I will come to the ways...
The Six Nations comprise of the Mohawk, Oneida, Cayuga, Seneca, Onondaga and Tuscarora. Each year the Grand River Powwow at Chiefswood Park, Ontario, welcomes indigenous peoples from all over North America. Open for all to attend. Six Nations is also the birthplace of the noted Canadian writer Emily Pauline Johnson. Her writings celebrate her First Nations heritage, pride, dignity, valor and relentless spirit. Her poetry unveils the pain and alienation, the challenges and inequity...feelings of the invisible and the unheard.
Today on June 21st, National Indigenous Peoples Day in Canada, I am reminded of a summer afternoon spent at the Grand River Powwow, a decade ago. I was with Nina and Evelyn, two very dear maternal figures for myself and my husband Marsh. Nina is an indigenous elder and Evelyn, a retired nurse with Carribean cultural roots. Nina, Evelyn and I, along with their friend Akiko had gone on a trip to the indigenous reserve at Ohsweken for the Powwow. Each one of us had our origins in different cultures, ethnicities, age groups, with backgrounds as diverse as can be. That afternoon, at the Powwow, the reverberations of the drums, the exquisite colours of the ceremonial regalia worn by the indigenous dancers and their powerful, proud dance rippled through our veins in synchronicity... the oneness of raw goosebump moments, when real beauty presents itself.
I had just lost my Ma at that time. With a heart heavy filled with indescribable grief, I had only recently returned from Assam, leaving my dearest sister Naumi (and other loved ones) behind. I was exhausted and drained from the loss and from seen and unforeseen disappointments. There is something about unconditional, non-patronizing interactions that renew and rejuvenate worn-out tiredness. No power- play, no competitiveness, no one-up ness, no feeling of threat of any kind...just safety and pure friendship. That day was one such instance. Our laughter, conversations and adventure transcended beyond boundaries into a forever moment. Profound discussions giving way to unstoppable laughter. Spontaneous bursts of fun and then the return to a comforting silence. Some of it reminded me of travel times with Ma, where no topic was taboo, deeply poetic conversations, silly chatter and laughter... endless. It brought back glimpses of adventures with Deta, some quite daring, like the exciting one into the rough terrains of the India-Myanmar border on the narrow, Stilwell Road. Those adventures where we would stop for little wonders, gaze at brilliant colours and acknowledge the here and now.
My friends have known love, laughter and loss. Tasted the hues of life...the painful, the joyous, the in-between. Some answers we have found, while others we still seek, yet some we never will. Those we accept as mystery. Not everything needs to be known, to be at peace.
That afternoon was reassuring. About connectedness and celebrations that speak of life's tapestry. Tears and smiles intertwined, fairness and injustice interspersed. Coexisting. Together. Nothing negated. Most of all, there was the reassurance of continuity. Of love and life, as expressed in the Fire Flowers by Emily Pauline Johnson...
And only where the forest fires have sped
Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands
A sweet wildflower lifts its purple
And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed
It hides the scars with almost human hands
And only to the heart that knows of grief
Of desolating fire, of human pain
And only where the forest fires have sped
Scorching relentlessly the cool north lands
A sweet wildflower lifts its purple
And, like some gentle spirit sorrow-fed
It hides the scars with almost human hands
And only to the heart that knows of grief
Of desolating fire, of human pain
There comes some purifying sweet belief
Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief
And life revives, and blossoms once again
Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief
And life revives, and blossoms once again
Hugs.
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