Mean NDN Women

Wisdom Lesson; Gossip

From the mouth of a troubled spirit, not only do they say hurtful words, they do hurtful things. Their pain has overflowed and it needs to go somewhere, unfortunately, they do not know how to ask for healthy help…they send painful, hurtful messages out to the World. What we can do for them?

Hear the message as distress, listen beyond the hate, there is something there, it’s their pain, their hurt, their message and they want someone to help them, this is their RED FLAG, help me. So, do not enable them by spreading gossip, spreading hate…..listen and help them.

Everyone has been a victim of gossip, no one really knows the source and how it becomes gossip news, but it’s hurtful. I see gossip, I see pain and a person in need of help, I no longer join in on the “Mean Boat”. Tobacco prayers go out to all to make good decisions today and being mature within their spirit. : )

True Native Walk:

Mothers, Sisters, Daughters, Aunties, Grandmas, Great-Grandmothers, rather they are native women or not…they gave life. When you start to disrespect them by calling them names or wearing t-shirts that call them names, etc. you are showing disrespect to life.

If you think the young woman is worthless, you treat her that way…just remember that girl could be your sister, daughter, cousin. Native Men to stand up to the plate and be the leaders you are, stop treating our life givers as waste. Mother Earth’s lifetime for each of you is short, it’s in the circle of life after you leave here is for eternity, are you going to be sitting in this circle?

Kudos to the men that respect our life givers and for all the young women out there that need to know that they are worthy. : )

Wisdom Lesson: Suffering

In all my years here on Mother Earth, I could relate to this word, only relate. I did not understand the feeling until later on in life, late bloomer I guess. It’s easy to see and make judgement of what we believe suffering is, because we were taught to look for it in this manner.

When you stop the visual search of this word is when your spirit becomes in tune with the feeling, the true meaning appears. We can only identify and feel our own spiritual bruising, we can only mend it ourselves, we can only allow it to happen to us, we can only make it stop…we is powerful when you stop using me, me, me.

I say this becasue I was taught in order to be “whole, one must become a part of a circle”, the we, are you and your teachers, your good teachers……but knowing your best teachers are people you DON’T want to be like, these teaching give us visual lessons, they walk the dark path.

My grandfather taught us, as my father continued to relate this very teaching; “Everyone, every spirit that walks this Mother Earth has a special teaching to be shared, it’s the lessons and learning the task that will be difficult”. Then I remembered, when I was a little girl, I had the happiest times of my life while others viewed it as “poor little girl, she’s so poor, motherless and with all those drunks, oh how she must be suffering.” I wasn’t suffering, I was happy…you see happiness doesn’t have to nice clothes, wonderful big home, etc.

I will tell you this of what I learnt on suffering; when I see a sleeping spirit and a craziness is making the body dance and their spirit path is clouded and I can’t wake them, this is my suffering, not theirs, but mine. Suffering is a sneaky darkness that will make your spirt weak. So, my young friends, take back your journey and FEEL this life that was put before us, learn your lessons and share your wisdom. Life is good today and pass out those medicine smiles : ))))))))))))

  My grandson informed me this afternoon that his English teacher had recently assigned them to write a three to five-page paper on a famous person. I am happy to report that he chose Chief Joseph.

   The famous chief of the Nez Perce tribe who led his band on a well known flight away from pursuing U.S. Cavalry out of Washington State, across Idaho and into Montana in a bid to reach the safety of Canada where Crazy Horse and his band wintered and where Chief Joseph hoped to join arms with him.

  His flight and eventual capture ended with a now famous saying of his, “I will fight no more forever,”. But the story has not ever ended there.

  Many Native Americans bristle and swell with pride for the intelligence and dignity of this incredible man and so it is with so much pride that I see my grandson embarking on his own journey to learn about this wonderful Native American leader. And hopefully, gain a sense of the dignity and strength present in his Native American heritage.

  During the famous flight of Chief Joseph through Idaho and Montana territory as he led his band to the safety of the Canadian border, the elderly unable to keep up were left behind on the trail with guns to meet the oncoming U.S. Cavalry and their Native American scouts (probably Crows..hmph).

  These elders most assuredly met their end with dignity and incredible pride and honor as they took those last shots for their people, their loved ones, the last shot of a warrior who knows he or she was going to die so loved ones might live one more day, one bullet for many lives, one life ended in honor.

Holds a Gun

I will stay behind,

Please leave me here,

Against this rock,

Let me be quiet

And rest,

Let me listen

To the rustle

Of winter’s

Footsteps,

Let me listen

As my aches

Grow silent

And aware.

Cry for me,

Just a moment,

Hold me close

And arrange me

So I am facing

Away from

Your pathway,

Let me face them

As they come,

And Chief Joseph,

Give me a gun,

With one bullet,

Go north swiftly

And pray my aim

Is true.

This happened in Traverse City, MI. The mother a member of the Grand Traverse Band of Ottawa and Chippewa Indians.

As reported yesterday, MILS has agreed to take on the case involving a Caucasian fathers threat to “chop off” a native american childs hair to “prove that she’s half white.”

This threat of violence happened Feb 13 of this year during a much heated and verbally abusive phone call between the biological father and Native American mother.

During a routine visitation exchange the father told the child “I’ll see you tomorrow.” As it was not his visitation time the mother called to inquire about the comment made by the father. The father said he was going to drop off a present for the child at the school. The mother explained that the childs attendance at school that day may not be an option. 

February 14this the birthday of the childs deceased grandmother and the day would be sent honoring her. The father became enraged at the idea of the child not being available to him and took to verbal attacks against the mothers Native American beliefs. Accusing the mother of not being faithful to her husband, saying the child didn’t have enough “blood quantum” to be a traditional Native American. Then the threat to “chop off” the childs hair to “prove that she’s half white.”

There have been many complaints made to Grand Traverse County Friend of The Court about the fathers verbal abuse and complete disregard and disrespect towards the mother. A complaint was even filed against the fathers live in girlfriend for harassment, stalking, and verbal abuse. All complaints have been overlooked. Leaving the mother to fend for herself in a system that to this day does not give the needed respect to our Native American children and mothers.

It must be said that this is not about the mother or the father. This is about a Native American child who has been raised with traditional Native American values and was threatened with violence that mirrors what our ancestors went through during the Boarding School era.

After decades of oppression and forced assimilation. After the passing of the Native American Religious Freedom Act. After countless apologies for the atrocities done to our people, these acts of prejudice and violence are still being done.

I leave you with this quote:  ”Let’s put our heads together and see what we can do for our children.” -Black Elk

I knew that there were no waves when I parked my car in the beach lot and there were 3 spaces open out of the 8 there. Up on the bluff, its impossible to tell what the waves are like so, the parking lot is usually a good indicator.

I was taking a break from my computer work and the wind was coming up. Seemed like the only time I would be able to step away for a surf. So I tucked my board under my arm and descended the red clay path 100 feet down to the break.

As I was going down the rusty steps I noticed a woman in a pair of boyshorts and a tank. She was with a man who was about 20 years her senior. A milk-fed type with a camera set up. She had a suitcase full of clothes.

I passed her and caught her Australian accent through the wind that was blowing her long hair around. I zipped up the back of my wetsuit and put on my neoprene hood and gloves preparing for the chilly blue water.

My mind resolved on seeing 2 people about to have a photo shoot. The women does not look like she is any danger. I paddle out about 30 yards and wait for some waves. Which would never really arrive.

The model walked in to the icy water and started to giggle as the camera clicked away. The photographer appeared to be acting professionally but, his interest was palpable. The model became more and more animated with her poses. Projecting an attitude of indifference and ownership as she was splashing around capriciously in the icy water. I started to cry.

As I glanced over in between sets of waves that appeared as though they would be coming in. My tears were shed for the young beautiful girl in front of me who was quantifying her existence on how sexually desirable she could look. And I know as a woman at 40, there is so much more. I felt like my tears only increased the size of the ocean by just those tiny teardrops.

I thought of the women who suffer, are held against their will. Women by the thousands who are abducted and used up for the sex industry. I thought of all this as an allegory for our planet, our mother Earth just raped and used up.

It brought me to weep. The model looked over at me as she was about to remove her top. I just looked at her and shook my head no. And that was all I could do. I prayed to my Creator. Just for the fate of us women.

I paddled way out into sea. I paddled far around the point until I saw 2 giant Sea Lions tending to their calves who were half the size they should be this time of year. I felt so powerless seeing this visual reminder that these waters had been over fished to this point. That all that could be taken, was taken. As I listened to the Sea Lion songs I thought about what I would say to them

To the photographer: I admonish you to understand. You are old enough to know better. What are you doing using your camera for power and control when the media is all these kids know to look up to. There is a sexual assault happening every 2 minutes. 80% are women under 30. 2/3 of assaults are committed by someone the victim knows.

Exposure to media images objectifying woman feeds into a culture of rape and seeing a woman as something to be used up and thrown away. I put the responsibility squarely on your shoulders, as some nerd who offers inexpensive head shots and comp cards to fledgling starlets who just want to be famous. Thats just theft.

To the model: The thing that made me fear for you so much is that you are so young and far from home. The vulnerability there. The present danger even if you never feel fragile.

That is what fills me with fear for women. That our bodies should be surrendered and handed over if they are pretty enough to the feed masses, to the viewers regardless of who they are. For validation? For scrutiny? For the illusion of control? For the model I have more questions than I have statements.

As I came around the point on my surf board the waves started to pick up. The model was clothed again and wrapped in a giant towel looking cold. All of her things were packed up into the black suitcase as the photographer ascended up the long rickety staircase. She got up and followed him up on the bluff I saw her turn around and look out to sea.

I am never going to know what went through this young woman’s mind as she pondered the vastness of the open ocean from the high cliff. I only know what I experience when I look seaward, endless possibility.

I see what my ancestors saw, the landscape unchanged. I sometimes see their ghosts in motion out of the corner of my eyes. I have direct communication with my Creator there. And I feel a sense of infinity. I know what is right when I hear that voice. I forget what they have said if I leave too many days in between surf sessions

.

I grew up among many women, none really related except maybe  as in white society standards as cousins.   Women, who made it a point to get together once a month for a women’s sweat ceremony.  They all gathered with the elder lady who ran the sweat.

Everyone had kids, grandkids around.  The girls went in the sweat ceremony with the women and the boys kept the fire, hauled the rocks and were the doormen.  I grew up knowing that a women’d sweat was only for women, we never had our ceremony with men.  It was a time of sacredness.  Women singing.  Gathering and empowering each other for one more month under the new moon.

And throughout the month, they were supportive of each other, lived life in a good way, laughed together, cooked together.  I think these sweats ended in my late teens.  I remember being 16 or 17 at the last new moon sweat.  Now when I see one of these women, I feel as if they are my aunties, and speak to them with the utmost respect.

And I wonder where have we gone, as women?

It seems as if women today are talking so much about decolonization, yet the same woman will vehemently put down other women in her field.  Or hit on another woman’s husband, it makes me wonder, have you ever grown up with a support network of women who help each other out?  Who do you think our ancestors turned to when the men were away to talk to, to laugh with, to live everyday life with?

Our society was matriarchal, but that does not mean one woman ruled.  It means women were held in the highest of respect and honor.

And they did this together.

So when you talk of decolonizing your lives, please decolonize your eyes also.  You cannot make it as the lone woman in your life.  We all need each other.  Constantly putting another woman down, will not get you ahead of her to look down on.  You will be beneath her, whether she knows how you feel or not, because this world would not spin without women.

After all, the front of a V pattern of geese flying are the female ones, because they are the most powerful.

Work together, love one another, don’t be hateful.  Otherwise, all the talk of decolonizing, doesn’t mean a thing.

Old Mother Goose

Waiting by the window with my swollen belly wondering where he was.  Thinking what if I go in labor.  No phone, living in a city where his friends were my only friends.  My baby does a back flip inside me.  Happy little back flip.  I cradle my belly in my hands so tenderly.  Baby, please forgive me if I can’t give you the world.  I had stars in my eyes when I made you and now they are starting to fade.  I fell asleep waiting for him to come home to me.  I fell asleep on the couch.  I woke and he was sleeping in the bed.

I looked at him in the bed of our one bedroom apartment and looked at the warm couch I made comfy.

And I went back, to the couch.

I was in labor for over 24 hours, my beautiful baby boy was born with big eyes, brown skin and hair that stood up as if grass was growing.  He looked lovingly at me, as if I held all of life’s secrets in my eyes.  But it was the other way around, he held them in his.  He had his dad’s lips, full, yet a small mouth like mine.  My eyebrows and his dad’s eyes.  We made him.  Hid dad was there for the labor and delivery.  Then he was gone.  I cried for the two days I was in the hospital.  A nurse wanted me to talk about it, but I said I didn’t want to.  I didn’t want anyone to know, he didn’t love me anymore.  She gave me options, to go into a shelter for abused women.  I wasn’t abused, I was unloved.  She said I was emotionally abused.

He came at the last minute to sign the birth certificate, and pick us up.

And I went back.

Me walking on the snowy road, my newborn in his carseat, I am carrying him.  I am crying and scared and angry.  I found the love letter between him and his “girlfriend.”  I hit him over the head and took my baby and started walking.  Where will I go?  I can’t go back to him.  The wind started to blow.

And I went back.

Two more babies later, he never changed.  I am loading the car.  I have the option to move 12 hours away with a good job.  I put the TV in the front seat.  Pack all the clothes in the back.  My three boys are bewildered.  Sitting in car seats in the back.  I have a loaf of bread and some bologna in a cooler with some juice and soda.  We need all the gas money we can get.  He pulls in with his friends and starts laughing at me.  ”Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m leaving you.”

“I’ll see you in an hour.”  He says.

And I never looked in the rear view mirror as I drove away.  12 years later, I am still single and know full well love is a deep emotion that needs to be protected and respected.  If it finds me someday, I will remember that.  If not, I didn’t waste anymore time with someone who didn’t love me.  And I am ok with that.

Penny

I opened my email and saw another email.  It was from the federal prison system.

It was from him.

I ignored it for about a day because I really don’t want to go down that path where he thinks I will be there for him.  I tried.  I listened when he was in the halfway house.  How lonely he was, how he needed someone in his life.  I didn’t plan on being that someone.  I just planned on being his friend.  After all we had been friends since we were in 3rd grade, so my dumb ass felt obligated to him because he tried to beat up Johnny in 4th grade who made his spoon into a sling shot and shot chocolate pudding in my eye.  i remember crying and cleaning it off with the teacher as other  teachers marched them out of the cafeteria to the principals office.

Somehow, almost 30 years later he ended up in my life again and this time, I stepped up to be his savior.  Except, it ended up being more than that.  I didn’t want a relationship, although being a single mother, you can’t sometimes help but to think what if or wonder.  I have also, as a single mother had my turn at relationships with men who expected to be put before my children.

That was never going to happen.

So I hung with him, my old school friend.  We snuck around and ran all over this town we found each other in at an AA meeting.  I tried to encourage him to change his ways, be good, get out of the halfway house and quit letting his anger control him.

That never happened.

He could never place blame on himself.  He blamed the feds for everything.  He blamed everything on everyone except himself.  Yet, I tried.  Tried to get him to at least behave if he couldn’t own up and move on.  I was tired of blaming the feds for him when he couldn’t even make it out of the halfway house and move on in life.  He couldn’t always blame everything on being Indian or on the feds.  I was tired of him crying and tired of calming him down.

When he was kicked out of the halfway house to another city, it was a relief.  He wrote to me.  Crying over the pages,  He had nobody, again.  I knew he didn’t but i didn’t write him back.  Finally he earned enough privilege to call me.  We talked and yes, I once again felt sorry for him.  I had to go that way a few weeks later, we planned a visit. I stopped in, dropped him off some coffee, listened to his pain and left.  Told him I would pray for him.

But I love you- he said.  I looked at him and wanted my Han Solo moment of saying “I know.” but instead I said, “Me too.”  I got in the car and slammed the door feeling like a punk.  I’m too old for this shit, I thought.

After another letter telling me how much he missed me and loved me, I forgave him.  We talked on the phone all the time.  He still had the same issues, still took no blame but I did the inevitable that I always did all my life.  I thought I could change him.

One night, after talking on the phone so late, and saying good night ith I love yous.  The next day he texted me.  And everything I had hoped wasn’t true, was.

“I just hope you know you will always be a good friend.”

My alerts went up.

“OK”

“I could never replace you, don’t forget that.  We’ve been friends since 3rd grade.”

ME- “What’s going on?  I’m too old for this game playing.”

“You mean alot to me.”

“And?”

“My ex found me and we are still in love.”

“LOL, what ex? The last one?”

“No, twenty years ago.”

“LMAO. you’re joking right?”

“No, she loves me and live near here and has a good job.  Soon as she leaves her husband, we’re moving in together.”

“Wait this happened overnight?”

“Yeah, well we are still in love.”

“OK. Bye.”

“Wait, don’t be like that, you will always be my friend.”

“Yeah, bye.”

Lol, I wished I could say that was the last time we talked.  I wished I could say we are still friends.  I wished I would have realized more than I did.  I wasn’t no punk bitch, but yet I was.

To make a long story short, he went back to prison for fighting over the married woman.  She eventually went back to her husband but ended up divorced and has a young man. She is almost 50.

And he, well let’s just say when I opened the email from prison it said “I Fucking HAte You, she said you keep fucking with her. You bitch!”

I gave no response.  I deleted it.  Blocked him.  Wondered why she said that when I moved on.

Then I realized sometime people who are not ok with being lonely will try to involve others in their lives, for no reason.  Just to feel more important.  I am an ok person.  I did nothing wrong but fall in love with a friend.

He texted me and asked to call me.

“No”

“You don’t have to be a bitch.”

“I’m not, you are.”

And that was that.  I don’t mean to be a bitch, but if i am, so be it.  I don’t have time in my life for people with issues and see nothing wrong with my actions.  In fact I wish them both peace.

Sometimes, I feel like I am too strong of a woman.

Is that really a bad thing?

By Keya