Wake services will be held Saturday, January 31 beginning at 5:00 p.m. at his residence in Hays, Montana.
Traditional services will be held Sunday, February 1 at 1:00 p.m. followed by burial at the family cemetary in Big Warm, Montana.

If you would like to make a contribution to the family at this time -
Please Contact: Rose Main: 406.390.5350 (mobile), 406.673.3013 (home)
James Main, Sr.'s residence: 406.673.3813
William "Snuffy" Main: 406.945.7349
Harold "Jiggs" Main: 406.262.3041

Rest in Peace Steve Casanova...

2009-01-25T16:07:00.005-06:00

SCSU prof dies of cancer

A well-loved leader in the Hispanic community and St. Cloud State University associate professor died Thursday.

Stephen Casanova died after a short battle with cancer, friend Eduardo Martinez said. Casanova taught in the Ethnic Studies Department at St. Cloud State. He was a frequent speaker around Minnesota on topics of immigration and ethnicity.

Martinez said Casanova was a model in the Hispanic community and acted as a mentor to many students.

“We lost a role model and true leader within the Hispanic community,” Martinez said.

Each summer, Casanova took students on service-learning trips to Mexico. They helped build houses and irrigation channels. Martinez’s son Dan went on six or seven such trips with Casanova.

Casanova earned his bachelor’s degree in 1978 from Southwest Texas State University. He then moved north, earning his master’s degree in 1987 and his doctorate in 2001 at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

Martinez said the news of Casanova’s death broke his heart.

“I’m going to miss him very much,” he said.

The Omaha Tribal Circle (in 3D)

2008-11-07T20:46:00.007-06:00

This is a brief article I wrote for a Indian Education class I taught in December, 2005 . I found it yesterday and read it last night at our A.A. Talking Circle at the Ponca Tribal Office here in Lincoln. The reason I read it was in response to someone's question about why we had Talking Circles. They wanted to understand the meaning.

Before Contact: Millenia of Our Own Teachings...The Tribal Circle (in 3D)

For indigenous peoples of Turtle Island, our tribal circles (or spheres) have existed for thousands of years. The tribal circle was based on the balance of everything that exists in the universe, the duality of masculine and feminine forces. To look at the symbol of the circle, you must imagine it as a sphere, with the top half of the circle representing the sky and the bottom half representing the earth. Around this sphere you also have the four cardinal directions, and the center, which represents the here and now or the human being. This ancient symbolism was reflected in all our tribal systems: governments, villages, homes, and within ourselves (the very act of breathing represents the duality of in and out).

Through our tribal educational systems, our clans, in particular, we were taught how to relate to the Sky and the Earth because as human beings we were composed of the same elements as both (spirit and matter). This relationship was one of respect, a mutual respect between all living matter. We had the understanding of what modern science terms "Relativity" and "Quantum Physics." We understood our relationship to the microcosmic subatomic level on up to the macrocosmic universal level. We encompassed this understanding in one phrase: We Are All Related. The phrase acknowledged the spirit or energy that vibrates in all of us. The Omaha people called this energy Wakonda.

The tribal circle was the foundation of how we learned and survived. From the time we were born, we went through growth cycles. Ceremonies marked each stage of growth and we developed our teachings around the skills acquired at these benchmarks. In the Omaha system the men and women learned separately. We each had our own language, our own ceremonies, and our own societies. There was respect between the two sexes where neither was considered better than the other. We were complementary.

And, the one underlying method of teaching in our system was that no one was allowed to fail!

This did not mean that we lived in perfection, however, because there were always natural catastrophes, illness, and warfare that would disrupt our circles from time to time. Yet, we were always able to reestablish our circles through any conflict...especially now.

And, these days we engage with one another through Talking Circles, such as the one I attended last night. I hope that this was helpful to all who were there.

- Renee

Message from Grand Chief, Eddie Benton Benai, on Passing of Midewiwin Leader Tommy J. Stillday...

2008-10-15T11:08:00.006-05:00

I received this message via email from the Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge listserv and am posting to my blog today in honor of Tommy Stillday.

Mide Anishinabe doog,,Nin duh way maw gunni doog,,maydaywi yeag. Me i ewe noon goom uhshoo mawjaud bayjig ay chi inung i zood Mide wi inini. Mide brother/uncle Tom Stillday, Ponemah Nayausheeng, lodge has been called home. His beautiful midewiwin work and life has been completed. All midewiwins of the three fires lodge are being asked to put a bit of food and tobacco out on Sat.evening ,just before dark. This will be our respect and honoring of a great Mide man who served the Anishinabe people for many years, decades, tirelessly. He has always respected the three fires lodge and our work. Personally Tommy J. always had good words and encouragement for my own efforts and will always remember and honor that. I will find out to whom we can send $ donations in absence of being present for the funeral. Me i ewe it is a dark day for all of us,,wayway ni,, - Bawdwaywidun (Eddie Benton Benai)

I also found this posted on the RLNN (Red Lake Net News):

Remembering Tommy J...

This is a story Michael Meuers wrote back in 1997 under the Whitefeather administration about Tommy J. being the first Indian Senate Chaplain in the state of Minnesota. The story appeared in the Red Lake Nation newspaper back then. Tom called Mr. Meueres "Makakii ."

TOMMY J. IS FIRST NON-JUDEO/CHRISTIAN SPIRITUAL LEADER TO SERVE AS SENATE CHAPLAIN IN MINNESOTA HISTORY

By Michael Meuers
Red Lake Public Relations

Thomas J. Stillday, Jr. was the first non-Judeo/ Christian Spiritual Leader to serve as Senate Chaplin in the history of Minnesota. He was elected unanimously by the Minnesota Senate 67-0 on the first day it convened on January 7th, 1997 for a two-year term. (The biannual session) Tommy J. had been going through a slow recovery from a recent surgery and was unable to be sworn in at that time. He was expected to give the invocation at the beginning and end of the Senate session for those two years...which he did. Other religious leaders filled in for Tom at other times during the session.

Because of his slow recovery, it was decided to have Tom sworn in during Red Lake Day at the Capitol. So at 9 AM on Thursday February 13, 1997, Red Lake members and employees were joined by urban Red Lakers in the Senate Gallery. On the Senate floor near the front, Chairman Whitefeather place a headdress on Tom, while Aloyisius Thunder prepared the pipe. Red Lake Government Relations person Michael Meuers was in the door of the retiring room, talking with the press, and arranging for photographs with senators and the press. Senate President, Alan Spear, asked the press to shut off their cameras and swore in Thomas J. Stillday, Jr. as the first Indian, and the first member of a non-Judeo/Christian belief to serve in that capacity in the 139 year history of Minnesota statehood. You could feel the pride in the gallery as history was witnessed, and on the floor, 67 senators stood at attention for ten minutes as Chaplin Stillday prayed in Ojibwe to the four directions, mother earth and the Creator. He asked that the Senators be guided by the Creator as they make decisions that will affect all people. You could have heard a pin drop. A proud moment indeed.

After the ceremony, in the Senate retiring room, senators and staff jockeyed for position to shake the new Chaplin’s hand and have their picture take with him. Out in the hall, reporters and photographers all wanted exclusive interviews. Famous television reporters were overheard saying “this is so cool”. The interest from the press was so great that Senator Moe arranged for a press conference across the hall from the Senate Chamber. Microphones were place in front of Tom sitting at the head of a table by reporters from television, newspaper and radio. Reporters from the Minneapolis Tribune and St. Paul Pioneer Press stood ready with note books...photographers flashed pictures. Tom’s wisdom (along with a little BS for the Chimooks) came through as he answered questions. Whitefeather and Moe stood proudly behind Stillday. After the press conference, Tom continued to be asked for interviews until noon by some who had missed the press conference including public television, Minnesota News Network radio, and WCCO’s Pat Kessler. Radio and TV would report on the event throughout the day And in the morning, Chaplin Stillday’s photo and story were on the front page of the St. Paul Pioneer Press and on the front page of the “B” section of the Minneapolis Star-Tribune.

That evening’s event took place at the Minnesota History Center where Young Dreams Dance Troupe performed for nearly 300 legislators and other guests. First was a reception by invitation for a dinner of walleye fingers, wild rice, veggies and fry bread. When Moe took the stage in the 3M Auditorium, he announced that he would advocate a joint session to hear a State of the Tribes message from Tribal Governments, an idea of Chairman Whitefeather’s. (This also came to fruition) Young Dreams with the Eyabay Drum appeared the night before on Public TV’s Newsnight Minnesota. At the performance, the finale, the friendship dance, saw many of the audience come down to the stage, senators, Red Lake members and those who had never danced before. Smiles were broad enjoying the good feeling that young Dreams delivers.

Part historic, part educational, part interesting conversation, but most of all this day was a sharing of good feelings between different cultures of good people. This was Red Lake Day at the Capitol ‘97.

Post Script: This was a big event and another first for Red Lake. (Only to be rivaled, press wise, by Red Lake High School’s trip to St. Paul for the State Basketball tournament) Tom was featured on the front page of the Pioneer Press with a long story. He was featured in the Star-Tribune front page with a full color photo and long story. Tom was featured in an editorial for the Trib on 2/19 with the title; “Indian Chaplin, Enlarging all Minnesotans’ heritage. Tom was featured in “Inside Talk” in the Trib with “You Gotta break a few rules” talking about the rules of the Senate requiring no smoking and ties in the Senate Chamber, both rules broken by the swearing in of Thomas Stillday. Tom was also featured in the political newsletter, Politics in Minnesota. There is also a full-color photo of Chairman Whitefeather placing the headdress on Chaplin Stillday from the Pioneer Press as well as a smaller photo of Tom and Wishy sharing a laugh. And the News from Minnesota in the national newspaper, USA Today, featured the swearing in of Thomas J. Stillday, Jr. Finally, Tom remains in the history of Minnesota by being featured in the reference book published by the Secretary of State entitled Minnesota Legislative Manual (The Blue Book). For the edition “97-’98, he is listed with the Senate Officers with photo. On page 149, Chapter Two it lists Officers of the Senate and Leadership Staff. With a photo of Stillday it reads, “Chaplain: Thomas Stillday, Ponemah, Minnesota. Spiritual elder for the Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians; attended University of Minnesota-Morris, majoring in elementary education; obtained other education from spiritual leaders of the Ponemah community that passed on; worked in Ponemah public schools; Korean War veteran; served 12 years on the tribal council; wife, Marylou, six children; eight grandchildren. Elected 1997-98 sessions”.

"The Synchronicity of Old Connections" Quote from Chris Corrigan's Blog

2008-09-16T14:00:00.003-05:00

I am always reading other people's blogs. Can't help myself. Especially, since I am always reading about quantum physics and string theory. (My kids find this all fascinating, as well.) I enjoy finding out that there are other souls out there who enjoy the same things. I came across Chris Corrigan's blog during my search today and liked what he had to say. This quote is from the report Dialogues Between Western and Indigenous Scientists by Dan Moonhawk Alford. It's all about time, space, and language! So here it is:
1. Everything that exists vibrates

This point of agreement is important because it moves beyond our usual ‘thingy’ or particle notion of existence based on raw sensory impressions, which is favored in the indo-european language family, and allows a justification on the part of Native Americans for the existence of spirits.

2. Everything is in flux

(Sa’ke’j:) The only constant is change–constant change, transformations; everything naturally friendly, trying to reach a more stable state instead of bullying each other around. That kind of process the English language doesn’t allow you to talk about too much, but most Native American languages are based on capturing the motions of nature, the rhythms, the vibrations, the relationships, that you can form with all these elements, just like a periodic table in a different way: relationships rather than a game of billiards, where you only count the ones that go in–all of their motion doesn’t count.

3. The Part Enfolds the Whole:
(not just whole is more than the sum of its parts)

(Sa’ke’j:) When we wear leathers and beads and eagle thongs and things like that, it’s not seen as totally ludicrous, as decoration - it’s seen as containing something you want to have a relationship with.

4. There is an implicate order to the universe

(Sa’ke’j:) This implicate order holds everything together whether we want it to or not, and exists independently of our beliefs, our perceptions, or our linguistic categories. It exists totally independently of the methods or rules that people use to arrive at what it is, and David Bohm’s captured that with the great phrase the implicate order, versus the explicate order of things that they can explain quite concretely, such as a rock falling out of a window. This also agrees with the lakhota phrase ’skan skan,’ which points to the motion behind the motion.

5. This ecosphere is basically friendly

Sa’ke’j maintains that the planet, and especially the Americas as well as the physical universe, are basically gentle and friendly: You don’t have an electron jumping and bullying into other(s) unless it knows it’s missing a stable state and knows it can reach that stable state and increase its own stability.

6. Nature can be taught new tricks

(Sa’ke’j:) We also agreed that that world out there that exists–that reality, not imaginality–can be taught new tricks with the cyclotron; and what was raised in the meeting was, are these new tricks beneficial, or will they create a hostile universe on their own, independent of scientists, once they teach electrons how to jump and how to amass the energy to jump, and it becomes a bullying, hostile biological world.Reminds me of Alan Watts talking about how the universe has had to learn how to get ever smaller and ever larger as we probe it with microscopes and telescopes, receding ever further in the distance as self observes itself.

7. Quantum Potential and Spirit

After listening to the physicists and American Indians talk for a few days, it struck me that the way physicists use the term potential, or quantum potential, is nearly identical to the way Native Americans use the term spirit. They all agreed there was something similar going on.

8. The principle of complementarity

Physicists for all this century have realized that our usual notion of bipolar or black & white opposites was insufficient when working with nature. The first clue came when they asked incoming light, ‘Are you particle?’ and it answered Yes; ‘Are you wave?’ and it answered Yes. This is equivalent to asking whether something is a noun or a verb and getting a yes answer to both–which is exactly how Native American language nouns are made up: as verbs with suffixes that make them temporarily into nouns for discussion sake. this yes-yes complementarity is foreign to Indo-European languages, but quite common in other language families (such as the Chinese notion of Yin-Yang), and represents a higher level of formal operations, in Piaget’s terms, referred to by some as post-formal operations–that which lies beyond normal Western Indo-European development.

What is Home? And, Why Are There So Many Homeless People?

2008-09-08T12:06:00.004-05:00

"I should not be alive!" proclaimed the woman sitting next to me on the steps of the Family Shelter the other day. I had just gotten my children on the school bus that picks them up each morning when this woman came outside to smoke a cigarette. She seemed distressed and wanted to talk, even though we were strangers, so I sat down with her to listen to what she had to say.

"There are many times, I should have died from being beaten up, car accidents, or o.d.ing, but for whatever reason God keeps me alive!" She said between puffs.

"I'm here now because my fiance tried to kill me last night! I had to run to my neighbor's apartment next door to call the police. This is the second time he's done this but this time, I'm not going back."

As she continued talking about her life, I listened in the way I usually do to everyone, detached and non-judging. I always like to hear everything before I make any comments or suggestions. Sometimes, I can tell that people only need to talk things out before deciding to take action on their challenges. Even without any advice from me.

As she sat there with tears in her eyes, she asked the question that I have been wondering about for the past several weeks, "Why are there so many homeless people in this country?"

It's a question that needs to be addressed because it is not restricted to just the transient, often romanticized, hobo subculture, or the bum off the street stereotype. Homelessness affects many, many people of all backgrounds, nationalities, and beliefs.

Women and children, and the elderly, are particularly affected. I don’t know the statistics but I know that my family is just one such statistic. I took a survey recently given by the shelter staff and I was asked why I sought out services from the Family Shelter. I told them that in order to be eligible for all social services, I had to become certifiably homeless. When I was working full-time, making a decent salary, and living in an apartment. I still was not earning enough money to support my family. So, I sought out assistance for us, but I was told that I made too much money to qualify. It was a real dilemma. What was I supposed to do?

And, what does this mean for the United States, supposedly the most powerful country in the world, when there are many hard working people forced on the streets for various reasons, not just the stereotypical ones.

I have been listening to other women here talk about their lives. Women of all colors, ages, and creeds. They cry sometimes and, sometimes...I cry with them.

The Creator has placed me here at this particular time and place for a reason, I realized. If for anything to help me to understand what is happening on all levels with the people around me. I need to experience what this is so that I can be of better service to the people, especially to the children.

It's the children who suffer the most because they need to eat and feel secure, like they have a home.

One day I saw a former colleague in the cafeteria. I tried to tell her about everything that was happening in my life but she turned away and had this funny look in her eye. Then she told me that she would keep this in confidence and would not tell anyone that she saw me in the Family Shelter.

I couldn't help it, I had to laugh. I told her, "You don't have to do that! Everyone knows that I am here! It's no big secret!" (I mean I’m blogging about it for heaven’s sake at this very moment.)

Well, one thing this incident showed me is that there is a stigma attached to being homeless. There is a cloak of shame around the entire subject. Why is it such a taboo subject?

I ponder such things! And then, as a Native woman, I look at it and think that Native people never thought of themselves as homeless! We often packed up and moved the location of our homes because of the need to do so. We were geniuses at mobility.

The women in my tribe owned the homes. We were quite resourceful and always found ways to make things work. Just as I am doing now.

I have never desired to own a home, at least not in the contemporary fashion, but rather I have desired to have a home built that is respectful of our natural surroundings. A home that would be much like what our ancestors lived in, only with a modern twist so to speak. I am determined to make this happen. My dream home.

This dream came about because of a question posed by Daniel Wildcat in an interview that I read in the Winds of Change Magazine in 2005.

Wildcat had this to say: The problem we face today is that the measure of technological progress is often thought of as the extent to which humankind can control and mitigate the so-called forces of nature. I find it hard to imagine a more problematic and dangerous idea. Why not figure out a way to live with nature?

Well, why not? Native people have done so for thousands of years. What is to stop us now from continuing our methods in this so-called modern society? Wouldn’t it be in our best interests to do so? Economically, environmentally, and spiritually?

And, this whole topic begs the question what is home? My friend Christopher Cartmill has been based three of his plays, the Homeland Trilogy, on this very question. He’s very passionate about this concept of what is home and wrote about it from many perspectives.

It 's two blocks from the bus stop to the shelter and takes about five minutes at the most. Last week, while walking the two blocks with two other women. One said conversationally, "I never ever imagined myself walking this f-----g strip in my life!" We all looked at each other and laughed, then the other replied, "None of us did! But here we are!"

Yes, we are here from all walks of life.

We will be getting a house soon. My children and I. A place that we will call home for a time here in Lincoln, Nebraska but I already know that it won't be our last home.

Steve Blake Making his Journey Home...

2008-09-04T12:36:00.001-05:00

Steve Blake, 51, artist and advocate for American Indians

Blake created the American Indian Movement logo as a teenager and spent his adult life working for justice, as well as practicing and teaching about his native culture.

By BEN COHEN, Star Tribune

When Steve Blake of Minneapolis was a boy, the artist and future chairman of the Twin Cities chapter of the American Indian Movement would sketch the whirl of activity around the Wounded Knee conflict of the early 1970s.

Blake, who as a teenager designed the American Indian Movement, or AIM, logo widely recognized as the symbol of the movement, died of lung ailments on Wednesday in Minneapolis. He was 51.

Blake, whose father, Francis Blake II, helped establish the AIM, became a teacher in his Ojibwe culture, fluent in the language and a force for justice in Minnesota, said his family and friends.

His mother, Norby Blake of St. Paul, recalled that he sketched the activities of the early AIM leaders in the late 1960s and early 1970s. "He was a curious and very active young man," she said.

He was a graduate of Heart of the Earth School and South High School in Minneapolis.

As a member of the Minneapolis Police Community Relations Council, he worked to ensure that people receive fair treatment when dealing with the police. Clyde Bellecourt, American Indian activist and co-chairman of the Police Community Relations Council, said Blake had been reviving the AIM street patrols he helped establish in the 1980s.

"If someone needed help day or night, he would respond," Bellecourt said. "If it was Red Lake or anywhere, he would go."

In recent years, Blake helped establish AIM chapters at St. Cloud State University, in Red Lake, Minn., and in Fargo, N.D.

He was an accomplished dancer and singer in native ceremonies, participating in powwows around the nation. He crafted ceremonial drums and ceremonial dress.

His "top-notch" paintings were "seen around the world," Bellecourt said.

Two years ago, Blake underwent a double lung transplant. In April, he struggled anew with illness, but he had bounced back until recent weeks, said his cousin, Minneapolis Police Sgt. Bill Blake, who also serves on the Police Community Relations Council.

"Steve really had a strong passion to help people and reach out to others," Bill Blake said.

Floyd (Buck) Jourdain, tribal chairman of the Red Lake Ojibwe Nation, said Steve Blake was a leader who would also roll up his sleeves and do the grass-roots work, such as teaching the culture to children in Minnesota and Wisconsin or taking kids to Pipestone, Minn., to teach about its sacred quarry.

"He was articulate and outspoken" but didn't waste words, Jourdain said. "He backed up his talk with action. He practiced the culture hands-on."

In addition to his mother, he is survived by his fiancée, Lani Moran of Minneapolis; a brother, Francis III of St. Paul; a sister, Valerie of St. Paul, and nephew Jesse and niece Neegahnee, both of St. Paul.

A wake will be held at 6 p.m. today at All Nations Indian Church, 1515 E. 23rd St., Minneapolis. Services will begin at 6 p.m. Friday at Little Rock Community Center on the Red Lake Reservation.

Actual Thoughts about the Seven Fires and My Life in General...

2008-08-22T12:59:00.003-05:00

As I thought about my previous post, I realized that I was writing more about everything in general and very little about the Seven Fires Prophecies. However, what I do think is that my life is working in time with the Seven Fires Prophecies. For the past three years, I have been retracing the footsteps of my ancestors. And, I have gained a greater understanding and respect for all ancient Native teachings.

When I decided to return to Nebraska. I wasn't quite sure where we were going to go next. It just seems like in the past two years, my kids and I have been in total upheaval since their dad walked out on us. It was good for them that they spent this past year with him. Hopefully, a lot of healing took place between them.

I am doing my best to be a good mother. I have accepted that I am doing this on my own without any help from their dad. (No bad feelings intended there, just the truth, I wish him well.) Today, as I am writing this, I feel really good because things really are starting to change around for us.

When I decided to move back to Lincoln, I wasn't sure at first that I was doing the right thing. Everything felt weird and I just felt lost. Then I went to sundance held near Hallam, Nebraska and danced for two days. The man who runs this sundance is Hermus Lonedog and he is a very compassionate man. Sundancing made a great difference because I also accepted that I am truly walking my path now and am making my own decisions about how my life will be...in accordance with the Grandfathers.

That was over a month ago and now that we are in the shelter, we are receiving all the assistance for families in transition. We are starting all over from scratch.

I've been networking like crazy and getting a lot of support from colleagues and former teachers. My relatives here have also been very helpful.

I am writing curriculum for the LIED Center for Performing Arts for the upcoming performance of Kevin Locke in November. This curriculum is to be a Nebraska equivalent to the Kevin's curriculum "the Drum is the Thunder, the Flute is the Wind." I am also looking at becoming an ArtsREACH Teaching Artist through the LIED Center.

Yesterday, I was readmitted to the Graduate Studies Program at UNL. I will be taking two classes in Special Ed. so that I can renew my teaching certificate. I will start working on my Master's Degree, once again, and am looking at the possibility of Special Education/Early Childhood Education.

What I marvel at is how everything this past week has been like butter. When just the week before, everything was so difficult. I didn't know how we were going to get through.

So, here we are now...

As I am thinking of everything today, I am truly thankful for the Grandfathers' help in everything. My children and I are blessed.

I reflect back to what the Grand Chief, Bawdwaywidun, (Eddie Benton-Benaise) said at the Three Fires Society Spring Ceremonies in June, up by the shores of Lake Superior. He asked everyone in the lodge, are we the new people of the Seventh Fire? ARE WE?

Yes, I accept that I am one of the New People of the Seventh Fire.

Thoughts on the Seven Fires Prophecies...

2008-08-19T18:48:00.002-05:00

For all of you's who may not know, I've been doing my thing here back in my hometown of Lincoln, Nebraska. My kids and I are living at the Peoples City Mission Family Shelter until we get a house. Lots has changed in my life, once again. Need I say more?

Job prospects are good. I'm seeking employment with the Lincoln Public Schools. Finally going to put my degree to good use. I've got my kids enrolled in the public schools. I had to overcome my reluctance to work with the public school system. If I cannot change this system, perhaps I can help in some way to work with Native students.

I am continuing my work on my language school. In fact, I have changed the name from Shonge Xube Tapuska to Path of the Sun. In the Omaha Huthuga (Tribal Circle) the center line that balanced the two moieties, the Sky People and the Earth People, was called the Path of the Sun. The name changed resulted from a speech I heard by Jerry Lopez, Director of the Multicultural Indigenous Academy of St. Paul, Minnesota last spring. His perseverance and vision has provided so much inspiration to me.

I am missing the Summer Ceremonies this week. The Three Fires Midewiwin Lodge are gathering in Manitoba. I feel the longing to be there with them in my heart. So I thought I'd post this about the Seven Fires Prophecies.

Teachings of the Seven Prophets: The Seven Fires

Note: The following was asked to be read by Elder William Commanda at the Aboriginal Learning Network Constituency Meeting of Elders, policy makers, and academics on April 16th and 17th, 1997 in Aylner, Quebec.

Seven prophets came to the Anishinabe. They came at a time when the people were living a full and peaceful life on the North Eastern coast of North America. These prophets left the people with seven predictions of what the future would bring. Each of the prophecies was called a fire and each fire referred to a particular era of time that would come in the future. Thus, the teachings of the seven prophets are now called the "Seven Fires".

The first prophet said to the people,

"In the time of the First Fire, the Anishinabe nation will rise up and follow the sacred shell of the Midewiwin Lodge. The Midewiwin Lodge will serve as a rallying point for the people and its traditional ways will be the source of much strength. The Sacred Megis will lead the way to the chosen ground of the Anishinabe. You are to look for a turtle shaped island that is linked to the purification of the earth. You will find such an island at the beginning and end of your journey. There will be seven stopping places along the way. You will know the chosen ground has been reached when you come to a land where food grows on water. If you do not move you will be destroyed."

The second prophet told the people,

"You will know the Second Fire because at this time the nation will be camped by a large body of water. In this time the direction of the Sacred Shell will be lost. The Midewiwin will diminish in strength. A boy will be born to point the way back to the traditional ways. He will show the direction to the stepping stones to the future of the Anishinabe people."

The third prophet said to the people,

"In the Third Fire the Anishinabe will find the path to their chosen ground, a land in the west to which they must move their families. This will be the land where food grounds on water."

The Fourth Fire was originally given to the people by two prophets. They come as one. They told of the coming of the light skinned race.

One of the prophets said,

"You will know the future of out people by the face of the light skinned race wears. If they come wearing the face of brotherhood then there will come a time of wonderful change for generations to come. They will bring new knowledge and articles that can be joined with the knowledge of this country. In this way, two nations will join to make a mighty nation. This new nation will be joined by two more so that four will for the mightiest nation of all. You will know the face of the brotherhood if the light skinned race comes carrying no weapons, if they come bearing only their knowledge and a hand shake."

The other prophet said,

"Beware if the light skinned race comes wearing the face of death. You must be careful because the face of brotherhood and the face of death look very much alike. If they come carrying a weapon ... beware. If they come in suffering ... They could fool you. Their hearts may be filled with greed for the riches of this land. If they are indeed your brothers, let them prove it. Do not accept then in total trust. You shall know that the face they wear is one of death if the rivers run with poison and fish become unfit to eat. You shall know them by these many things."

The fifth prophet said,

"In the time of the Fifth Fire there will come a time of great struggle that will grip the lives of all native people. At the waring of this Fire there will come among the people one who holds a promise of great joy and salvation. If the people accept this promise of a new way and abandon the old teachings, then the struggle of the Fifth Fire will be will be with the people for many generations. The promise that comes will prove to be a false promise. All those who accept this promise will cause the near destruction of the people."

The prophet of the Sixth Fire said,

"In the time of the Sixth Fire it will be evident that the promise of the First Fire cam in in a false way. Those deceived by this promise will take their children aways from the teachings of the Elders. Grandsons and granddaughters will turn against the Elders. In this way the Elders will lose their reason for living ... they will lose their purpose in life. At this time a new sickness will come among the people. The balance of may people will be disturbed. The cup of life will almost become the cup of grief."

At the time of these predictions, many people scoffed at the prophets. They then had medicines to keep away sickness. They were then healthy and happy as a people. These were the people who chose to stay behind in the great migration of the Anishinabe. These people were the first to have contact with the light skinned race. They would suffer most.

When the Fifth Fire came to pass, a great struggle did indeed grip the lives of all native people. The light skinned race launched a military attack on the Indian people throughout the country aimed at taking away their land and their independence as a free and sovereign people. It is now felt that the false promise that came at the end of the Fifth Fire was the materials and riches embodied in the way of life of the light skinned race. Those who abandoned the ancient ways and accepted this new promise were a big factor in causing the near destruction of the native people of this land.

When the Sixth Fire came to be, the words of the prophet rang true as children were taken away from the teachings of the Elders. The boarding school era of "civilizing" Indian children had begun. The Indian language and religion were taken from the children. The people started dying at a early age ... they had lost their will to live and their purpose in living.

In the confusing times of the Sixth Fire, it is said that a group of visionaries came among the Anishinabe. They gathered all the priests of the Midewiwin Lodge. They told the priests of the Midewiwin Way was in danger of being destroyed. They gathered all the sacred bundles. They gathered all the scrolls that recorded the ceremonies. All these things were placed in a hollowed out log from the Ironwood tree. Men were lowered over a cliff by long ropes. They dug a hole in the cliff and buried the log where no one could find it. Thus the teachings of the Elders were hidden out of sight but not out of memory. It is said that when the time came that the Indian people could practice their religion without fear a line boy would dream where the Ironwood log, full of sacred bundles and scrolls, was buried. He would lead his people to the place.

The seventh prophet that came to the people long ago said to be different from the other prophets. He was young and had a strange light in his eyes. He said,

"In the time of the Seventh Fire New People will emerge. They will retrace their steps to find what was left by the trail. Their steps will take them to the Elders who they will ask to guide them on their journey. But many of the Elders will have fallen asleep. They will awaken to this new time with nothing to offer. Some of the Elders will be silent because no one will ask anything of them. The New People will have to be careful in how they approach the Elders. The task of the New People will not be easy.

"If the New People will remain strong in their quest the Water Drum of the Midewiwin Lodge will again sound its voice. There will be a rebirth of the Anishinabe Nation and a rekindling of old flames. The Sacred Fire will again be lit.

"It is this time that the light skinned race will be given a choice between two roads. If they choose the right road, then the Seventh Fire will light the Eighth and final Fire, an eternal fire of peace, love brotherhood and sisterhood. If the light skinned race makes the wrong choice of the roads, then the destruction which they brought with then in coming to this country will come back at them and cause much suffering and death to all the Earth's people."

Traditional Mide people of Ojibway and people from other nations have interpreted the "two roads" that face the light skinned race as the road to technology and the other road to spiritualism. They feel that the road to technology represents a continuation of headlong rush to technological development. This is the road that has led to modern society, to a damaged a seared Earth. Could it be that the road to technology represents a rush to destruction? The road to spirituality represents the slower path that traditional native people have traveled and are now seeking again. This Earth is not scorched on this trail. The grass is still growing there.

The prophet of the Fourth Fire spoke of a time when

"two nations will join to make a mighty nation."

He was speaking of the coming of the light skinned race and the face of brotherhood that the light skinned Brother could be wearing. It is obvious from the history of this country that this was not the face worn by the light skinned race as a whole. That might nation spoken of in the Fourth Fire has never been formed.

If the Natural people of the Earth could just wear the face of brotherhood, we might be able to deliver our society from the road to destruction. Could we make the two roads that today represent two clashing world views come together to form a mighty nation? Could a Nation be formed that is guided by respect for all living things? Are we the people of the Seventh Fire?

Ellen Moves Camp--Hero of Wounded Knee...

2008-07-15T13:46:00.001-05:00

Ellen Moves Camp—Hero of Wounded Knee
By Stephanie Hedgecoke
Published Jun 8, 2008 9:34 PM

Photo: Anne Pearse Hocker

Ellen Moves Camp, known along with Gladys Bissonnette as the “Grandmas of the American Indian Movement (AIM),” passed April 5 at the age of 77 on Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. Moves Camp and Bissonnette played key roles before, during and after the 1973 occupation of Wounded Knee, which moved the Indigenous struggle into the view of the whole world.

The struggles of Indigenous people globally are illustrated in the story of Ellen Moves Camp and Wounded Knee.

The Lakota Nation’s title to most of South Dakota and parts of Montana and Nebraska, including the Black Hills (Paha Sapa), was recognized in the 1868 Fort Laramie Treaty. George Armstrong Custer took miners to the Black Hills to find gold and the U.S. broke the treaty and stole 34 million acres of land, leaving the Lakota divided among separate reservations. Over time that land base was further eroded as the Oglala Lakota were forced to lease their land to ranchers for pennies.

In the 1970s, the federal government moved Oglala families into cluster housing to reduce spending on utilities, freeing more land to be leased by cattle ranchers. Meanwhile over 100 Indians had been murdered in racist white towns surrounding Pine Ridge.

Unemployment was at 90 percent. Traditional families and activists were attacked by the Bureau of Indian Affairs-installed reservation government of Dick Wilson and his paramilitary GOONs (Guardians of the Oglala Nation), armed by the FBI. Wilson signed over some 200,000 acres of land to the U.S. for a bombing range.
Underlying these events, the U.S. had secret plans to turn the Paha Sapa into a “National Sacrifice Zone.” The continent’s richest deposits of weapons-grade uranium lie under the bombing range. Uranium and coal were to be mined, over 188,000 acres destroyed, and incredibly toxic smog and debris would have poisoned the region and destroyed countless square miles of waterways and ponds.

Energy companies signed up to create dozens of coal-fired plants to surround the Black Hills and build a “nuclear energy park” of 25 reactors. Test drilling began on a huge scale. Leaking uranium poisoned the aquifer, the only source of drinking water.

Resistance at Wounded Knee

On the basis of estimates of half a billion dollars in uranium revenue, the U.S. was determined to eliminate AIM and traditional opposition. But the strength of resistance at Wounded Knee forced the Interior Department to retreat from some of its plans.

In 1973 traditional elders with the Oglala Sioux Civil Rights Organization (OSCRO) called AIM to Pine Ridge to protect the people from the GOONs. Denied access to the BIA building at Pine Ridge by federal marshals, AIM held a meeting at Calico with 600 supporters where 1,500 grievances against the BIA and Wilson were taken in a two-day meeting. Then traditional elders Ellen Moves Camp and Gladys Bissonnette stood and challenged the men to take action.

AIM warrior Dennis Banks said of that meeting: “The decision to take Wounded Knee came when Ellen Moves Camp pointed at us and said, ‘What are you men going to do about it?’ If the women hadn’t done that we’d still be meeting at Calico.”

Clyde Bellecourt recalled Bissonnette asking AIM, “Haven’t you heard enough? Go back to Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Los Angeles or Portland. We are going to stand here and be warriors.” He said that he “was stunned by that confrontation with an elderly woman, wrinkles all over her face.”

Wounded Knee was chosen for the takeover protest as it was still held by the Lakota community. The village is the site of the 1890 historic massacre of Big Foot’s band of 300 Lakota Sioux women, men and children as they were peacefully moving to the Pine Ridge Reservation to avoid starvation. Instead, they were viciously murdered by the U.S. Army Seventh Cavalry in the snow. The world had heard of Wounded Knee through Dee Brown’s book, “Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee.”

Some 200 Native people went to Wounded Knee on Feb. 27, 1973, to hold an early morning press conference. The government attacked. The press conference was never held. And the big business media did not report the total government deployment of 17 armored personnel carriers, 130,000 rounds of M-16 ammunition, 41,000 rounds of M-40 high explosives for grenade launchers, helicopters and other aircraft. An army assault unit in Colorado was put on 24-hour alert.

The standoff held the attention of the world. Support committees formed to help educate non-Native people about the conditions of the Indigenous on the reservations, and the significance of Native American Indian culture, language and the land in the fight against genocide.

During the 71-day struggle against the U.S. military assault of the National Guard and armed FBI agents, Moves Camp served as negotiator for the protesters with the Justice Department. As Banks recalls: “Once the strength was reawakened with the Oglalas, they became the principal negotiators—especially the women. Because it was their future. From there, AIM took a backseat. The further we stepped back, the further the Oglalas stepped forward.”

Moves Camp was from Wanblee and had lost family members in the 1898 massacre. During the military assault in 1973, her nephew Buddy Lamont was one of two Indians killed. On the occasion of the 1998 commemoration of the struggle, Ellen Moves Camp said it’s “just a matter of time before another Wounded Knee and ... a violent confrontation with the U.S. government.”

On the loss of Ellen Moves Camp, Native political prisoner Leonard Peltier said: “Those of us who really knew her will dearly miss her as she was a big inspiration to all of us. She loved and fought for her People and the Nation without ever once that I know of complaining or asking for something for her personal use.”
Ellen Moves Camp stands as an inspiration to Indigenous people in struggle everywhere.

Sources include articles by Ian Record, Lakota Student Alliance; Jon Lurie’s article on the 25th anniversary of Wounded Knee for the Pulse of the Twin Cities; and the Sioux Falls Argus Leader.

State may be asked to help in Macy dispute

2008-05-19T11:05:00.000-05:00

Published Saturday May 17, 2008
State may be asked to help in Macy dispute
BY PAUL HAMMEL
WORLD-HERALD BUREAU

LINCOLN — The attorney for the Macy, Neb., school district said Friday that the Attorney General's Office may be asked to intervene in a dispute between the school district and the Omaha Tribal Council over the status of school Superintendent Morris Bates.

Bates on Wednesday was escorted off the Omaha Indian Reservation by members of the Tribal Council and tribal police and told to never return.

That action followed a meeting of the Omaha Nation School Board in which a motion to fire Bates was made but never seconded.

The school board member who made the unsuccessful motion, Barry Webster, also is a member of the Tribal Council. He and the tribal chairman, Ansley Griffing, led the contingent that expelled Bates, according to minutes of the school board meeting.

Attempts to reach Bates at his home in Homer, Neb., were unsuccessful.

Webster said the Tribal Council was exerting its sovereignty rights, expelling the superintendent due to poor test scores of Omaha Nation students.

"It should have been done a long time ago," he said.

John Recknor, the school district's attorney, said the Tribal Council has no jurisdiction over employment of staff of the school, which is a state entity.

Bates, he said, just received a two-year contract extension from the six-member school board, a majority of whom believes the superintendent is doing a good job.

Recknor said he was instructed by the school board, during an emergency meeting Thursday, to send a letter to the Tribal Council informing them of the "real mess" they have created.

He said summer school would be canceled because of the removal of Bates, who must be paid because of the new contract. State funding and the status of federal grants administered by Bates also are imperiled, Recknor said.

Recknor said he hoped the Tribal Council would reverse its action against Bates and back off a threat to expel two other school administrators. If not, he said he might ask the attorney general to step in.

Omaha Nation Schools superintendent removed from reservation

2008-05-19T11:04:00.000-05:00

Omaha Nation Schools superintendent removed from reservation
BY DOLLY A. BUTZ / Sioux City Journal
Friday, May 16, 2008 - 07:10:25 pm CDT

MACY — The Omaha Tribal Council has removed the Omaha Nation Public
Schools superintendent from the reservation and asked that two
principals be dismissed from their positions for unstated reasons, the
school’s lawyer said Friday.

John Recknor, an attorney based in Lincoln who represents the school,
said the school board was meeting Wednesday when a board member moved
that Superintendent Morris Bates be fired immediately. Recknor said the
motion was never seconded. A short time later, he said, members of the
Tribal Council ordered Bates off of the reservation.

“A couple members of the Tribal Council, including the board member,
came in and handed him a piece of paper saying that he needed to get
off of the reservation immediately, and that he should resign or they
would remove him from the reservation,” he said.

Recknor said the Tribal Council also produced a motion asking to
dismiss high school principal David Friedli and special education
director Mary Wilson from their positions. Unlike Bates, he said the
two were not ordered to leave the reservation. All three staff members
are under contract, according to Recknor.

Sioux City Journal reporters made numerous phone calls to the Omaha
Tribal Council office in Macy but were unable to speak with anyone
about this issue.

Recknor said Bates was escorted out of the meeting by a tribal police
officer, allowed to gather his things from his office and told to leave
the reservation.

Then, at 10 a.m. Thursday, the Tribal Council held a meeting in which
three council members voted in favor of a motion to remove the three
Omaha Nation school officials. Those council members were: Barry
Webster, Amen Sheridan and Sterling Walker, according to meeting
minutes.

One member, Rodney Morris, voted against the motion, saying he felt the
school board should make the decision, not the Tribal Council. Council
member Ansley Griffin did not vote on the motion, and two council
members, Mitchell Parker and Tim Grant, did not attend the meeting.

Recknor said the school is unaware of any wrongdoing alleged against
Bates and said the Tribal Council has not provided a reason for his
dismissal, or that of Friedli and Wilson.

“He’s still our superintendent,” Recknor said. “We have no grounds or
desire for him not to be our superintendent.”

An emergency meeting was held Thursday afternoon at the school. Recknor
said Broderick Steed is temporarily acting as superintendent.

“I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,” he said. “Basically,
this appears to be usurpation of the school district’s power.”

Ojibway leader blames racism for holding back natives

2008-05-12T10:26:00.000-05:00

Here is a recent Anishinabe news story (May 8th), posted on the front page of the local Sault Star (Bawating):

Ojibway leader blames racism for holding back natives — COMMENT ON THIS STORY
Posted By Michael Purvis

Racism, passed down over generations, still prevents native youth from getting the kind of education they deserve, says a prominent Ojibway educator and an early leader in the American Indian Movement.

Eddie Benton-Banai addressed teachers, principals and school administrators from a variety of Northern Ontario boards on Thursday as the keynote speaker for a two-day symposium hosted by Algoma District School Board.

"I think the biggest (barrier) is long-standing stereotypes, generational racism as well," Benton-Banai told media. "People don't like to disagree with grandmothers, grandfathers even fathers and moms, you know."

He told of confronting one school board in the United States on its failure to pass any native students over a nine-year span.

"They never addressed the problem, but they came up with the classic answers: 'Well, you know those Indians, they don't want jobs. All they want to do is draw welfare, and the girls all they want to do is become pregnant so they can have bigger welfare cheques,' "said Benton-Banai. "Those were the answers from white, civilized, well-educated school boards."

"That wasn't true then, and it's not true today. . . . So those of you in education: deal with those stereotypes that you have been given from your parents and your grandparents," he said.

Benton-Banai pointed to another barrier, an overwhelming North American mainstream culture that is fortified by religion and politics, and to the "continuing exclusion," of other cultures from education.

There should be "curriculum about other people, not just about native people, but about other people. We don't know enough about each other and I think that's a big barrier," he said to reporters.

The government is working to correct those issues, said Education Minister Kathleen Wynne, who toured local schools on Thursday and was to address the symposium that evening.

"What I would say is, it is starting to happen in Ontario because we do have now this aboriginal education framework; there's more funding for native programming, and so that's the kind of work we're doing," said Wynne. "Are we finished? No, we've got more to do but we're off to a good start."

Wynne said a line has been added to the funding formula, with $15 million in ongoing funding set aside for programming in aboriginal education.
Chief Lyle Sayers, of Garden River First Nation, and Chief Dean Sayers, of Batchewana First Nation, told the symposium that curriculum based on the history of First Nations people in this region would go a long way toward engaging students.

Benton-Banai told the crowd that the American Indian Movement, which gained notoriety in the early 1970s with its bold approach to protest, "sprang to life" behind prison bars, with an idea "that we must build our pride (that) we cannot walk around these streets or work in these factories and work on these jobs without knowing who we are."

"From that small movement came a bigger movement that rolled onto the streets of Minneapolis, where the police were treating native people like the Gestapo treated the Jewish people in Germany, where every Friday and Saturday the police wagons and trucks rolled up to any place where Indian people congregated and threw them into the vans and into the trucks and trucked them off to jail, week after week after week," said Benton-Banai.

He said the resulting movement spread to other parts of the U.S. and led to what is now known as Anishinabe education.

Step by step tribal members bring awareness to Great Lakes

2008-05-07T11:45:00.001-05:00

Posted: 5-5-2008

Josephine Mandamin, a member of the Ojibway First Nation tribe from Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada, carries a pail of Lake Michigan water while walking along Fruitvale Road in Montague last Monday on the Mother Earth Water Walk. Accompanying her is Josh Me

Josephine Mandamin is a woman on a mission. In fact, she’s an Ojibway First Nation woman on a mission to preserve the Great Lakes for future generations.

Her mission has been to create awareness of the lakes’ plight by walking around them - all five of them- from town to town carrying a pail of the lake water. She is joined by other tribal members and supporters.

Last Monday she passed through the White Lake area on the Mother Earth Water Walk.

Starting the morning at 3:30 a.m. and getting on the road by 4:30 a.m. each day of the walk, Mandamin and her fellow walkers, take shifts in traveling until sunset when the pail and staff of eagle feathers are put to rest at night. The group, which is followed by vans, takes rest days along the trip.

In the final year of the six-year effort, the Mother Earth Water Walk is traveling around the southern end of Lake Michigan and along the Wisconsin shoreline from Manistee, Michigan to Hannaville, Michigan near Escanaba.

This year’s walk began at the Little River Casino in Manistee on Saturday, April 26. Two days later they were in the White Lake area. At 9 a.m., Mandamin and her group were walking steadily along Fruitvale Road between Whitbeck Road and old U.S. 31.

They plan to finish in Hannaville on May 11.

“Lake Michigan has been very prostitutionalized by the money changers,” Mandamin, a resident of Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada, said. “Our water is not for sale.”

Mandamin said the walk brings attention to the lakes for those who pass by.

She said the lakes are like women who hold life inside them. “Water is life,” Mandamin added.

The walkers pass out brochures explaining the Mother Earth Water Walk, providing simple facts about water and recommendations in preserving water.

The Mother Earth Water Walk started in 2003 by circling Lake Superior. In 2004, the upper half of Lake Michigan was the route of the walk. In 2005 it moved to Lake Huron, then moved on to Lake Ontario in 2006 and Lake Erie in 2007.

Reflections on Healing, Renewal, and Living with Vows...

2008-04-30T12:09:00.002-05:00

I have been on a healing journey to the heart since the day I was born. As a mother of four, a writer, and teacher, I am continually challenged to find new ideas and connect those ideas with our traditions. This is what has led me to the great state of Minnesota.

The first step to my own healing was the realization that I needed to be healthy. And, that meant I had to change! Quite an undertaking, I tell you. I mean, I have been alcohol and drug free for many years but that wasn’t enough. I was missing an important ingredient that had to do with my own self-determination and spirituality. My life became a disaster two years ago because I had just gone through separation and I was struggling to hold my family together.

So, I worked on myself--physically at first. I lost a lot of weight, adjusted my diet, etc. Then I worked on my mental attitude and began to see results from the shift in my consciousness reflected in everyone around me. I also went through therapy and traditional ceremonies to begin my emotional and spiritual healing as well. I dealt with issues of intergenerational trauma and faced them head on for the first time in my life.

Most of my trauma, I saw, centered on the concept of shame. Much of which wasn’t even my own. This was shame that had been passed down through generations from the time of first contact, I was certain. This element of shame coated everything in my life. I really believed that I had to hide my problems from everyone (and not air my dirty laundry so to speak). So I struggled to maintain a façade of success, while inside I was in so much pain. There were many times when I had the urge to just give up and start drinking again or to take anything just to feel numb. Ironically, it was only when I actually faced the ruins of my world that I was able to identify what I was really feeling. Then I saw the shame slide off my body like water draining from a basin. When it was gone, I felt so much lighter and free.

The renewal came when I actively sought out the ways of our ancestors. I began to ask questions that pertained to our identity as Native people and to our traditional practices. Some questions kept me awake night after night pondering: What does it mean to be Native in this contemporary time? Are we Native only during certain times of the day or week? Or is this something that we are 24/7?

People thought I was crazy and asked me why I even worried about such things. “Of course, we’re Native!” they said, “It’s in our DNA! Right?”

Well, once I started down this path, I couldn’t stop. It became my obsession and I wanted to find out if it is truly possible to live as a Native year round, without compromise. Where no one would actually question our inherent right to practice and develop our traditional ways in accordance to Native beliefs. Is this possible? I had to give it a try. My experience was quite challenging and revealing. Challenging because many people were opposed to the thought of how I was living. Revealing because I found out that in order to live by Native values, I had to let go of my own misconceptions of what that meant. But I did it for nearly two years. During this time, I homeschooled my children and worked from home part-time. And, I lived without many conveniences.

I spent two years examining the values that shaped me. From all of this self-examination, I posed these questions. How did our ancestors maintain their honor and conviction in everything they did? What did they do and how did they do it? I knew that the answer to this was the key to my own sanity.

The answer is that our ancestors walked with honor. That honor was held binding through the making of vows.

So, I decided to make vows to the Above, to the Grandfathers, to the Creator. These vows were to serve my people in the best way that I can. Now I became committed. My honor was called upon. And my honor became my shield…one that I walk with each day.

As I began to put my life back together as a single mother, I saw patterns. More realizations came that if we could all make our own vows, whatever they might be, wouldn’t this make a difference in the way we walked our own life paths? Particularly in maintaining our own sobriety and how we teach our children?

Living with vows means subscribing to principles that must be adhered to day and night. That’s how our ancestors lived.

Extremist that I am, it’s what I strive to follow. And, teach. And, of course the most important lesson for me in all of this is that I do so with my heart in my hand.

Ewithai Wongithe! All My Relations!

- Shonge Xube Wau (also known as Renee Sans Souci)

Return of the Thunders...

2008-04-28T11:49:00.003-05:00

My latest poem I read on Friday, April 25 at the Spring Feast hosted by the Minnesota Indian Women's Resource Center.

Return of the Thunders
By Renee Sans Souci

This is a sacred time!
Where life begins
In the balance of the universe
Blue for the Sky, Green for the Earth
Then all around us
The Life Givers dance and sing...

Our life circles began as one
Energy that is unending
Surrounding us with Beauty
Renewal time known as Spring
When the Thunder Beings come home
To remind us still...

That life and death are one
Ancient miracles that balance
The budding of the trees
And the falling of the leaves
Echoes of voices singing
Songs of Red and Black...

Our life circles breathe
Inhaling a new beginning
Exhaling to honor the past
Sacred Breath a gift to us
From the Thunders, Bringers of Life
Returning. Returning.

This is a sacred time!
Where life begins
In the Return of the Thunders
Red and Black,
Reflected everywhere
Welcome them! Welcome them!
They are home.

Happy I've Got My Kids Back!

2008-04-28T11:10:00.004-05:00

My kids came back to me two weeks ago, after spending nearly a year with their dad, Charles.

Our marriage broke up two years ago and the divorce was finalized in September of 2007. We had no disputes over any property. My only request to him was that he make sure that his kids inherit his land in Pine Ridge.

The kids said that they enjoyed their time with their dad. He also said that he enjoyed every minute with them. It was a special time for all of them.

I can honestly say at this time that I hold no rancor toward their father. We spent almost four days together as a family again (just for clarification for certain parties, we made agreements as parents not as husband and wife) here in the Twin Cities before he returned to North Dakota and to Canada (where he has remarried).

So, it is back to me and my kids again. I have my work cut out for me here. I love my kids so much! I missed them greatly while we were apart. Now I feel whole once again.

I do have lots to work on. I work for the Minnesota Indian Women's Resource Center. I am also becoming more serious about my writing. People are taking me more serious too! It's amazing how this is all working out now. I actually get paid for writing! Not much...yet. But I am getting there!

I have a mini-van for my kids. Yippee Skippee! And, I am looking for a place to live at this very second. Last Friday, I was approached for the second time by an Ojibwe woman from Augsburg College. She is recruiting for a Tribal Special Education Cohort Master's Program. I gave it a lot of thought over the weekend and have decided that it's time to go back to school! I've got to keep moving forward. I feel energized...

Planting in January by Jerry Lopez

2008-03-27T21:23:00.005-05:00

It is January

The coldest month of the year

And there I was outside in 40 below

Pounding at the soil with a steel stake

Pounding with all my might

I was doing all this pounding to plant a seed

Not just any seed

A seed I just could not seem to take care of

A seed that I thought would do better here than with me

So there I was with the seed in hand

Pounding and pounding away

With every thrusting effort the ground would dent

Then dent a little more, and a little more

Finally the dent would be deep enough

To plant this seed

I placed the seed deep within in this dent

Pulled out my reused glass jar of “organic, chemical free, fare trade, water”

And poured it so ceremonially over the seed

Within seconds the water had frozen

But I smiled, said some words and walked away with all the confidence in the world

For I knew deep within that the seed had everything it needed

It was a seed that could find life in the most challenging conditions

Just not with me

And so I walked away and never looked back

Months later the snow began to melt

The ground began to thaw

The birds returned and the leaves began to bud

The garden was beginning to flower and

Soon the garden took on full life and the people noticed

All those walking, driving, running, and cycling by would stop and look

The beauty of the garden was breathtaking

People could not help but slow down and look

Slowing down and looking was happening to everyone

Looking at such beauty traveled deep into the people

This beauty began to bring peace, love and harmony

Into the minds and heart of all those who slowed down and take it in

This garden was so profound that an entire community began to transform

The people were smiling and greeting each other

People began to pick up the trash and be kind to each other

Parents began to play with their kids and read them books

Kids began to wake up on time and run to school

Or at least walk and not be late

Then one day I walked by the garden

I was in awe

Suddenly the wind was taken out of my chest and offered to the flowers

A tear formed in the corner of both my eyes and my chest pounded slow yet strong

Time began to slow down and slow down some more

Everything came to a stop

I looked around and all but the flowers were a blur

I looked out upon the flowers and asked, “Which of you did I plant?”

But none would answer

I asked again

And none would answer

I asked four times and on the fourth time I asked

“Which of you is the one I planted at a most difficult time

A time when in my hand was my heart

And you the seed was my heart

I planted you here until I was ready to return

Which of you was this seed?”

Again there was silence

Just as I accepted my fate of not knowing

A voice spoke to me and said

Your heart has always been within you

But when you planted me

You too gave life to all of us

Now I belong here with all the seeds

That have been planted by the hearts of many

And so do not worry

There is much more of me inside of you

So go plant more seeds

No matter how hard it may be

No matter what season it is

When you plant a seed from the heart

Beauty will flower and all people will smile

Jerry wrote this for the Spring Equinox which was celebrated last week on March 20, 2008 in ceremony with Danza Mexica Cuauhtemoc...

Reflections on Chalchiutlicue by Bawshkeeng Wabigun (Tara Chadwick)

2008-03-25T23:00:00.007-05:00

(L to R) Renee, Vanessa, Tara and her son Mictla

Reflections on Chalchiutlicue… notes from the Indigenous Women’s Water Policy and Leadership Training, March 20-23, 2008 @ Lake Itasca Biological Field Station.

Before I read the evaluations that I’m just patiently waiting to unfold, I want to leave a written reflection on the weekend’s event. I returned home to a fresh, soft blanket of snow and a new pint of sap in our maple bucket. It was 40 degrees in Northern Minnesota when we left early this afternoon, and 25 in St. Paul when we arrived here at 5 pm… interesting temperature change.

This weekend was the most recent culmination of years of work toward an endeavor to bring together the scientific and cultural knowledge of our local indigenous communities in an effort to boost our community readiness to engage in strategic systems change in water policy and management in local, state and federal arenas.

We started the journey toward this weekend with months worth of planning, logistics, location, ideas and timelines. Next was the content, resource guide and invitations to presentors and participants. Finally were the reminder calls, registration forms, supplies and sleeping assignments. Thank goodness for teamwork!

We invited all the women we could think of who are engaged in strategic, political, educational, or cultural work with water, especially those who regularly share their knowledge with other people in their community. We even invited women who we know would not be able to join us but who might be inspired to engage their own communities in similar endeavours.

When it finally arrived, the day of travel was difficult and filled with all sorts of obstacles, from snow, to rain, to ice, copy machine problems to vehicle space limitations… many of us made it to our departure point feeling anxious, uncertain and stressed out! But we were determined to begin in a positive and peaceful manner, and so we gathered in the Maynidoowahdak Community Center in honor of the call for 8,000 drums for Mother Earth, and we shared some food, thoughts, tobacco and songs to recenter ourselves and focus on our intentions for the training and on the road ahead.

The road ahead was long, it seemed to take forever to get there. And along the way, it was after all, the first day of Spring, we decided that we must add a workshop on tobacco seed planting. I had to stop at three different stores in Park Rapids, MN, before I could find soil that did not bear the Caution, Warning, Danger, Poison label that indicates the presence of toxic chemicals. Our next plan was going to be digging out frozen soil from the earth to plant the seeds… I am ashamed to say that I found it at the last stop, Walmart. The purchase of the only available package of organic potting soil, which was actually Canadian sphagnum peat moss, intruded on my five year boycott of the monster store. I’m sorry that Simone couldn’t join us from IEN, at least she could have used my scab peat purchase for a discussion about the peat mine that’s being proposed for the Red Lake bog, and the environmental and political impacts that are expected.

When we got to the park, it was dusk; we found a beautiful homey cabin filled with smiling women, and a feast of corn, rice, meat and berries spread out and steaming ready. We ate, and then headed out to find the fire, which had already been lit for the full moon ceremony. It had been snowing the whole day so we weren’t even sure which direction was east. The fire was magnificent, though, warm, huge and welcoming. There were wooden benches arranged around the fire, just enough for everyone to have a seat. We had a beautiful ceremony, and just before the end of it, our grandmother shone through the icey mist, a reminder of how the first water must have looked when it first arrived to surround our gwenawjiweengay mide wahkeeng.

After the ceremony we shared some social singing, drumming and snacking in the main cabin, then retired to our various sleeping quarters. Morning came very soon, I awoke, very uncharacteristically, at the break of dawn, despite my best efforts to sleep for as long as possible, I had to get up and get ready. Beautiful dreams about what lay ahead gave me strength and inspiration to go and talk to the other Midewiwin women about how we could create the offering ceremony that would happen next. I had dreamt about our teacher, gweewisence daywayigun. He was sitting with us, teaching us about the various elements we all have in common with him, each other and with all our living relatives on our mother the earth.

It was he who led us on our walk to the headwaters of the Mississippi. We could hear the loud, strong voice of the water speaking, singing to us, as it went flowing through, over and under the line of rocks that spanned the river; they could be crossed in two or three strides. Our grandmothers arrived first, and began their work, we all followed, set up a place for our teacher to work on the ice which was still strong enough to stand on, over the water at the shore of the Mississippi Headwaters. It was a timeless moment, I think we all felt like we remembered having been there before, remembering the memories carried by our ancestors, realizing as we stood there, that we are making a connection that was lost long, not too long, ago.

Next came the beautiful sounds of creation in harmony. Together we observed, felt and witnessed the coming of a new beginning. After the first song, the sun shone through the icey mist; after the second song, tiny black manidoons appeared among us, barely visible, hopping around on the snow. After the third song, the women spoke, sending their voices of observation, memory and intent into the future, near and distant. The speaking was a collective teaching, all voices equal, all participants active, engaged. The voices identified changes that had occurred over historical time, compared them with previously held observations, qualitative and quantitative measurements encoded in the memory, songs and teachings handed down for generations. The women analysed the differences between our historical and current situation, with the water, the earth and the environment. They posed hypotheses for how things could change, and identified an agenda of the most pressing issues… our voice and Midewiwin perspective in the development of land and water management policies, including a retroactive ban on the commodification and privatization of water; water quality restoration worldwide; access to clean, safe water for all human beings now and into the future. Then they spoke of solutions, benchmarks, what it would take to turn the present course of events to a series of desired outcomes. In the next 500 years… we would like to see the rivers restored to drinkable quality. We do not need to worry about the health of the earth, she will survive, it is us, human kind who are in danger. What befalls our brother the wolf, who walked the earth with Waynaboozhoo, will befall the Anishinabe. What will it take to ensure the survival of our people? What will we do? What will I do?

“lis-ten to your heartbeat, lis-ten to your heartbeat,” my three year old son chants…

The grandmothers echo his instruction. And inspiration. We have knowledge, technology and the power to create the change that we seek. Our only responsibility is to remember our teachings, offer our tobacco, pay attention, reflect and act. Do. Plan. Seek. Talk. Organize. Work. Walk. Speak.

We left the headwaters with a lighter step, and a stronger inspiration, and headed for the classroom, three miles downriver, on the shore of Lake Itasca’s East Arm.

The classroom was actually a basement science lab, with windows looking out on the Lake. At first, the transition from ceremony to classroom seemed too harsh, but we engaged our self discipline and entered together into the academic world of power point public policy, dotted with examples of real life situations that brought us back from intangible social theory to context that we could readily understand. We realized, I realized, that what we are doing is social change theory, only we don’t talk about it or write about it, we just do it. And keep doing it. And keep trying, even if the doing it doesn’t work out! I guess that is called 500 years of resistance and survival in my bedrock guide of (bedrock = below grassroots) growing up indigenous. For me, the development of political consciousness was inseparable from the development of social identity as an indigenous person. Citizen engagement and social activism was a given part of who we are and what we did, not a job acquired skill or a required reading. The lecture was good, though, a primer on what public policy is, means and needs in order to be a successful tool of social change.

Next we came to Grandmother Josephine’s presentation about the Mother Earth Water Walk, a remarkable committment to the ever present question: what will you do? Raise awareness, send a powerful message, work with the water, lead by example, follow our teachings. Josephine and her helpers will be walking through Chicago this May 1st- 7th and there is some concern for the safety of the walkers in this high profile water diversion area that is dominated by corporations who profit from the undeveloped consciousness of the majority of the masses. Josephine would like as much press and media attention as possible on the Water Walk for this year, and is inviting all women and men to participate and support the Walk to raise awareness and bring healing to the water.

After the classroom presentations, we returned to our eating cabin and feasted on buffalo stew. The third part of our day turned traditions and academics into creative practice. We transitioned, this time, into spring seed planting mode. Sharon shared the fruits of her trial and error tobacco seeding efforts. Smudge, tobacco, seed, tobacco, song. No water directly on the plants, only on the soil around the edges, till they’re big enough to plant in the ground about June. Keep covered, warm and constant temperature. Our seeds were planted, ready for us to take home and, hopefully, sprout in four days, a reminder of ourselves and our commitments and intentions.

Then, after watching a youth video and listening to a poem that reflect our work, our history and our intentions for the present and the future, we were challenged to take on a commitment to produce a creative message, one that reflects the learning that had taken place. In other words, it was everyone’s turn to work together or separately, to do something. Anything. Somehow! This is the exercise with the push that we need to turn the theory, back into action. Two hours later, we had a wonderful time, sharing what we had created. There were posters, skits, singing, drawings, paintings, beading, and cutting:

• Mainstream messaging through music (Mississippi River lyrics, karaoke)
• A Water = Life collage illustrating the interdependence that all the elements of our creation history share, surrounded by four pairs of moccasins that represent the Mother Earth Water Walk
• A red cuxtal and charcoal drawing representing the relationship between water, women and mother earth and reminding us of our responsibility and what could happen if we do not fulfill our obligations.
• The capers of Wally and Dory, the Minnesota walleye, and their run-in with a Red Lake fisherwoman.
• A Publicity Poster for the 2008 Mother Earth Water Walk, incorporating the issues of corporate commodification and privatization of water; bottled water quality, shelf life, and the generation of plastic bottle waste.
• A worldwide water quality and access comic strip storyboard.
• A beaded lace representing the free flow of living water running through the arteries of mother earth (undiverted and undammed).
• A poster for a Midewiwin culture based Younger Youth Water Education Project
• A room-wide game of ring around the rosey, exemplifying the movement of water

The sharing of our creative productions was followed by popcorn and an in-depth documentary titled “Green Green Water” filmed by a Minnesotan woman, about the relationship between Minnesota based Xcel Energy Corporation and Manitoba Hydro. The film focused on the effects of dams and electricity generation on the lives and livelihood of Crees from northern and central Manitoba. It was sobering to see the destruction that a dam produces, so that we can flip on the lights.

At the conclusion of the video, a call to action was spurred by a presentation by participants in the weekend workshop who are also danzantes from Danza Mexica Cuauhtemoc. They related the experience of the Manitoba Hydro dam to the many dams that have been and are being built throughout central and south American right now as part of Plan Puebla Panama and Nafta, Cafta and the current country by country trade agreements that are being negotiated, such as the trade deal with Columbia that is before congress right now. US internal and international policy is driven by the voices of powerful corporations that profit from exploiting and destroying common natural assets such as rivers, acquifers, and land based deposits of minerals and rocks. These trade and “implementation” agreements are taking away the power of indigenous people to provide for and protect our people and common natural assets. The only way for us to regain our power is to reclaim our power. Reclaim our power. As the grandmother shines brightly, watching.

We closed with evaluations the next morning, written and shared, one more offering of tobacco, and a song to celebrate our milestone accomplishment. We have stood together, we will continue to stand together. To Stand Strong. We are the buffalo. The wolves. The turtles. We are the grandmother, Waynaboozhoo, the fire and the water. Atl tla chinolli… the fire and the water. We are agitated, like boiling water, spurred to action. To reflection. To figuring out the answer to our ever present question: What will you do?

Meegwetch. Ome Teotl.

Bawshkeeng Wabigun (Tara Chadwick)
March 23, 2008, Upon returning home from the Water Retreat.

A Language Too Beautiful to Lose...

2008-03-11T13:08:00.000-05:00

February 3, 2008
A language too beautiful to lose
By David Treuer

ONLY three Native American languages now spoken in the
United States and Canada are expected to survive into
the middle of this century. Mine, Ojibwe, is one of
them. Many languages have just a few speakers left --
two or three -- while some have a fluent population in
the hundreds. Recently, Marie Smith Jones, the last
remaining speaker of the Alaskan Eyak language, died
at age 89. The Ojibwe tribe has about 10,000 speakers
distributed around the Great Lakes and up into
northwestern Ontario and eastern Manitoba. Compared
with many, we have it pretty good.

If my language does die -- not now, not tomorrow, but,
unless something changes, in the near future -- many
understandings, not to mention the words that contain
them, will die as well. If my language dies, our word
for "bear," makwa, will disappear, and with it the
understanding that makwa is derived from the word for
box, makak (because black bears box themselves up,
sleeping, for the winter).

So too will the word for "namesake," niiyawen'enh.
Every child who gets an Ojibwe name has namesakes,
sometimes as many as six or eight of them. Throughout
a child's life, his or her namesakes function a little
like godparents, giving advice and help, good for a
dollar to buy an Indian taco at a powwow. But they
offer something more too. The term for "my body,"
niiyaw (a possessive noun: ni- = "I/mine"; -iiyaw =
"body/soul"), is incorporated into the word for a
namesake because the idea (contained by the word and
vice versa) is that when you take part in a naming,
you are gifting a part of your soul, your body, to the
person being named. So, to say "my namesake,"
niiyawen'enh, is to say "my fellow body, myself."

If these words are lost, much will happen, but also
very little will happen. We will be able to go to
Starbucks and GameStop and Wal-Mart and the Home Depot
as before. We will tie our shoes the same way and
brush our teeth and use Crest Whitestrips. Some of us
will still do our taxes. Some of us still won't. The
mechanics of life as it is lived by modern Ojibwes
will remain, for the most part, unchanged. The
language we lose, when we lose it, is replaced by
other languages.

And yet, I think, more will be lost than simply a
bouquet of discrete understandings -- about bears or
namesakes. If the language dies, we will lose
something personal, a degree of understanding that
resides, for most fluent speakers, on some unconscious
level. We will lose our sense of ourselves and our
culture. There are many aspects of culture that are
extralingual -- that is, they exist outside or in
spite of language: kinship, legal systems, governance,
history, personal identity. But there is very little
that is "extralingual" about story, about language
itself. I think what I am trying to say is that we
will lose beauty -- the beauty of the particular, the
beauty of the past and the intricacies of a language
tailored for our space in the world.

Yes, that's it: We will lose beauty.

My older brother Anton and I, among many others, have
been trying to do something about that. For the last
year, we have been working on a grant to record,
transcribe and translate Ojibwe speech in order to
compile what will be the first (and only) practical
Ojibwe language grammar. Since December, we have
traveled once, sometimes twice, a week, from our homes
on the western edge of our Minnesota reservation to
the east, to small communities named Inger, Onigum,
Bena and Ball Club, where we record Ojibwe speakers.
We've also taken longer trips to Red Lake Reservation
(to the north) and south to Mille Lacs.

RECORDING Ojibwe speech in Minnesota, where the
average age of fluent Ojibwe speakers is 55, means
recording old people. My brother, at 38, is very good
at this, much better than I am. For starters, he is
much more fluent. And he looks like a handsome version
of Tonto: lean, medium height, clear eyes and smooth
face, very black shiny braids and very white shiny
teeth. This helps. He has made this kind of activity
his life's work; it is what he does.

Right after college, he apprenticed himself to Archie
Mosay, at that time the oldest and most influential
Ojibwe spiritual leader, who grew up in the hills of
the St. Croix River Valley in Wisconsin and did not
have an English name until he was 12 and a white
farmer he worked for gave him a pocket knife and the
name "Archie." He kept the knife and the name for
another 82 years. Archie and my brother were friends.
Deep affection and respect and tenderness ran in both
directions.

The people we are interviewing are also our friends.
There is Tom Stillday, from the traditional village of
Ponemah on the Red Lake Reservation. Tommy Jay, as
he's known, is somewhat famous for his spiritual work
and for his sense of humor; he refers to his knees as
his baakinigebishkigwanan, which means "openers," and
once he described his Indian name, Ozaawaabiitang
(Yellow Foam), as the "puke of the waves as they wash
up onshore." He is a Korean War combat veteran, has
served on the tribal council and was the spiritual
advisor for one or two sessions of the Minnesota
Senate. He is also my daughter's namesake.

Then there is Anna Gibbs, also from Ponemah, also
famous -- for her voice and her special and
spectacular cept by human grasping.

Since we've begun our project, six of our informants,
our friends, have died, including Mark Wakanabo, who
worked as a janitor at our tribal school for decades
until someone realized that since he was a fluent
speaker, it would be better if he pushed young minds
toward the language rather than pushed a broom. He was
a sweet man, about whom I knew very little, except
that he was gentle, with a soft voice. Two of his sons
(identical twins) were my friends through middle and
high school.

Luckily, other people are working on making more
Ojibwe speakers. My good friends Keller Paap, along
with his wife Lisa LaRonge, David Bisonette, Thelma
Nayquonabe, Harold Frogg, Rose Tainter, Monica White
and others, have started an Ojibwe language immersion
school named Waadookodaading (We Help Each Other) on
the Lac Courte Oreilles Reservation in north-central
Wisconsin. The school has been in operation for six
years, and all the children in the program have passed
fifth-grade aptitude tests mandated by the state of
Wisconsin. Sixty-six percent of them scored in the top
10 percentiles in English and math, compared with a
much lower passing rate among students in the tribal
and public schools on and near the reservation. And
yet the students at Waadookodaading received no
instruction in English and their math was taught in
Ojibwe.

LAST spring, I went spearing with Keller Paap and Dave
Bisonette on a lake in their treaty area. Band members
fought for and won the right to continue exercising
their treaty rights on ceded land, and so they do. One
of those rights is to spear and net walleye pike
during the spring spawn. It is cold on the water in
April, and it was that night. We took the boat across
Round Lake to the northeastern shore and into the
shallow waters where the fish spawn. One person ran
the motor, the other stood in front wearing a headlamp
and speared the fish with a long pole. With a few
modern modifications, this is something we have done
for centuries.

The night was very foggy. Mist skated over the water
and billowed up, disturbed, over the gunwales of the
boat. We kept close to shore. Round Lake is a resort
lake and many of its bays and inlets are packed with
houses. (It is rumored that Oprah Winfrey has a house
there.) Most of these places were closed up,
shuttered, waiting for the tourists to come in for the
summer. The docks reached down into the lake as if
testing the water, but finding it too cold, drew up
halfway on the banks. Yet here and there, lights shone
from living room windows. And when the house was
perched especially close to the lake, we could see
televisions glowing ghostly and blue.

It was past 10 -- time for Letterman and Leno. Dave
and Keller and I spoke Ojibwe over the puttering motor
and the watery stab of the spear going down into the
water and the clang as it came out with a walleye
wiggling against the barbs. The pile of fish grew on
the bottom of the boat, and they flapped dully, trying
to fly against the unforgiving aluminum sky of the
boat. A dog barked from shore. I could hear, clearly,
Letterman's Top Ten List coming from an open window.
Fish scales, knocked loose by the tines of the spear,
were plastered all over the inside of the boat, and
they sparkled like jewels when swept by the lamplight.

This way of life and the language that goes with it
felt suddenly, almost painfully, too beautiful to
lose; too impossibly beautiful and unique to be
drowned out by the voice of a talk show host or by any
other kind of linguistic static. And I thought then,
with a growing confidence I don't always have: We
might just make it. *

View from the Holy Fire Place...Read at the Wolve's Den in July of '07

2008-02-21T00:37:00.001-06:00

Think of My Kids Whenever I Hear This Song...

2008-02-03T22:24:00.000-06:00

Yellow by ColdPlay

Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah they were all yellow,

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh all the things I've done
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh all the things you do
Cause you were all yellow

I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know for you i bleed myself dry
For you i bleed myself dry

Its true look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine
look at the stars look how they shine for you
And all the things that you do...

Uncle Oliver's Obituary...

2008-01-24T09:47:00.000-06:00

MACY, Neb. -- Oliver Saunsoci Jr., 76, of Macy departed this life Monday, Jan. 21, 2008, at the Winnebago Indian Hospital in Winnebago, Neb.

Services will be 10 a.m. Friday at the Alfred Gilpin Building, with Mr. Frank Saunsoci officiating. Burial will be in Omaha Tribal Cemetery, Macy. Visitation will be held begin today and will continue until service time Friday at the Native American Church (VFW building) in Macy. Arrangements are under the direction of Munderloh Funeral Home in Pender, Neb.

Oliver was born on June 17, 1931, in a home west of Macy. He attended school in Plainview district 151, a country school. He went on to attend Flandreau Indian School. At the age of 17, he enlisted in the U.S. Army and was a veteran of the Korean War from 1949 to 1953. He was a staff sergeant by the age of 18 years old with the 111th Infantry. He graduated from Milford Technical School for auto body repair, which he practiced for 10 years in Lincoln, Neb.

He was a husband to Charlotte Lasley Saunsoci for 36 years, and a father to eleven children.

He was the cofounder of the Lincoln Indian Center and served on its board of directors. He moved back to the Omaha Indian Reservation in Macy and was the director of the Employment Assistance Program. He attended the Nebraska Indian Community College and was one of its first graduates in 1978. He went on to become director of the Omaha Tribal Housing Authority. He served as chairman of the Omaha Tribal Council in 1980. He was an Environmental Health Technician at the Carl T. Curtis Health Center for 16 years. His other activities included being a bull rider and competing in other rodeo competitions. He also was an activist for Native American Rights and a Tribal Spiritual leader.

He is survived by his daughters, Gail J. Saunsoci of Macy, Olivia Saunsoci of Sioux City, Mary Saunsoci and Michelle Saunsoci, both of Macy; sons, Gary Lasley of South Sioux City, Adrian Saunsoci of Macy, Oliver Evan Saunsoci III, Quentin Saunsoci and Brennan Lasley, all of Macy; 52 grandchildren; 46 great grandchildren; and sisters, Eleanor Baxter and her husband Everett of Macy, Maxine Anderson and her husband Gary of Lincoln, Neb., and Cora Belle Saunsoci of Macy.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Oliver Saunsoci Sr. and Mae Blackbird Saunsoci; his wife, Charlotte Lasley Saunsoci; brothers, Franklin, Henry, Gary and Vincent Saunsoci; sisters, Mary Ann Saunsoci Cayou, Anna Belle Saunsoci and Rhea Sue Saunsoci; and children, Timothy, Wayne and Corwin Saunsoci.

2008-01-22T16:49:00.000-06:00

A Good Time to Remember Standing Bear

By Kevin Abourezk

As the country honors the legacy of Martin Luther King Jr. this week, I think it's a good time to remember a man many consider to be our country's first civil rights activist.

He is widely known in Nebraska, but I would dare say few have heard of him beyond the state's borders.

He is Chief Standing Bear of the Ponca Tribe.

In January 1879, Standing Bear and 30 of his followers left Indian Territory in Oklahoma to return to their former lands in Nebraska.

You see, as it had done to so many Native people, the U.S. government had forcibly moved the Poncas from their homes and sent them to Oklahoma two years earlier.

But Standing Bear and his followers preferred their homelands along the Niobrara River to the barren earth of Oklahoma.

Then the chief's son died.

But before Bear Shield died, he asked his father to bury him in the soil of his homeland.

Like any father, Standing Bear wanted to fulfill his son's dying wish.

So on Jan. 2, 1879, he and 30 followers left for Nebraska. Two months later, they were arrested, and Standing Bear was put on trial.

The trial of Standing Bear lasted two days. Shortly after it ended, the chief offered this impassioned plea to the court in an effort to prove he was a human being and entitled to the same right to freedom as every human being:

"That hand is not the color of yours, but if I pierce it, I shall feel pain. The blood that will flow from mine will be the same color as yours. I am a man. The same God made us both."

About two weeks later, federal Judge Elmer Dundy ruled that "an Indian (is) a person within the meaning of the law," entitled to the constitutional rights of U.S. citizens.

The decision allowed the Ponca to return to their lands and freed Standing Bear.

For the first time in this country's history, Native people had the right to go where they wanted, to leave the confines of the reservation and roam where they pleased.

All because a father wanted to fulfill his son's wish.

Kevin Abourezk, Oglala Lakota, is a reporter and editor at the Lincoln (Neb.) Journal Star. He is a reznet assignment editor and teaches reporting at the Freedom Forum's American Indian Journalism Institute.

2008-01-07T12:28:00.000-06:00

U.S. tribes back Titla’s run for Congress

Paul Giblin, East Valley Tribune

American Indian tribes from across the state and country are pumping money into Mary Kim Titla’s congressional campaign.

The former Phoenix TV news reporter is running as a Democrat in the crowded race in Arizona’s vast 1st Congressional District. The mostly rural district has the largest Indian population of any congressional district in the country at 22 percent.

Titla is a member of the San Carlos Apache Tribe in southeastern Arizona.

Overall contributions to her campaign are approaching $100,000, and American Indian tribes have contributed more than half of the total, she said Wednesday.

“There is a real excitement about my ethnicity, of course, being Native American. There’s no doubt about that,” she said. “People in general are excited about helping me become the first Native American woman elected to Congress.”

The campaign’s latest financial figures will be reflected in its final 2007 campaign finance report, which is due to the Federal Election Commission by Jan. 15.

Third-quarter 2007 financial reports indicated Titla’s fundraising was fourth among candidates hoping to succeed Rep. Rick Renzi, a Republican incumbent under federal investigation into possible public corruption and not seeking re-election.

Democrat Ann Kirkpatrick led the field with $217,000 in contributions by Sept. 30. Republican Sydney Hay had $108,000, Democrat Howard Shanker $66,000 and Titla $42,000.

To date, 25 tribes have contributed to Titla’s campaign, she said. The list includes the Seminole Tribe of Florida, the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians of North Carolina, the Saint Regis Mohawk Tribe of New York and the Red Lake Band of Chippewa Indians of Minnesota, among others.

“There are tribes all over the country who are giving,” she said. Several tribes have donated $4,600, the maximum amount allowed by law from a single source.

Titla’s campaign chest establishes her as a serious candidate, said Mike O’Neil, president of O’Neil Associates, a public opinion research firm based in Tempe. Her ability to draw contributions from a national base is also telling, he said.

“Number 1, it says that she has presented a credible case to those tribes; and Number 2, the power of affinity,” O’Neil said.

“That’s not enough. You have to be credible. If she’s raised that amount of money at this point, I’d say that she’s convinced them that she’s a credible candidate,” he said.

In October, Titla addressed about 1,000 tribal leaders at a convention of the National Congress of American Indians, a lobbying organization. During her 20-minute speech in Denver, she pledged to address the needs of children, families, seniors and veterans. She also told the delegates she will ensure tribal sovereignty.

Those themes carry across state lines, she said.

“What’s important to remember is that once you’re elected to Congress, there are no boundaries, and people understand that. So there is a real genuine interest all over the country in my candidacy,” Titla said.

She has also received the endorsements of several Arizona tribes.

“I believe that the tribes in the district and outside of the district want to make sure that there is going to be someone in Congress who can be a voice for the tribes and can relate to what they’re going through. And I’m that candidate,” she said.

Titla said that her 20 years as a TV reporter in Tucson and the Valley also have helped establish her reputation among non-Native Americans.

“People appreciate where I’ve come from, how hard I’ve worked to get to where I’m at, and that I’m concerned and that I’m passionate about the same issues that they’re concerned about,” she said.

http://www.eastvalleytribune.com/story/105768

Jodi Rave: Youth a part of Big Foot Memorial Ride

2007-12-21T13:59:00.000-06:00

287-mile ride a rite of passage

By JODI RAVE
Missoulian

BEAR SOLDIER, S.D. - When Donaven Yellow of Wakpala, S.D., joined the Spirit Riders, he pledged to ride four years in the Big Foot Memorial Ride, a nearly 300-mile journey dedicated to the Lakota ancestors who died in one of the nation's most horrific massacres.

On Saturday, he began the fourth journey across the South Dakota prairie with 44 riders who will spend the next two weeks on horseback en route to the Pine Ridge Reservation, picking up others along the way until they number 200.

"Riding for two weeks isn't easy," said the 15-year-old Donaven. "A lot of my friends made the same commitment. It gets really cold. You've just got to ride it out.

"A couple of times, I didn't feel my toes. And my legs were shaking. I had a Gatorade in my pocket. I tried to take a drink, but it was frozen solid after a couple of hours. I was really thirsty that day, and I wasn't warm enough to keep it thawed out."

The Spirit Riders were established in honor of a young man who went to the Spirit World on Sept. 21, 2004. The 16-year-old suffered from mental-health issues, said his father, Manaja Hill.

Before he died, he found some peace with horses after riding in the Big Foot Memorial Ride. It was his introduction to the horse culture.

"With his mental issues, that horse turned everything around," said his father. "Here was a kid who was in constant trouble when he was in school. I got called every day. After he got with horses, the calls seemed to have lessened."

Started with 7

So Hill and a friend started a horse program to help youth. In 1998, seven young men from Standing Rock became the first group of Spirit Riders to join the Big Foot Memorial Ride. They've been riding ever since. Adults now credit them for keeping the ride going.

The Big Foot Memorial started in 1986 after several men in different tribal communities shared a common vision to honor the ancestors who died in the Wounded Knee massacre on Dec. 29, 1890.

More than 350 unarmed men, women and children under the leadership of Chief Big Foot, a Minneconjou Lakota from the Cheyenne River Reservation, were shot after making an attempt to seek safety on the Pine Ridge Reservation.

Big Foot's band started its journey after learning of the death of Chief Sitting Bull of the Hunkpapa Lakota. Today, the memory of the slain is honored as horseback riders retrace the trail of the slain Lakota.

Riders now participate in the Big Foot Memorial ride annually from Dec. 15 to 29. They end their 287-mile ride at Wounded Knee, where Big Foot's band was buried in a mass grave.

Keeping a vision alive

In 1992, after adults fulfilled their vision to honor their ancestors' memory in four consecutive rides, they felt it was time to let the vision go, following a wopila ride.

But the youth didn't want it to stop.

"The younger people kept it alive," said Ron His Horse Is Thunder, chairman of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe and a 12-year veteran rider of the Big Foot Memorial Ride. "For many youth, it has become a rite of passage. They want to say, 'I've done that trail. I've ridden 300 miles.' It's good that they do. It teaches them fortitude, to go forward without complaining. It's so much a part of who we are."

"Now I come to support the young riders more than anything else," said His Horse Is Thunder. "It truly has become a ride for the youth."

Adults contend that youth and horses are a natural fit.

"There's no barriers," said Hill. "There's a natural rule out there - you be nice to me, I'll be nice to you. It's about respect. My son had all these rules. Be still. Don't talk. With a horse, you don't have those rules. A horse will listen to what you have to say, as long as you pay attention to him. They accepted one another. A lot of our kids respond to that."

"Watch the actions of horse," said Hill. "And then watch the actions of child. They mirror each other. When you get them together, they're going to figure out which one's which. If you put a herd of horses out there, and put the kids with them, they're going to find each other."

The horses help build the traditions, or lakol wicohan.

"It's a good foundation to give to our kids," said John Eagle Shield Sr., who has provided that foundation for his own son, John Eagle Shield Jr. "He's 16. And I haven't lost him. He was 6 months old when I'd be holding him in my arms and singing at Sun Dance. He knew ceremonial songs long before he knew powwow songs or round-dance songs."

Carrying one's self

It's a matter of how you carry yourself with all these values, beginning with prayer, respect, humility and generosity, said Eagle Shield. "The youths that follow these ways, I doubt very much they'll have some of these problems ... belligerence, discipline, lack of respect for authority. If they had this foundation, it would teach them how to live their lives."

Donaven Yellow has made the traditions of a horse culture and the values that accompany it a key part of his life as he matures into adulthood. He's embracing values important to being a good human being. It's a way of life that steers him away from being self-centered, said his grandfather.

"His birthday is Dec. 25 - Christmas Day," said Pat Yellow. "He hasn't been home with me for three Christmases now. It will be the fourth one coming up. I don't mind that as long as he's doing his job there on the ride and helping out the other youth."

Reporter Jodi Rave covers American Indian issues. She can be reached at 800-396-7186 or jodi.rave@lee.net.

Abourezk: A Tribute to Floyd Red Crow Westerman

2007-12-21T12:04:00.000-06:00

We Must Give Back What This Minstrel Gave Us

By Kevin Abourezk

A lyrical and plainspoken voice for the oppressed.

A gentle but forceful critic of his people's assailants.

A strong, proud vision of Native people as we were.

These are the gifts Floyd Red Crow Westerman has given Native people.

These are the obligations and responsibilities we are left to carry on in his absence.

To the public, he will be remembered as Ten Bears, the wise Lakota elder who gave fireside counsel to Kevin Costner's Dances With Wolves.

But Westerman was much more than a movie character to those who knew him.

So much more to those who loved him.

For Gwen Westerman Griffin, he was and will remain uncle Floyd. The man who would tease her and call her his "magic butterfly."

A smiling, mischievous minstrel who always had time to lend a hand to someone in need.

"Anytime anybody called on him he was there," said Westerman Griffin, an English professor at Minnesota State University in Mankato. "He would bring his guitar with him. He would talk."

This week, Westerman's lifelong endeavor to set the record straight for Native people ended. As an actor, musician and activist, Westerman fought until his final days to educate non-Indians about the trials his people have had to endure.

Born on the Sisseton-Wahpeton Reservation in South Dakota, Westerman had plenty of his own trials with which to contend, including boarding school abuse and an alcoholic father.

As a man, he would carry the lessons of his youth into his activism.

In 1973, when his old classmate, Dennis Banks, and other Native activists took control of Wounded Knee, S.D., sparking a 71-day standoff, Westerman crept past a military cordon around the village to make his way to his friends.

He went on to become AIM's voice in song, traveling the country to raise funds for the group's cause.

His career took a slightly different path when, in 1987, he answered a casting call for an episode of "MacGyver." Westerman landed the role and went on to appear in a number of supporting TV and film roles.

In 1990, fame came calling.

Appearing as Ten Bears in Costner's epic "Dances With Wolves," Westerman instantly became one of the most recognizable faces in Indian Country.

"He was the picture of the Lakota," said Wilmer Mesteth, a longtime friend of Westerman's and spiritual leader of the Oglala Lakota.

And Westerman worked hard to present a proud and honest portrayal of Native people in the movie, said his niece. Many Native people hailed the movie for using real Indians and using the Lakota language.

"It was an incredible opportunity to put forward Indian people during that time period as Indian people, not artifacts," Westerman Griffin said.

Westerman did not take for granted his newfound fame, she said, offering his name and weight to any cause he found worthy.

In his final years, he had begun work on a six-part documentary called "Exterminate Them: America's War on Indian Nations." With the help of his niece, he had completed the first part, "California Story," and had begun work on the second installment, "Great Plains Story."

Westerman Griffin said she doesn't plan to let her uncle's death end efforts to complete the documentary.

Nor does she plan to let his relentless efforts to improve the lives of Native people die with him.

"It's going to take a lot of us to fill in the void that this one man is going to leave," she said. "It's going to take so many of us to carry on his work."

Rain and Rain in the Face....

2007-12-11T16:15:00.001-06:00

My oldest son Rain, Magazu, is going to be 9 years old on December 15. I am sad that I will miss celebrating his birthday this year, since he and his brother Remy, and sisters Colleen and Amber are living with their dad at this time. He is growing so tall! He is standing on the left in this picture in the red, white, and blue coat. As I am here today in my office, I can't help but wonder what happened to all that time since he was born. I am adrift in a time without my kids...

This photo of my children was taken by their father, Charles New Holy. They are standing in front of the gravesite of their Grandfather Rain in the Face. He is the one my son Rain is named for.

Rain in the Face was of the Hunkpapa Band of Lakota and was believed to have killed Custer at the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

My son looks just like him. Smiles like him. My Rain is so sweet, extremely intelligent, and always helpful. When he was born, the doctors told me that he would grow to be very tall, at least 6'5", they said. I believe it, he already looks like he is 14 years old.

My children are preparing to ride on horseback beginning this weekend at Standing Rock for the Future Generations Ride hosted by their dad and other members of the Chief Bigfoot Memorial Ride. They will be journeying for the next two weeks in prayer for Native youth.

I will be praying for my children throughout and thinking of how they are riding with their relatives and ancestors. The thought brings tears to my eyes.

Found this poem by Longfellow, which doesn't equate to the description I've heard from the descendents. They say that Rain in the Face was tall, charming, and humorous. I believe that rather than this Longfellow person's words. But this is just one's man's words after all...

The Revenge of Rain-in-the Face
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

In that desolate land and lone,
Where the Big Horn and Yellowstone
Roar down their mountain path,
By their fires the Sioux Chiefs
Muttered their woes and griefs
And the menace of their wrath.

"Revenge!" cried Rain-in-the-Face,
"Revenge upon all the race
Of the White Chief with yellow hair!"
And the mountains dark and high
From their crags re-echoed the cry
Of his anger and despair.

In the meadow, spreading wide
By woodland and riverside
The Indian village stood;
All was silent as a dream,
Save the rushing of the stream
And the blue-jay in the wood.

In his war paint and his beads,
Like a bison among the reeds,
In ambush the Sitting Bull
Lay with three thousand braves
Crouched in the clefts and caves,
Savage, unmerciful!

Into the fatal snare
The White Chief with yellow hair
And his three hundred men
Dashed headlong, sword in hand;
But of that gallant band
Not one returned again.

The sudden darkness of death
Overwhelmed them like the breath
And smoke of a furnace fire:
By the river's bank, and between
The rocks of the ravine,
They lay in their bloody attire.

But the foemen fled in the night,
And Rain-in-the-Face, in his flight
Uplifted high in air
As a ghastly trophy, bore
The brave heart, that beat no more,
Of the White Chief with yellow hair.

Whose was the right and the wrong?
Sing it, O funeral song,
With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
In the Year of a Hundred Years.

Obituary for Grandpa Elmer Blackbird...

2007-12-11T15:46:00.000-06:00

Grandpa Elmer always had words of encouragement for me. My memories of him are good. He was there for me when I graduated from UNL. I invited him as a guest of honor to my graduation reception at the Lincoln Indian Center in August of 2002. Grandpa Elmer offered a prayer and smudged my family with cedar that time to help me along my path.

I will always be thankful for that...

WALTHILL, Neb. –

Elmer LaFlesche Blackbird, 86, of Walthill died Tuesday, Nov. 13, 2007, at a Sioux City hospital.

Services will be 2 p.m. Saturday at Omaha Nation School auditorium in Macy, Neb. Burial will be in Omaha Tribal Cemetery. A Native American church service will be held Friday evening at the Native American Church in Macy. Arrangements are under the direction of Munderloh Funeral Home in Pender, Neb.

Elmer was born Feb. 16, 1921, the son of Charles Blackbird and Suzette LaFlesche. He was the great-grandson of Chief Joseph LaFlesche, one of the last principal chiefs of the Omaha Tribe. He graduated from Walthill High School and received a bachelor of science degree in education from Wayne State College. He received a master's degree in guidance and counseling from the University of Northern Arizona, Flagstaff. He received an honorary doctoral degree from the Nebraska Indian Community College. He was a World War II veteran, serving in the U.S. Army Air Corps.

He began his teaching career at Lynch (Neb.) Public Schools and continued to teach in the Bureau of Indian Affairs Schools in Colorado, Arizona, South Dakota and North Dakota. He retired from Haskell Indian Nations University in Lawrence, Kan., in 1975, after serving as the head of the guidance department and director of residence halls. After retirement, he returned to the Omaha Indian Reservation and continued work for the tribe in the area of education.

He served twice as the Omaha Tribal chairman and once as a Nation chairman of the Native American Church. An academic scholarship in his honor was established in 2001 by his son, Dr. Russell L. Blackbird, and is presented to a Walthill High School senior each year.

He married Mabel Veaux of LaPlant, S.D. in 1947. They later divorced, He then married Nancy Miller Springer in 1972.

He is survived by three sons, Kenneth Blackbird of Fort Duchesne, Utah, Russell Blackbird of Lawrence, Kan., and Gene Blackbird of Tama, Iowa; a daughter, Ida Blackbird of Walthill; two stepsons, Tim and Leonard Springer; two stepdaughters, Connie Kirkpatrick and Tammy Springer; two sisters, Francellia Clark and Maxine White, both of Macy, Neb.; 37 grandchildren; and 20 great-grandchildren.

He was preceded in death by his parents; a sister, Ida St. Cyr; a brother, Dale Saunsoci; a son, Ray Steven Blackbird; and grandchildren, Memory Blackbird, Jerome Springer and Natavia Parker.

Omaha Tribe's Stabler, WWII vet and author, dies at 89

2007-11-14T15:32:00.000-06:00

Sioux City Journal

WALTHILL, Neb. -- An Omaha Tribe member whose autobiographical book, "No One Ever Asked Me -- The World War II Memoirs of an Omaha Indian," chronicled his experiences as a soldier in that conflict, died Monday at his residence.

Hollis Dorian Stabler, 89, was born in Hampton, Va., and grew up in Walthill, Oklahoma and Kansas. His Omaha Indian name is Na-zhin-thia, or Slow to Rise. He enlisted in the Army in 1938 after a stint in the National Guard. He remembered being a cavalry man when that still meant horses, but he later became a member of the 67th Armored Regiment under Brig. Gen. George Patton.

In July 1943, Stabler's 2nd Armored Division saw action in Sicily. With debilitating heel infections, he was left behind in a Naples hospital while his division went to England. It was then he volunteered for the legendary Darby's Rangers. He fought a number of campaigns with the Fourth Ranger Battalion in Africa, Italy and France.

He was wounded at Anzio in Italy. His brother, Robert Stabler, a soldier with the 3rd Infantry, was killed nearby.

Stabler earned the Purple Heart, the French Freedom Medal, Bronze Star, American Medal, the Combat Infantry Medal and others.

His final campaign was along the French Riviera where his 1st Special Services Force liberated Nice and Monaco. "We called it the champagne campaign," he told the Journal with a wry smile several years ago.

Stabler saw 28 months of combat during his seven-year enlistment, and more agony and death than he will tell of, said his daughter, Wehnona St. Cyr. "He's very proud, not just of his military service, but because of the culture he comes from. It's so important," she said.

In "No One Ever Asked Me," Stabler recounts some horrific battle scenes, telling his tales matter-of-factly. He also tells of bigotry and how he dealt with it, but he doesn't dwell on those incidents. He told a Journal reporter in 2005 that he didn't mind that his fellow soldiers called him Chief. But, one time, a soldier from another unit noticed Stabler's new corporal patch and said, "'They must be scraping the bottom of the barrel.' I hit him. It made me mad all of the sudden," Stabler recalled.

He handled other racial confrontations with humor.

Many of Stabler's "war" stories tend to favor the humorous events. When stationed in Monterey, Calif., he said, future President Ronald Reagan was a Reserve officer with his unit. Reagan's wife, Jane Wyman, beautifully dressed, would drive out to pick him up. "We would wave and wave, you know," Stabler said with a wink. "He thought we were waving at him!"

Finding the Beauty....

2007-11-12T14:37:00.001-06:00

Went to a really good sweat last night! With several new, good friends. Thanks to all of you who were in there. It was most helpful to me. I am bringing this poem back again. I just can't help it! Everything moves in circles, you know! Hopefully, this will also help others who are making their way on their paths, to understand that there is beauty all around us. We just got to find it.... We all go through stages of death and rebirth in various ways.

And, as always, this is dedicated to my friend, brother, muse, and fellow teacher/artist, Robe Walker, member of the A'aninin, or White Clay Nation of Montana.

Finding the Beauty

The search began a few years ago.
A question that arose continually in mind,
Where is the beauty?

Surroundings that were once familiar
And loved became unbearable intimations
Of all that is inevitable.

In such there is no reproof.
Only a certainty that what has ended
Is akin to the origin of a new sun.

There is the sacred in that.
Because we come from the stars.
And there lies the beauty.

Like the Sky People who arrived long ago
Then emerged as the Earth People.
So too will always be the Sacred Circle for us.

A Rapid Walker once responded,
That beauty is found in that there is no
Separation between the Earth and the Sky.

Indisputable understanding and knowledge.
This answer has helped to settle a wonderer,
Who now finds the beauty everywhere.

- Renee Sans Souci

Life Just Keeps Getting Better...

2007-11-12T14:33:00.001-06:00

One of my favorite songs by Staind that I like to listen to from time to time. Just serves as a reminder for me to keep in mind about where I am at and what I need to do...

SO FAR AWAY by Staind

This is my life
Its not what it was before
All these feelings I’ve shared
And these are my dreams
That I’d never lived before
Somebody shake me
Cause I, I must be sleeping

(chorus)
Now that we're here,
It's so far away
All the struggle we thought was in vain
All the mistakes,
One life contained
They all finally start to go away
Now that we're here its so far away
And I feel like I can face the day
I can forgive and I’m not ashamed to be the person that I am today

These are my words
That I’ve never said before
I think I’m doing okay
And this is the smile
That I’ve never shown before

Somebody shake me
Cause I, I must be sleeping

(chorus)
Now that we're here,
It's so far away
All the struggle we thought was in vain
All the mistakes,
One life contained
They all finally start to go away
Now that we're here its so far away
And I feel like I can face the day
I can forgive and I’m not ashamed to be the person that I am today

I'm so afraid of waking
Please don't shake me
Afraid of waking
Please don't shake me

(chorus)
Now that we're here,
It's so far away
All the struggle we thought was in vain
All the mistakes,
One life contained
They all finally start to go away
Now that we're here its so far away
And I feel like I can face the day
I can forgive and I’m not ashamed to be the person that I am today...

Feedback about your beautiful Poem...Breathing in the Here and Now

2007-09-22T14:27:00.001-05:00

Hi Renee,

I would like to share your poem that you shared in
Macy, Breathing in the Here and Now ... the students are working on learning about
America and the western frontier and of course the
Indian Policy of that time...then they thank God are
studing what is happening in Indian World during these
modern times...

What I would like to do is share your notes for how
you wrote your poem...then the poem...this way they
get a chance to do two things...one get to know you a
little bit...and get to know a Indian person in there
sheltered, narrow experienced life...two they get to
understand how people produce the work that is
produced...and maybe this will inspire them to also
produce poetry from what is happening in their unique
life and life experience...

Let me know what how you feel about this and your
feedback...I have 130 students and I need to copy the
material and get in line for the copy machine...

much love to you and your Bahai family..smile

- Blair Nichols, Tennesee

************************************************************

Hi Renee,

Let me say, thank you for writing your poem and for
sharing something so sad, and powerful...and making it
a means for healing for many.

I asked the students how did they like it... out of
the five classes, the reponse was the same... they
were awed...quiet, and appreciative...they were very
quiet, as I presented it with appropriate music
playing in the background...and I tried very hard to
let my self be free and let the words fly and express
the emotion that is there...since you cryed and prayed
while working on the poem...the spirit was there...

the students seem to sense the message and some came
forward and said they liked it...they felf it was the
easiest poem they had ever read...they liked that they
could understand all the words...that they were not
fancy and beyond meaning...they said they could see
the pictures... and could feel the words...and
understood the message...and felt a man or woman could
say all these words...they expressed gladness they had
a chance to meet you through your words...they liked
the story of Mack the frog too. One well read student
expressed that you were in his opinion an excellent
writer. Mine too.

Again thank you very much. I did also share your bio..
after we finished I have a set of 40 poems left.. so I
decided to share them with the English Teacher...who
knows where that will lead, this was a history class.
God Bless you Sweetgirl...Sacred Horse Woman...

much love

- BLair Nichols, Tennesee

Latest Poem...

2007-08-29T14:56:00.000-05:00

When we had the Honor the Youth Spiritual Run in June. I stayed in contact with Kevin Abourezk (Lakota) of the Lincoln Journal Star after he'd written an article about the spiritual run. He suggested to me right after the run that I write a poem about the issue of Native youth suicide. I told him that I would do that...

I spent much of this summer contemplating how I would write this poem. In particular, since this is such a topic close to my heart, how do I really write such a poem?

First of all, I interviewed several women. All survivors of sexual abuse and suicide attempts. I started out well enough, but I came to a stop when I realized that I didn't know how to describe what was happening. Instead of forcing the poem, I let it rest for several weeks, until I made a breakthrough on Friday night after meeting underground hiphop artist, Felipe Coronel, better known as Immortal Technique. After hearing Immortal Technique's message in one of his powerful songs, was I able to come to terms with what I needed to do next...

This was not easy to write. I prayed throughout and cried often as I finished it...

For all our Native youth...

Breathing in the Here and Now…
By Renee New Holy

Each day as I awaken anew
I give thanks for this time that I’m living safely
On this earth, our Grandmother
Breathing in the Here and Now…

But I can look back in the years,
When I was young and every moment was a battle to survive…

There were days and nights that often made little sense
Because I was drowning in the onslaught of degradation
Praying for oblivion from any mind numbing substance
And I held together remnants of myself seemingly

With safety pins and duct tape
Old standbys even for the soul…

There were no boundaries respected
How could there be?
When all that we once believed in as a people
Was torn away with little regard for our humanity.

No thought was ever given for the consequences
That all our generations have paid for in blood.

The rapes began with our nations, first.
Our lands, our spirits, our minds, and our dignity
Were stripped away like so much bark from the fallen trees.
This violent legacy continued on, unchecked, unstoppable.

And was passed down from generation to generation in lateral degrees
Like unwanted heirlooms hidden away in shame…

Shame! Because of the shame!
A code was maintained while innocence was blamed!
And silence reigned under more threats of injury
That was held over my head like an executioner’s blade!

Who was there to hear my screams anyway?
When any protest I made was looked upon in mute agony shared by us all

Is there anything akin to rage and despair?
They are familiar friends in impossible moments such as this
A deadly combination that requires darkness for completion
And all the while I danced as my spirit caved in on itself…

I swirled with bright blue lights down into midnight
Where I lay in an abyss of being that had never felt the day…

At last, I thought, with a shiver of relief
I’ve found an escape from the pain and the question
That plays over and over and over, relentlessly asking…
Do I matter to anyone in this life?

There were no responses to this non-rhetorical question,
That caused me such misery just for its very existence.

But my answer came slowly when my eyes blinked open
And the realization that I was still alive confronted me
In this hospital room,
where my tears ran like the River Nishude.
Unrecognizable to anyone who didn’t share the sight.

Doctors came and went in my room.
Then a therapist arrived along with a social worker.

And they began to ask why I tried to take my own life?
Wasn’t I doing well in school?
What was my home situation like?
Was there abuse?

I turned away from their probing questions.
Cutting into me like utility knives, which is what they were to me.

Then I lay in solitude for quite some time under lock and key.
Where solutions to my problems were being discussed
Between all interested parties and others who held a stake in my life.
All I wanted to do was go back to sleep and dream.

Drifting…in a dream of another time, of a voice full of love…

“Return to your life now and get what you need.”
Echoed this voice clearly into my left ear. “Washkon! You’re going to be alright!”

I knew that there was no one else in my room
And only one person in this world ever spoke that way.
She was my aunty who used to always take care of me.
Before all the desolation and destruction entered my life.

In that moment I realized that love exists in any time.
And can heal you..like it healed me...if you allow it too.

A new understanding was given to me that night.
So I made the decision to step back onto the path of life
Knowing that my journey is just beginning
That good health and happiness exists in every breath.

But only if I want it to…when I breathe...breathe...
Breathing in the Here and Now.

THE NEBRASKA DISPATCHES

2007-08-27T21:44:00.000-05:00

Monologue to tell tale of Standing Bear, tribes
By Travis Coleman,
Sioux City Journal staff writer

Four years ago, Christopher Cartmill was no more than a curious outsider interested in the tales of Nebraska's American Indian tribes. Now, he's being trusted with telling the story of its members and one of its most heralded chiefs.

That transformation is documented in "The Nebraska Dispatches," a monologue based on journal entries Cartmill wrote while researching a play he was set to write on Chief Standing Bear of the Ponca Tribe of Nebraska.

Standing Bear successfully argued in U.S. District Court in Omaha that an American Indian is a "person" deserving of certain rights. The decision allowed the Poncas to return to their land in modern day Knox County, Neb., that had been previously taken from them by the federal government.

But before he could write that play, Cartmill said he needed to learn more about the area's tribes, which led him to Renee New Holy, an Omaha tribal member from Macy, Neb.

"I felt that it was vital," said Cartmill, a playwright originally from Lincoln, Neb.

But after first meeting on the Omaha Indian Reservation, New Holy questioned why Cartmill, a non-Indian, would be interested in the stories of Standing Bear and other tribal people.

"(I told him) to tell this story, you have to understand what we've been through as Native people," New Holy said. "I saw myself as a gatekeeper. If you make it past me, you may have a chance to do something pretty awesome."

Cartmill wanted to write about the "powerful" story of Standing Bear's desire to go home, Cartmill said. But "Dispatches" details the changes he and New Holy went through in the year they spent together, also featuring the "bad use of cowboy boots and a very small car," Cartmill said.

"I was pretty ill prepared for the journey," Cartmill said.

"The Nebraska Dispatches" can be seen for free at 4:30 p.m. today at Valentine Parker Jr. Center in Macy. Following the performance, New Holy is set to perform a poem on American Indian youth suicide.

"Dispatches" is the first of three plays, with the last two using actors to tell Standing Bear's story. Those performances are set to be performed in the Omaha and Ponca tribal languages, Cartmill said. Cartmill has performed "Dispatches" in Lincoln and shows are planed in New York City later this year.

While those plays are still in production, the lessons Cartmill learned on American Indian life over the past year continue.

"It will never be done now," Cartmill said. "It's too much a part of my life."

So Much to Write, So Little Time...

2007-08-26T12:50:00.000-05:00

There has been so much going on this summer. Each day has been totally amazing. I have received so many gifts in the people I 've met, in the experiences, and in just being alive! I will be writing down more and sharing photos. Today is a beautiful day where I am in Lincoln, NE. The sunlight is streaming through windows that sit at a rounded corner of the house. I want to be outside...

While in Minneapolis...

2007-07-05T18:01:00.000-05:00

Still going strong here in the Twin Cities.

Enjoying all the sites and sounds. I've taken up bicycling again after 17 or 18 years...I am so glad that I trained before the HTY Spiritual Run. This is what is enabling me to ride a bike!!! I cannot describe how enjoyable this is. Unbelievable!!!

I went bike riding with my friend/sister Betty Martin the other night and we were flying through the bike trails at Nokomis Lake. It was to say the least exhilarating. Made me feel like a young girl again. It took me back!

What more can I say?

I am enjoying the ride more than anyone will ever know...

Run brings honor, awareness

2007-06-20T14:45:00.000-05:00

By Travis Coleman
Journal Staff Writer

MACY, Neb. -- Its been awhile since Barry Webster was asked to run so far.

The 40-year-old used to run full-court fast breaks and relays as a junior college point guard, but that was two decades ago. On Thursday, though, he agreed to shake away the rust so he could lead more than 20 American Indian runners from the powwow grounds here to Omaha for the first leg of the fifth Honor the Youth Spiritual Run.

"Its important for me to be involved. It's a great cause," said Webster, vice chairman of the Omaha Tribal Council in Macy.

Webster and other participants want to raise awareness of American Indian youth suicide, drug and alcohol addiction, tobacco abuse and violence.

From Omaha, the runners will pass through Lincoln, Neb., on their way to the Prairie Band Potawatomi Reservation in Mayetta, Kan., more than 200 miles from Macy.

Webster was asked carry a 10-pound eagle staff akin to the Olympic torch shortly after arriving at the grounds around 6 a.m. The staff had been blessed by an Ojibwa elder before the first spiritual run, from Minneapolis to the Red Lake Indian Reservation, in 2005. On Thursday, Webster ran with the staff for a few yards before handing it off to Red Lake Tribal Chairman Floyd "Buck" Jourdain, who had driven 10 hours from his home reservation in northern Minnesota to run in the event.

"We think these are very sacred and significant runs," Jourdain said.

Before the eagle staff arrived in Red Lake in 2005, Jourdain said, the reservation suffered from a rash of youth suicides. Since, there hasn't been a single suicide on the reservation, he said. The spiritual run sparked an awareness of youth suicide on the reservation, and together, the community was able to begin to fight the problem.

In 2006, the Omaha Reservation was much like Red Lake. There were four youth suicides that year, but after runners bearing the staff arrived in Macy from Rosebud, S.D., there hasn't been a suicide.

But on both reservations, there still are numerous suicide attempts. That's why the run continues each year.

Ricky Saunsoci runs for those who have taken their own lives, but he also runs to represent his Omaha Tribe and his family. His niece, 11-year-old Colleen New Holy, said the suicides on the reservation were hard to deal with. But the run helped the community heal, when it arrived in 2006 and again when it left on Thursday, she said.

Saunsoci jogged out of Macy on U.S. Highway 75 with a group of runners from the Honor the Youth Organization in Minneapolis, the sun already popping out sweat on their backs and faces.

Saunsoci said he'd probably stop in Decatur, Neb., nine miles from Macy. He hopes that's enough, he said, to "honor the youth."

Incoming Thoughts on the Extraordinary...

2007-06-19T16:30:00.000-05:00

Whatever that means! Ha, ha, ha!

I am visiting the lake country of the Anishinaabe people. I must admit that I am rather fascinated by all that I am learning. Just seems that as I go along I find that there are many similarities to the Omaha people. We share so much of the same philosophies...such as the Four Hills of Life.

My friend and sister (who is my spiritual twin) Terri Drift-Hill lives near and works for her tribe the Bois Forte Band of Chippewa in Nett Lake, Minnesota (check out the link to their website). If you've ever been to Nett Lake then you know that this is one area that is immersed in beauty. I always respond to such places with a huge sense of awe and a feeling akin to obsession.

This is probably the best place for me to be at this time in my life. Since I am so full of contemplation (snort) and am seeking a personal revitalization and rebirthing process. It's almost too much to contemplate.

I want so badly to write, especially my poetry. I am at a loss for words right now. That's why I thought I'd blog today to get my juices flowing so to speak. At least in the words arena. Documentation often begins with our thoughts and feelings. And living the way I do, which most people don't seem to realize about me, has led me to the most extraordinary places and events. I am no coward and have usually been up to any adventure.

This morning I woke up with the memory of being in the Fichtelgebirge Mountains of Bavaria, Germany. It must be the air here in northern Minnesota that brings back those memories of the summer I spent in Germany years ago. The Fichtelgebirge Mountains are very beautiful and captivated me much like this area does. Sehr gut!

Fichtelgebirge mountains
"Nature - culture - leisure - history" - the Fichtelgebirge mountain holiday region in a nutshell. Around 540 million years ago, these mountains were higher than the comparatively young Alps, stacked up by powerful natural forces. They are still impressive today, but over the millions of years the power of nature has again changed their shape. What remains is a very fine, flawless, polished gemstone, a range of scenically attractive mountains arranged like a lucky horseshoe. Everywhere there are reminders of the area's dramatic evolution - piles of granite blocks, fields of boulders, rock labyrinths and rock formations like heaps of mattresses or wool sacks. Entire forests cling tightly to the rocks.

My love affairs with natural places began long ago when I was little. I grew up in Lincoln, NE and though my family moved around, even to Montana for a little while, I always had the desire to see places that were still in their natural state. Places without boundaries so to speak. Places that had no fences to impede movement. I longed to see these places and sought them out whenever I could just so I'd know that there were such places that existed in this world.

I don't like fences and would probably live out in the wild if it were all possible.

There are no coincidences as my sister Pat Shepard always likes to say. There are reasons why I am called to such places as this. My spirit has been called here to the woodlands and the lakes of the Anishinaabe people. I am spellbound.

Obituary...

2007-05-31T15:56:00.000-05:00

Ralph E. Preston Jr.

WALTHILL, Neb. -- Ralph Edward Preston Jr., 69, of Walthill died Tuesday, May 29, 2007, at a Sioux City hospital.

Services will be 2 p.m. Saturday at the Alfred Gilpin Building in Macy, Neb., with Mr. Sam Moves Camp officiating. Burial will be in Omaha Tribal Cemetery. Visitation will begin today and continue until service time Saturday at Our Lady of Fatimah Catholic Worship Center in Macy. Arrangements are under the direction of Munderloh Funeral Home in Pender, Neb.

Ralph was born Dec. 31, 1937, in Winnebago, Neb., to Ralph Edward Preston Sr. and Lucy W. (Cline) Preston. He lived most of his life in metropolitan areas including Wichita, Kan., Omaha and Lincoln, Neb. He attended college at the University of Nebraska at Omaha. He was an alcohol counselor and concluded his working career as a Native American Spiritual coordinator for the Nebraska Department of Corrections. He took great pride in his work and received much satisfaction from helping a great many people.

He is survived by his daughters, Debra Harlan and her husband, Walter of Denver, Colo., Rochelle Preston of Kansas City, Mo., Kimberly Preston of Omaha and Anna Preston of Winnebago, Neb.; 11 grandchildren; and three great-grandchildren.

He was preceded in death by his parents, Ralph Sr. and Lucy Preston; and three brothers, Adrian, Henry and Johnny Preston.

View from the Holy Fire Place

2007-05-29T22:39:00.000-05:00

This poem is dedicated to
my Omaha Relative and Woptura Sundance Brother,
Ralph "Rocky" Preston
Who passed away today…
May 29, 2007

I had to write this because I did not know how to deal with his passing. I couldn't make it out to the Holy Fire Place because of the weather but in my mind I could imagine it and that made me feel a little better. Just thinking about this place in relation to Rocky and where he is at.

May you have a good journey, Rocky!

View from the Holy Fire Place

Amidst the hills of the Omaha People lies beauty that few people know about.

There are other places like this in the world.
I know…I’ve seen a few.
And then there is this…
The view from the Holy Fire Place.
Rising high above the river, Nishude, and a forest of perfect green.
Original,
Panoramic,
Incomparable.
A scent like that of bear root medicine drifts hypnotically through the afternoon air.
Blending in with the green and blue of the Earth and Sky.
Soothing to my center that’s taking in the healing breeze.

Clearing away my sorrow.

This is a place that the Omahas have always held sacred.
As it was where we fasted for our understanding
To unite connections between our past and our future.
Our ancestral energy is quite strong here still.
Even though no one has fasted for some time in this area.
I can sit here for hours seeking answers on the side of this hill.
Wondering.
Searching.
Anticipating.
A beauty that is found in every sound, leaf, stone, and drop of moisture.
Aware that there is no other place like this on earth for me.
My spirit recovers it’s strength each time I come here.

I am thankful for that.

--Renee New Holy

Sky and Earth, Blue and Green...

2007-04-11T19:56:00.000-05:00

Sky and Earth, Blue and Green
By Shonge Xube Wau, Renee New Holy

What does it mean when we see no separation
between the Sky and Earth, Blue and Green?
I walked with this thoughtfully
in the past year of change.
Journeying through pain and understanding in order to find this...

The sun makes a sacred circle through the four seasons
Giving off energy that makes it possible for all
Of us to live on this planet, Mother Earth,
On this continent, Turtle Island,
And on our sovereign lands bequeathed by the Creator.

Blue always flows throughout the Sky and the Universe,
Carrying our spirits homeward.
While Green will remain on the Earth,
providing sustenance for our physical bound selves.
The two are joined in us, as long as we draw breath.

And remember...in understanding

That though we are each on our own path.
People of the Rivers, Lakes, and Oceans.
Of the plains, woodlands, deserts and mountains.
Our paths always lead us home through the Milky Way
As one nation...once again.

There is no separation between the Sky and Earth,
Blue and Green.
If we look within our own centers,
We shall see the truth of these teachings.
Good health awaits us there.

- For my Ojibwe Relatives, the Red Lake Nation

Mom is a Powerful Word!

2007-03-27T16:36:00.000-05:00

Listening to my mother, Alice, speak last night at a wake for one of my aunts, I was overwhelmed by what she said to all of our relatives who were there. She was asked to speak to everyone earlier by her aunt, my Grandma Susan LaMere.

So, during the wake when my Grandpa Milton Miller asked if anyone had any words to share with everyone, first to speak was my Grandma Sue, and then my mom went next after her.

For those who don't know my mom, she is of medium height and beautiful. She always wears her long hair in a braid. She has a very strong presence and grace of movement which I strive to emulate. And, she is also extremely confident in her manners and speech.

She said "Mom is a powerful word! I, myself, have never known a mother's love because I never knew my own mother. I was raised by my great aunt and uncle. My mother died at a young age and I never got to know her.

Yet, as a mother, I have raised all of my own children. And when they say 'Mom, I need help.' I get around and try to help them because I love them and want to make things easier for them. This evening I saw one of my grandsons cry for his mother. And, he made me cry because he kept saying Mom, over and over!

Mom is a very powerful word! The word Mom is magic!"

As my own tears flowed, I understood what she meant!

When I hear that word, "Mom!" I am at attention. The most powerful words to ever be uttered in this universe are when my kids say, "Mom, I love you!" Those words make me want to take on dragons from any direction.

So, yes I agree with my mom. Mom is a powerful word! And, I am happy that I have a mom.

Now Is The Time by Hafiz

2007-03-04T01:05:00.000-06:00

Yesterday evening, I received an email from my friend, Christopher Cartmill, who has been at the Art Institute of Chicago, this week. One of the poems he read was this one by Hafiz, a 14th Century poet from Persia.

When I read this poem yesterday, I felt that it truly fit with my thoughts and where I am focused at this time...

Now Is The Time

by Hafiz:

Now is the time to know

That all that you do is sacred.

Now, why not consider

A lasting truce with yourself and God.

Now is the time to understand

That all your ideas of right and wrong

Were just a child's training wheels

To be laid aside

When you can finally live

With veracity

And love.

Hafiz is a divine envoy

Whom the Beloved

Has written a holy message upon.

My dear, please tell me,

Why do you still

Throw sticks at your heart

And God?

What is it in that sweet voice inside

That incites you to fear?

Now is the time for the world to know

That every thought and action is sacred.

This is the time

For you to deeply compute the impossibility

That there is anything

But Grace.

Now is the season to know

That everything you do

Is sacred.

Blizzard Aftermath...

2007-03-04T00:45:00.000-06:00

This is truly a Minimum Maintenance Road!

I always find snowdrift sculptures one of the Wind's most beautiful creations on this Earth.

My son Rain loves the snow, of course...and so does our dog, Ska.

My Father's Voice...

2007-02-28T03:14:00.000-06:00

Me, Mom & Dad

This poem is one I wrote a few years ago for my dad, Frank Saunsoci. It so happened in 2003, on this very same night, I could not sleep. I was stressed out from work and in a lot of emotional pain. And, I missed my dad terribly. I stayed awake all night crying and wishing for his comfort. Before he got sick, he always knew what to say to make me feel better. Well, I realized that night that it was up to me now to comfort myself. So, I started to write and as I finished this poem, I felt a lot better.

My Father’s Voice
Take a moment to imagine my house…
My house has four children, Colleen, Rain, Remy, Amber
Plenty of animals…
At least four dogs (would you like one?),
A calico cat named J.P. (for the painter, Jackson Pollack),
And a turtle named Shellshocker, after a Pokemon of all things.

My house is always so loud with my children’s voices,
laughing, crying, arguing, and yelling for attention
"Mom, I’m hungry!" says Colleen
"Mom, Colleen took my blocks!" says Rain
"Mom, Remy hit me!" says Amber
And the dreaded…
"Mom, Amber needs a diaper change, again!

There are some days when I want to slap my hands over my ears
Just to be able to hear my own thoughts!
And, I always have to yell for someone to turn down that TV!

As each day arrives, it is another adventure into motherhood,
And, I've wondered for the hundred thousandth time, how…
Did my mom and dad do this with seven children as well as other family members?

Then I realized that what is most important to me is that my children are happy
…No matter that there is a ton of laundry to do
…No matter that toys are scattered from the living room to the bedroom
…No matter that there are letters, reports and memos to finish for work
…No matter that the phone is ringing again
…No matter that there is so little time to get anything done

As long as my family is happy, then I am happy too.

But there is always a day, a rare day like this one
…When I hear a voice that is no longer a part of this world
…So well known, so familiar
…It slices through all the other voices in my house, in this universe even…
And, I have to stop whatever I am doing and look around
I search for that person with that beloved voice

Then it hits me painfully...

And it always surprises me to see that it is one of my own children,
Speaking clearly with my father’s voice.

Then I remember the times I spent with my father…
Riding in the back seat of our car, safe and content
Visiting his mechanic friends in their garages
While I drank my Pepsi mixed with peanuts sitting on old tires.

To this day the smell of grease and oil is as nostalgic for me
As the aroma of baking bread is for many others
I remember that my father always took the time to explain how things worked
Because I always had to know…
How things worked.

I knew I could always count on him to listen patiently
And to dispense his wisdom with clarity
But the best thing he ever taught me was how to take care of my family,
This he showed me each day with his love.

So, now when I hear the echoes of my father’s voice
I know that he is still here with me in the voices of my children.

--For my father, Frank Saunsoci who passed away on February 28, 2001

Written by Renee New holy, February 28, 2003

American Indian Millennium: Renewing Our Ways for Future Generations By Darrell Robes Kipp

2007-02-25T17:47:00.000-06:00

Okoyi: To Have A Home

Banishment was the strongest punishment my tribe, imposed on a member unable to abide the tribal ways. Without realizing it, I had banished myself from my tribe.

Every person’s lifetime is a relationship between the time our life covers, and the space our bodies occupy. There have been countless lifetimes within my tribe and many to come. My lifetime as a tribal member is where past, present and future exists for me. This view allows me to put imposed tribal definitions aside. For example, in our language we are Pikuni; in English speaking America we are the Blackfeet Tribe of Montana. Today many tribal names are not their true tribal language name, but one imposed on them. One of the horrors Indians endure is having outsiders define us based on one-dimensional studies. It is better we define our tribe, and ourselves.

I am one of many lifetimes existing in Pikuni time, and therefore am part of the tribe once and forever. The Pikuni language is my teacher now, and is in my view the truth keeper for future Pikuni generations. This is my vocation and belief. I believe loss of tribal languages diminishes the truth of Indian ways, and dishonors the lifetimes within the tribe.

We should remember imposed tribal identification is insignificant compared to the biological, linguistic, religious and historical continuum tribal essence possesses. Understand this, and imposed definitions of tribal membership become inadequate.

Words such as half-breed, full blood, mixed-blood, and the myriad of others are fragmentary and inflammatory. Don’t use them regardless of any circumstance. Instead seek your home language and use it for knowledge. Allegiance to tribal languages is at present hard to come by, and many people have yet to find the way to embrace the notion. It is difficult because allegiance must come to you through the heart and mean something. Yet, it is the way home, and can still be done.

Historical circles divide Pikuni history into elementary periods such as days of the dog; introduction of horse and gun, and reservation days. It is a weak, biased method, since my tribe is not limited to life in the dog, horse or reservation period. True Pikuni history is identified by stories extending back (and forward) thousands of years, and retold out loud in the tribal language. The archeologist recounts thousands of years of Pikuni People, but only our language remains the accurate recorder of our secrets. Learn the oldest word in a tribal language to realize how it speaks the truth. The true challenge facing future generations, as well as the present one, is revitalizing our languages in order to keep our memory viable for future generations.

Tribal languages contain the tribal genesis, cosmology, history, and secrets within. Without them we may become permanently lost, or irrevocably changed. I am a Pikuni and know why. In our language, I am a nizitapiwa, a real person. It derives from how my language treats the form for I or me spoken as "niz" a derivative of nostum, or my body. When I speak Pikuni my body and spirit speak to kizitapiwa, another real person. My Pikuni name is Apiniokio Peta translated as Morning Eagle, and I belong to the Pikuni translated as Far Off Spotted Robes. I know my family, chiefs, and heroes names (both women and men) from long ago times. I know Apistokiwa, the Maker, placed us on earth in what is now called Montana. The reservation is what is left of our home ground, yet I take comfort in knowing points off-reservation named in our language are part of our heart’s country. This is knowledge we should possess, yet I was not fully informed until studying my tribal language.

The one-room school I attended had a map of the world on the wall. As a schoolboy I learned about distant places. In high school one teacher repeatedly told us to move to one of these places and stay there. He called it the American dream. A small number of classmates and I did go to college, and learned of more distant places. The United States Army drafted me into service in l966, and sent me to a distant part of the world. In time I graduated from Eastern Montana College, Harvard University, and Vermont College. For years I lived and worked in what might be called exotic places, and traveled a lot.

One quiet weekend morning, in the hush confines of a tall city building, I experienced a longing to go home. At first it seemed childish, but the feeling moved deeper into my thoughts during the following days. Banishment was the strongest punishment my tribe delivered to a member unable to abide the tribal ways, and without realizing it I had banished myself from my tribe. My pursuits up until then had been a journey away from my people, my ways, and my quintessential self as a Pikuni. On that morning I began a journey home. For some it may be difficult to find where true home is, but it is there. Relearning, or studying your tribal language is the ultimate pathway home, and it is important to start before the first sign of longing appears. You may misinterpret your feelings and miss the calling.

I have been home now for many years. I share my happiness with those I pray with at our medicine pipe and Okan lodge ceremonies. As Pikuni we thank the Creator for our good fortune and luck, and are glad to share it with others. I learned through language study my original band was called Moxamini within the tribe, and is translated as Those Who Camp By The Lakes. It is meaningful to me since I live most of the year next to a mountain lake in a home I built years ago.

I still travel to many of those places school taught me about. Last year I made a documentary in the remote mountains of Bulgaria, and have visited the people of the Arctic Circle. This year I filmed a documentary about an early day Pikuni campsite where a city now stands.
My first documentary, Transitions: Death of a Mother Tongue, was about Pikuni children in an early day reservation mission school. It was there our language was brutalized and deemed worthless. It won national recognition, but was more important to my tribe’s healing process and paved the way for us to respect our language again.

In my work in Native American Languages revitalization, I visited over 30 tribes throughout America, and met with countless others. Often at training sessions people were thrilled at speaking even a small part of their language. They would recount when their language resounded throughout the community, and emotion would overcome many to the point of crying. The deep emotion came from their love for those past lifetimes we wish to be part of.
I also know when people relearn their language the first thing they wish to do is pray in it. I have been at the deathbed of several tribal languages, and know most are weak and fragile. On behalf of the tribal languages of this earth, I share this dream with you. The dream has a question in it, but I do not know the answer except the one I gave years ago. The answer is in your heart, and belongs to only you.

It goes like this: you are walking in a place you know and love, and come upon your grandparents sitting by the path. Do you pass them by and abandon them, or stop; embrace them, and carry them to your destination? It should be an easy choice, but it isn’t in this day and age.

Tribal languages are the grandparents in the dream, and only the uncaring, unknowing, and those too busy pass them by. If you stop and embrace them wealth and a kinder world will be bestowed upon you. Tribal languages can be revitalized to sooth our children’s hearts again if people stop long enough to embrace them. Our Pikuni language, and yours, can produce healthy kids with choices, and therefore parity.

To embrace our grandparents we designed the Pikuni Nizipuhwahsin (original language) K-8 school for 50 children as our grandparent’s home. No government funds were used to build or operate it. It is the sanctum sanctorum, and sanctuary of the Pikuni language.

It is a beautiful place, and I wish there were such places for every Indian child in this land. Maybe you will build one for your children. My language was a calling I heard years ago that I mistook for loneliness. I cherish every word learned, and my prayers are to be granted time to learn more. I learned a great deal through this calling. I utilize the formal education taught me, although it no longer dictates my definition of knowledge.

I can only tell you this: You do not need permission to study your language. Make your prayers to the Creator for strength, and trust in what is provided. Do not debate with people who question your journey. Make use of the process of self-discovery and follow your Indian heart. It is a difficult, but truly rewarding journey home.

Apiniokio Peta
Darrell Robes Kipp

Poetry by Jennifer Ashawasegai (Henvey Inlet First Nation Ojibwe)

2007-02-24T20:59:00.000-06:00

Today, I am publishing this poem by my friend and relative, Jennifer Ashawasegai, who lives on the Henvey Inlet First Nation Reserve in Pickerel, Ontario. We have been a part of the same sundance circle for many years.

I am Here

People do not think of me often
they do not realize
the many things I know
they need to be still
to hear and listen
For I have been
present throughout time
Think of me
look inside my heart
and you will see
All that I have
seen, heard, felt
then maybe you would
wish for better
think before you act
Because your harsh words
hurt and have
a powerful resounding echo
throughout the universe

At times,
I have felt
such immense Beauty
It would make you
Cry
to feel just a fraction
of all
that I have seen
You would always
Pray
for the good
the betterment
of your kind
…you need every
Prayer you can get

Because…

I have seen
the world come alive
I have had animals
walk across my back
I watched
the birth of the people
Yes, I was there
I have been witness
to the sorrow
of the People
and have cried for them;
with them

I have felt their anger
during their wars
hurting each other
and themselves
I have mourned the many
meaningless deaths

I was there
when man and wife
professed their Love

I have experienced
the profound Beauty
of the changing seasons

I am always present
I will never go away

I do not pass judgement
on human beings

I am Immortal;
Except when I choose
to give my Life
for Divine Purpose

I will exhale my last breath
and carry your good words
to the Ones above

I am a Grandfather; Old

I am a rock

I am Here for You…

- Jennifer Ashawasegai

The Voice of this Place by Renee New Holy

2007-02-22T12:48:00.000-06:00

Today is my relative, Alex Gladstone's birthday. I wanted to wish him a very Happy Birthday. In July of 2003, several of us attended training at the Piegan Institute in Browning. In the early evening, after the workshop, Alex took us out hiking. He shared so much of his knowledge and gifts of spirit. In turn, I wish to honor him with a gift of writing for what he has done for me and many others.

Vida Stabler, Title VII Director, Omaha Nation Public School (July 2003)

The Voice of This Place

You led us to this place of unimaginable beauty
where light streamed through summer clouds
that also beheld your Blackfeet ancestors…I am certain.

You spoke of the past and the sacredness of these mountains
And your voice beckoned like smoke from burnt cedar.
Indeed we were surrounded in idyll that was nearly painful to our deprived senses.

You gave us a chance to experience the wonder of earth and sky.
Perfect examples of that balance of life and universe.
Neither of which we can live without…

Looking back I realize that what was restored that day
Was a link to my spirit that I’d thought destroyed.
It was a time of healing that began that day

with the voice of this place…

Thank you, Alex…And, Happy Birthday!

Fix You by ColdPlay

2007-02-17T23:47:00.000-06:00

I like these lyrics to the song Fix You by the band ColdPlay. I actually like the entire album which is called X & Y. I play this song for my daughter Colleen, especially when she is feeling down, missing her dad. I have also shared this song with other friends who are feeling the loss of someone or something. Just so that they know that I am here to support them...

Fix You
by ColdPlay

When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home,
And ignite your bones,
And I will try to fix you,

High up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And I

Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And I

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you.

My Views on Indian Education (Part Two)

2007-01-30T16:36:00.000-06:00

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that my perception of everything changes over time. Since last year and the beginning of this year, my perceptions have shifted 180 degrees. And I’ve realized that I have outgrown so many of my old beliefs. Perhaps it’s a sign that I am finally growing up or just growing old-er. But nah!

Back to Where I left Off from Part I in Fall of 2004…

Five days after I withdrew the Nebraska Department of Education lawsuits in November of 2004, I attended an Indigenous Justice Seminar sponsored by the Omaha Tribal Court and the Weed & Seed Project. The trainer was Ada Pecos Melton, (Jemez Pueblo), President of the American Indian Development Associates, out of Albuquerque, New Mexico.

What drew me to the seminar was the whole concept of Indigenous Justice. I wanted to know what that meant because I was searching for a way to come to terms with my experiences with the NDE, etc.

The training centered around youth issues such as status offenses and juvenile delinquency, and the ways to combat these issues through our cultural traditions and self-esteem building. I enjoyed Ada’s workshop because she exhibited total confidence and knowledge in this area. Her presentation style was based on a Native outlook and was holistic, and she also tied it to a logic model example, which I was quite familiar with through my previous work.

Throughout the day of the workshop, I gave my input and made several suggestions. I even said that I was available as a cultural consultant, if they were interested in hiring me part-time. Three days later, I found myself working for the Weed & Seed Program and Omaha Tribal Court as the Juvenile/Community Restorative Justice Specialist. The other one had resigned the previous day.

I worked for the Omaha Tribal Court for about four months. Part of my duties were to research traditional tribal forms of conflict resolution and to develop an alternative tribal court system based on the Omaha culture. All this in order to create a tribal sentencing process that would be more binding than the Western one. It was a lot to do and I was expected to put it together in such a short space of time. At the outset, I was very interested in seeing how this would work and I did the best I could do, however, life has a way of intervening and changing one’s path…

February, 2005…Conflict Can Often Serve As A Catalyst

My children are my mainstay. They’ve grounded me more than anyone or anything else in my life. Yet, for five years, I had hardly had a chance to spend time with them in the way that I wanted to. I was either studying or working long hours. I believed that this was natural because we had to make a living for them, right?

It was right at this juncture when I was still feeling blistered by events from the previous year and when I was investigating further into the process of victim/offender and community mediation, especially as it dealt with the tribal circle process, that I faced another test.

My son Rain was in Kindergarten 2004-2005 and was having a challenging year. Very challenging. He is very intelligent and he always has to be doing something. So, during his first year in school, he was having difficulty transitioning from one subject to another. When he'd start working on something, he had to finish it before he'd move onto something else. Or if he became bored, he would just get up and walk right out of the room and wander through the halls. Then he would get into fights and he was getting suspended from school.

I was unaware of all that he was doing in class. But the suspensions were definitely drawing my concern. I wondered what was going on here?

About this time, my perceptions of the public school system were changing. I was looking at the school more critically. I began to develop very different views of what school should be like for our kids.

One day, I was late bringing Rain into school. As we were walking to his class, his teacher and classmates came bustling around the corner. I was not feeling well and had a doctor's appointment scheduled that morning. So, the last thing I expected was a confrontation with Rain's teacher.

She walked right up to where Rain and I stood in the hallway. Her body language presented her anger before she said anything. Then once she opened her mouth, that was it. I reacted from reflex. I no longer saw her as a human being. I just saw someone who was another government official out to burn me. And I went off!

At my best, I am usually very amiable...but at my worst, I can be just like a maddened horse that is rearing and kicking. So, let's just say that this confrontation did not go well and it was very public.

Conflict can often serve as a catalyst for improvement. On that particular day, I made an important decision, which was to remove my kids from school and homeschool them. I was a teacher after all, so how difficult could it be? It was something I'd thought of doing for two years because I was dissatisfied with the public schools in my area. But it suddenly hit me that I could no longer wait for anything to change in the school system. Instead, I had to change. And, so, I did.

I talked to the Elementary School Principal and told him what I was going to do. Then I went home and began to plan. But, of course, I had to cry first to get out all the left over emotions. I realize now that what I was actually dealing with was left over trauma.

Catching My Breath...

The feeling I had that day was relief mixed with a lot of anxiety. There was a feeling of reaching a point of no return.

For a few more weeks, I continued on with my position as Restorative Justice Specialist but for some reason after that confrontation, I didn't feel that I was the person to take on the task of developing a peacemaking program because I was not feeling very peaceful at all.

I then made the decision to leave this position in order to be home with my children. Once I was home, I rested for several days, catching my breath. I realized that I hadn't had any time to relax in years. It was quite a change in pace. I began to work from my home as an online instructor and cultural consultant. And I also began to plan for my children. The possibilities were open for exploration.

Poetry by Robe Walker (Gros Ventre)

2007-01-07T13:08:00.000-06:00

A Gentle Rain Becomes You to a T

By Robe Walker

silently...a storm approached

emptiness..with everything in it

clouds flew by ..and touched earth and sky

alike...just like...

it was supposed to

with every drop

of rain felt and found

as eyes blinked..

lightning flashed..

falling..as countless many

this to become for those who prepare or wait

and are ready to hear...as never before

when one drop after another

creates the sound..of this ancient song

stretching toward the sun

everything listens...

as she silently moves on...

sometimes when she grows....

she shows us her gentleness..

she is like this

when we are showered...

by her kindness

that's the way she is.......

....sometimes

she is never really far away...

just listen...

Facing Future...by IZ

2007-01-03T05:35:00.000-06:00

Facing Future...
Words from IZ, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, Native Hawaiian
(1993)

Facing backwards I see the past
Our nation gained, our nation lost
Our sovereignty gone
Our lands gone
All traded for the promise of progress
What would they say...
What can we say?
Facing future I see hope
Hope that we will survive
Hope that we will prosper
Hope that once again we will reap the blessings of this magical land
For without hope I cannot live
Remember the past but do not dwell there
Face the future where all our hopes stand

What Leads to Divorce?

2006-12-24T01:23:00.000-06:00

May 2004 to November 2004...

Before I go on to Part Two of My Views on Indian Education. I have this need to dwell on how everything that had happened with the Nebraska Department of Education in 2004 affected my marriage. There were so many things occuring simultaneously it seemed during that year. When everything first exploded like a land mine in May 2004, I saw the way everyone withdrew from ground zero…which was me. When I worked for those few short months as a Restorative Justice Specialist, I learned that this was a common practice of institutions involved in victimization cases: Isolate the victim as well as isolate the offender.

One of the first things I had done was to seek help and advice from the Omaha Tribal Council. A highly respected elder sat on the council then, Valentine Parker, Jr., and I knew that he would be one of my greatest supporters and allies. I held that much confidence in him. However, less than two weeks after I first talked with him, he died in office. That in itself was totally devastating for my whole tribe. But I felt like whatever chance I had for resolution went with him.

So added to my feelings of rage, violation, and isolation, was also grief.

December 2004 to December 2005…

These feelings all continued on unabated for several months even though I followed the instructions of my spiritual advisers that fall. I became depressed. I felt that no one was listening to me and that I had been effectively silenced…

While turmoil surrounded me, Charles all the while had been working for the very same people who had left me twisting in the wind. Once I was out of the picture, they gave him even more responsibilities. It was money for us, yes, but at the same time it became our bone of contention. And no matter how much I tried to overcome the bitterness, I felt betrayed.

He wanted to do this work for the NDE because it was all about his passion…American Indian Art. I knew this so well. I was the one who had encouraged him throughout the years to pursue this passion because this was what he was good at. Charles has always been a multi-talented individual. Well, he continued working despite the rift that grew between us over his association with whom I termed "my enemies." He also left school during this time and took a year long break from classes.

In December, 2005, things began changing for us both. I was working part-time and he was preparing to enter back into the teacher’s college. Things looked hopeful or so I thought.

January 2006 to March 2006...

How do we sense when things have shifted in a relationship? There are always telltale signs. I can’t really say when I knew something was really wrong. I just know that Charles was much happier. I saw him smiling more and I noticed certain phone calls taking place where he supposedly was talking to one of his sisters. I don’t like to think of myself as a suspicious or jealous person. But the whispers were there in the back of my mind and all around. And, this certainly wasn't the first time this had happened but it certainly became the last.

When a Marriage Dies...

Anyone who has ever been through divorce knows that it isn't always just one thing that destroys a marriage. It can be a multitude. Like me, Charles is a complex person. He had many issues to resolve and most of them had nothing to do with me. Ultimately what it came down to in our marrige was that Charles did not share my vision. That in itself was more painful than any infidelity. We had four children together and this vision was for them. What did this mean that he did not believe the way I did? I felt a coldness inside my very being from what he revealed. Words can be just as deadly as a gunshot. For once I knew he was telling the truth.

Now, the Present…

Sometimes, no matter how things appear to be direly important at one point in time, they diminish to insignificance at a much later time. Much, much later of course.

Things change. Healing begins.

What was at first totally frightening and traumatic has turned into one of the greatest gifts someone could have ever given me. It was the gift of restoration of myself, my being.

When Charles and I split in April this year. I wrote this poem days afterward in answer to a question I had been asking many people over the years. Where do you find the beauty?

I had felt such a lack of this in my own life for so long. Yet, I knew it was all around me everywhere. My dear friend, fellow poet and educator, Robe Walker had pointed that out to me a few years ago when we discussed where he found the beauty. Robe is Gros Ventre and is from Hayes, Montana. This poem is dedicated to him.

Finding the Beauty

by Renee New Holy

The search began a few years ago.
A question that arose continually in mind,
Where is the beauty?

Surroundings that were once familiar
And loved became unbearable intimations
Of all that is inevitable.

In such there is no reproof.
Only a certainty that what has ended
Is akin to the origin of a new sun.

There is the sacred in that.
Because we come from the stars.
And there lies the beauty.

Like the Sky People who arrived long ago
Then emerged as the Earth People.
So too will always be the Sacred Circle for us.

A rapid walker once responded,
That beauty is found in that there is no
Separation between the Earth and the Sky.

Indisputable understanding and knowledge.
This answer has helped to settle a wonderer,
Who now finds the beauty everywhere.

Poetry by Joy Harjo (Muscogee Nation)

2006-12-23T15:13:00.000-06:00

A Map to the Next World

by Joy Harjo
(for Desiray Kierra Chee)

In the last days of the fourth world I wished to make a map for those who would climb through the hole in the sky.

My only tools were the desires of humans as they emerged from the killing fields, from the bedrooms and the kitchens.

For the soul is a wanderer with many hands and feet.

The map must be of sand and can't be read by ordinary light. It must carry fire to the next tribal town, for renewal of spirit.

In the legend are instructions on the language of the land, how it was we forgot to acknowledge the gift, as if we were not in it or of it.

Take note of the proliferation of supermarkets and malls, the altars of money. They best describe the detour from grace.

Keep track of the errors of our forgetfulness; the fog steals our children while we sleep.

Flowers of rage spring up in the depression. Monsters are born there of nuclear anger.

Trees of ashes wave goodbye to goodbye and the map appears to disappear.

We no longer know the names of the birds here, how to speak to them by their personal names.

Once we knew everything in this lush promise.

What I am telling you is real and is printed in a warning on the map. Our forgetfulness stalks us, walks the earth behind us, leaving a trail of paper diapers, needles, and wasted blood.

An imperfect map will have to do, little one.

The place of entry is the sea of your mother's blood, your father's small death as he longs to know himself in another.

There is no exit.

The map can be interpreted through the wall of the intestine--a spiral on the road of knowledge.

You will travel through the membrane of death, smell cooking from the encampment where our relatives make a feast of fresh deer meat and corn soup, in the milky way.

They have never left us; we abandoned them for science.

And when you take your next breath as we enter the fifth world there will be no X, no guidebook with words you can carry.

You will have to navigate by your mother's voice, renew the song she is singing.

Fresh courage glimmers from planets.

And lights the map printed with the blood of history, a map you will have to know by your intention, by the language of suns.

When you emerge note the tracks of the monster slayers where they entered the cities of artificial light and killed what was killing us.

You will see red cliffs. They are the heart, contain the ladder.

A white deer will come to greet you when the last human climbs from the destruction.

Remember the hole of our shame marking the act of abandoning our tribal grounds.

We were never perfect.

Yet, the journey we make together is perfect on this earth who was once a star and made the same mistakes as humans.

We might make them again, she said.

Crucial to finding the way is this: there is no beginning or end.

You must make your own map.

One of the Most Beautiful Places on Earth...

2006-12-18T22:43:00.000-06:00

I took this picture in September of 2004. What can I say? The Blackfeet Nation is so fortunate to have such a view. I'll return on any excuse just to breathe in the mountain air once again!

My Views on Indian Education (Part One)

2006-11-17T18:09:00.000-06:00

Since completing my teacher's program in 2002, my views on Indian Education have altered completely. Much like everything else in my life it seems. In the past two years, a whirlwind has swept through my world and has cleared a path...

Flashback...2004

After my swift departure from the Nebraska Department of Education in September of 2004, I took some time to reflect on that experience. First of all, I must give the NDE credit for providing numerous training opportunities and for helping me to develop many new skills. During those two years I also cultivated many contacts in my travels throughout the education world. But two realizations were made very clear to me that fall. The first was that I was sorely lacking in knowledge on tribal educational sovereignty and I decided to pursue this knowledge, relentlessly. The second was that after all the years of going to college and working around the clock, I had hardly spent time with my four children. We hardly knew each other anymore. And, I decided to remedy that as well.

How I Arrived on TEDNA's Doorstep...

In October, 2004, I began researching tribal educational sovereignty by reading what books I had at the time and by finding any articles connected with this topic. Then it occurred to me to contact David Beaulieu, Director of the Center for Indian Education at Arizona State University. David suggested that I contact Melody McCoy, one of the staff attorney's at the Native American Rights Fund who focuses on tribal education rights. He also suggested that I attend the Tribal Education Departments National Assembly forum or workshops at the National Indian Education Association conference that year in Phoenix.

I made up my mind to attend NIEA and called up some favors from several sources. My friend and associate, Bonnie Sachatello-Sawyer of Native Waters provided me with the airline ticket. My cousin and best friend, Elke Chenevey covered my expenses. And, the Nebraska Indian Education Association paid for my registration fee since I was serving as the president of this organization at the time. I also had friends to stay with in Phoenix, Geri and Keith Casoose whom I hadn't seen in several years. Once everything fell into place, I was on my way.

Now what I was feeling then was a lot of unresolved anger and bitterness from my experience with the NDE. I had actually filed lawsuits against two individuals for discrimination in June of that year. It's difficult still to explain all the factors involved with what had happened. Later that summer, I had also been instructed by my spiritual advisers to let go of the lawsuits and to be kind to my enemies and not to be like them. Yet, there was a part of me that wanted to do battle and wreak destruction upon those whom I felt had violated me. These feelings of rage provided the impetus to become involved with TEDNA.

When I arrived at the NIEA conference, I went to the Opening General Assembly, specifically to hear the keynote by Wilma Mankiller. She spoke about our rights to self-determination especially in the education of our Native children. This is when I first heard her quote that whoever controls the education of our children, controls our future. I was most inspired by Wilma's powerful words and when she finished, everyone stood in a standing ovation. And, as I looked around the entire audience of this huge exhibit hall, all I saw were Native educators like me. I felt a renewal of my wounded spirit, and for once I did not feel alone.

That very same day, I also attended a workshop by Howard Rainer, whom I have known since I was 19. Howard has always been very supportive of everything I do. However that afternoon, I felt reluctant to walk into his workshop because I knew he was going to have a message for me that I probably didn't want to hear. So, there I was, trying to sneak into the room but unfortunately I was the last one to walk in. If anyone knew what was going on in my life at that time, it was Howard. He had been around throughout that year providing training on the Omaha Indian Reservation to all the students. And, he was well aware of what I had been through. Sure enough, as soon as I took my seat, he fastened those eagle eyes on to me and shifted his speech over to the topic of forgiveness and letting go of vengeful feelings. Howard looked at everyone in the room and said that when someone hurts us, we should not look at them and say "I'm going to get you!" When he said this, he stood there shaking his finger with a glare in his eye, and of course, he zeroed in on me again. We should find ways to turn a hurtful situation into a good one, he told us. This is what he has done throughout the years in his travels whenever he had encountered such people. Usually, he found that the person or persons who tried to hurt him were feeling hurt themselves.

Sometime during Howard's presentation, I started crying. I understood the message he was telling me and it was the same one I had heard from my spiritual advisers. But I was conflicted because for the first time in my life, I wanted to be vengeful even though I knew it wasn't right. I left his workshop feeling emotionally drained but thoughtul.

The next day, which was my main reason for attending NIEA, I located the Tribal Education Departments National Assembly - Why Your TED Should Join workshop. Melody McCoy was the lead presenter, with co-presenters, Jerome Jainga, Quinton Roman Nose and Joyce Silverthorne. This was my introduction to tribal educational sovereignty. There were many people in there representing different tribes. I learned so much information that afternoon that I felt my spirit was raised even more. When Melody said that TEDNA needed volunteers, I signed up immediately! I had this driving desire to learn all that I could about tribal educational sovereignty.

Returning Home...

Now returning home in the aftermath of NIEA and all that I had experienced there, I was faced with the dilemma about what I should do about the lawsuits I'd filed against these certain persons, etc. I felt so conflicted for several days. Howard's words kept ringing through my head every minute it seemed. Of course, I knew he was right, just like I knew my spiritual advisers were right, too.

So, at last, I made my decision and I contacted the NDE Attorney, Brian Halstead and set up a meeting. I gave this meeting a lot of thought. At first, Brian wanted me to come to the State Office Building in Lincoln to meet but I suggested that we meet in Macy instead. It came to mind, that since I was dealing in something that was so serious that I held people's professional futures and livelihoods in my hands, I wanted to be on my own ground when I dealt out the decision I had come to. I invited Brian to meet at the Omaha Tribal Headquarters.

It was a good strategy. He knew it, too. When we sat down in the Omaha Tribal Council's meeting room. I felt completely at ease and confident. Brian asked me if I would give permission for him to record our conversation and I replied yes. So, we started in. He asked why I requested this meeting and I told him that I wished to withdraw the lawsuits against the two individuals because of my spiritual beliefs. I told him that I hoped that a better understanding would develop between the non-Native and Native peoples. When it was all said and done, I looked at Brian and saw that he had tears in his eyes. And I was surprised because all this time, I'd thought he was a hardened, tough-as-nails, attorney. He appeared to be human after all.

Summing It Up...

When I walked away from that meeting that day, I did so with a sense of relief mixed with regret. I asked myself whether I did the right thing? And, I concluded that by listening to my spiritual advisers, they must surely have known something that I didn't. All I could do then was to leave it all in their hands and look to my children.

First Posting...At last!

2006-11-12T16:42:00.000-06:00

Beginnings...
Today I decided that it was time to began my documentation of the upheaval I've been through this past year. Been trying to do this since August actually but I had too many other events taking place til now. And, since I like writing so much and am often at the mercy of my own perplexing thought processes, why not publish them here? It's an excellent outlet for my often radical ideas.

A Relative's Worries...
Early this morning, I received a visit from one of my cousins. He came over to share his concern about one of his brothers who's in the hospital in Omaha, fighting off a staph infection that is life threatening. I listened to his worries and tried to offer what encouragement that I could. In situations like this, I listen first, then process, then act. After sleeping on it, I woke up a few hours later determined to make prayers for my relatives.
I prepared myself as I usually do, smudging off the room and myself, then I sat down to compose my thoughts. I started by acknowledging the four directions, the Sky and the Earth, and the here and now, the Center. And, as I was in the middle of this process, my mother arrived. So, I paused in my prayer and invited her in so we could talk. I told her of what I'd learned earlier this morning. So, she joined in with prayers for the recovery of our relative.

Mother's Story
My mother is one of the strongest women I know. It's only been in the last year that I've really come to fully appreciate her wisdom. Before the cataclysm that totally rearranged my life this year, I took her for granted, something I will never do again. Now, I can see where I need her the most and she's made it clear to me that she is here for me and my children.
I read all the time about historical trauma and the misery that has resulted from the genocide of our people committed by the non-Natives. But it's by listening to my mom recounting her life experiences that I began to develop a clearer perspective of what has happened to all of us.
My mom was born in 1937 at the Winnebago Hospital. She is the oldest daughter of parents who split up when she was a baby. Her father went to war and her mother eventually died of tuberculosis. She was raised by her Grandma and Grandpa (Great Aunt and Uncle) and spoke only the Omaha language until she was sent to school at the age of 7. When she was 9, hard times began for her after her Grandma died from digestive complications. Bereaved by her Grandma's death, she then looked to her Grandpa for comfort and direction. He continued to raise her with strict Native values. It was during this time of great change that her father came home from WWII, and with him he brought alcoholism and physical abuse.
I've listened to her describe her father's sickness and how he would strike out at her and her sister for any perceived wrongs. Back then there was no help available for her father's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder nor was there any help available for my mother. Her Grandpa did the best thing he could do and had her and her sister placed in boarding school at Pipestone, Minnesota.

My Story...
When I listen to my mom's life stories, I often cry with her. To know what she has endured has definitely helped me to keep my own life in perspective. After facing the inevitable this past spring when my husband decided to leave us for a new life in Canada, I dwelt for a time in a mist enshrouded landscape which seemed unending. When I emerged from this traumatic state in July, a stronger, better, and happier woman, I made decisions for myself and my children. Decisions that are now coalescing into a wonderful reality.

Life Presents Many Gifts...
Much of my healing has been happening throughout this year. Longtime friends have stood by me faithfully, as well as newly made ones who seem to be on a similar path as mine. One such friend is Christopher, a non-Native, who is a recent addition to my circle of relatives. I was happy to hear from him on Friday, it gave us a chance to catch up on each other's lives. He lives in New York and is a playwright and a professor at NYU. One of his current projects is on the Ponca Chief Standing Bear, to be published in three years time. Since meeting Christopher in August, we've formed an alliance that is based on mutual respect and admiration for one another's writing abilities. He's honored me with a request to review his journals about his life-changing experiences over the summer. This too is to be published as a play sometime soon.

A Point...
So as I am making my way on my healing path, one point I wish to make is that I do not see myself as a sacred person or such. I am only striving to live with my spiritual commitments each day as the Creator sees fit. And, this is only a part of what I wish to write about here on my blogsite.

All my relations!