It Was a Different Time

Her: "He kissed me, felt me up."  Him: "It was a different time." What is a different time? How do we measure the "time" when things are not different, from say today? Look at the Earth, the Earth is believed or measured to be four and half billion years old, and the universe is said to be fourteen billion years old, there about. Humans have been around for four hundred thousand years. Not sure how the Beings told on each other before speech came into usage, but between 200,000 to 50,000 years ago. Since then, people have been able to tell on those doing them wrong, you think? Not really I guess. Women were property, ethnic people were not worthy to have a voice and so many other things. So now when someone does speak up, there should be someone to listen, right? It was a different time, is actually still that time.

The voice of people is not equal, not even close. Your voice carries weight, or at least it should. Voices are not heard and weighted/measured all the same. So if a woman shares her voice on a matter, she should be be given 'benefit of doubt.' Sadly, not everyone gets the benefit. This time it will be different. 

Fuck it. I have been so stressed out lately. I am struggling with my rage, my anger, my frustration, my sadness, my hopelessness, my despair and my outlook on life. I can see the pain happening in the world, by way of social media sites. The people in the world are in trouble. Their voices have no weight. The weight of their collective voice should be listened to. That is not the case. This is not a different time. 

Been watching a lot of videos on social media and all the many voices out there. We are in a time where people are voicing about colonialism and the affects. People have much more avenues to share their voice, and there are many who voice. One voice says we are more aware of the "wider world" than ever before, and that awareness is harder on us. Ignorance was bliss at one time. The old saying of "I didn't know," was sweet. Yes, it was a different time. 

Now you know. 

Are You Comfortable Being a Villain

 My sister is sick, and has been for sometime now. She lives in our parents old house on the Reserve. After my Dad died, I let her stay there because she was looking after her grandkids. So she has been living there about 12 or 11 years. My Dad was in the local care home before he died. He had cancer, lived alone and had dementia. My parents had given me the Reserve House. They believed youngest son was to get things from them, but I believe it was because I was their favorite. My siblings will all say they were the favorite. My sister has had her struggles. I won't bother with the details. We all have issues and struggles. 

The reason I am a villain is because of my actions. I have told my sister she has to leave the house. Her daughter is upset with me and I know it is hard for them. I have my reasons for kicking them out. They have not moved out yet. So a battle is going on between me and niece. She is hurt and angry with me. 

My Mom and Dad have, had a beautiful home. It is on the south side of the Winnipeg River, which runs through our Reserve. We spent lot of time swimming in the River as kids. We did a lot of fishing and what a view from the house. Mom, especially, had a welcoming way to our home. She would make tea right away for visitors and would sit at the kitchen table. A patio door was in the kitchen, so a great view of the river. Mom's children and mom's grandchildren were all happily received at the house. So when we think of the home, we think of Mom and Dad. Dad sitting at his spot with a coffee in the morning and tea all day long. 

That is not the way it is at the house anymore. Far gone is the welcome feeling at the home. Far gone is the well keep yard. Far gone is the well keep house. I go there and get a dreadful feeling. The welcoming Spirit of my parents doesn't exist in the house. Far gone is the welcoming arms of Granny to her small grandkids. Far gone is the good feelings of a home filled with blessings. 

I am a villain. I kick my oldest sister in her time of need out of the home. My sister's grandchildren have many issues; mental health, physical disabilities, social ills. My sister's children (not all) are struggling with addictions issues. The issues spread throughout the household. 

Do I feel good doing it, no. I have made a decision after years of repeating issues, activities and incidents. If being a villain is what I have to be, then it is so. I have been villain in cases before. It's not a good place to find yourself, but villains are part of life. I am comfortable being a villain. 

Shed built in 1965 by Dad & Mishoom 

Was It a Blessing and Not a Tragic Event?

 August 25 is coming up. This year will 19 years since my Boy hung himself in his mother's closet.  I live with the memory, the aftermath and the situations leading to his killing himself. I think about the day he was found and remember his life as a small child. My son was 20 when he took his life. He had been struggling with a drug addiction. It was CRACK. It was difficult for him and for us as well. I was working in Vancouver, British Columbia. I had gotten him to come stay with me, hoping he would get work and climb out of the addiction. Addiction is a vicious creature, with an appetite that can't be satisfied.  So I think about how his future might have turned out had he not made the choice that he did.

A friend of mine has Parkinson's disease. He used to make documentaries when he lived in Japan. He and his wife moved to Canada as she went to work as a professor at the University. Tadashi is/was a very good person. The disease hit him very quickly. I haven't seen him for a number of years now. I spoke to him on the phone this winter. He lives in a Care facility and is very limited at what he can do. I speak to his wife every once in a while. The odds of a partner having Parkinson's is astronomical. Turns out she has Parkinson's. Unreal. She still lives in an apartment with their grown child. I spoke to her a few weeks ago, but had to cut the visit quick as I was driving in the car with grandkids. She was hoping that she could call along with her husband. He has lucid moments for a short period in the mornings. I remember when he used to exercise and try to get ahead of the disease. I think of the famous actor, Michael J. Fox and how long he has been fighting Parkinson's. I wonder what the difference is between my friend and the actor, and how the actor seems to fairing better than my friend? 

My Sister-in-Law posted a note the other day, Her brother died. No details, just a note saying she will cherish his memory. My wife told me, he might have sought MAID, Medical Assisted In Dying. I don't know the details of what he suffered from. There was to be no service. I believe in MAID. I also believe in Suicide Prevention. A contradiction, I know. On the one finger I am supporting killing yourself, but in the other finger, I don't want anyone to kill themselves. It doesn't add up to two fingers does it? 

An uncle of mine had ALS, Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. From what is written about ALS, it is no doubt a horrible disease with no cure. Your body becomes a coffin with your mind knowing what's going on. I cannot imagine the madness which comes with the disease. I took my Dad to go visit Uncle and it was too much for my Dad, he didn't every want to go back. He spoke to Uncle in Ojibwe and we left. I don't know how long Uncle lasted in a state of not being able to move, to speak, to communicate in any way. Can't imagine how it was for him, my Aunt and his kids. 

I was in a situation where I had control over the last moments of my Dad's life. He was suffering from dementia and cancer. I signed the papers for no medical treatment on my Dad. It was a hard decision but the alternative was to let him continue to live not knowing what was going on and living in pain. So when I think about my Boy, I wonder about his suffering. Could he or would he have been able to win over the addiction? Or would it have gotten worse with the surge of Meth in society? My Boy was suffering and so were people who loved him. His addiction made him do things he could not live with. 

I am wondering if it is selfish of me to think maybe, just maybe it was the right choice for him? The other selfish part of me wants him to be here. If he was here at least he would be breathing, perhaps enjoying a good life. I don't know. Or maybe he would be sharing needles, living and walking the streets, being avoided by all those who love him? Maybe he would get seriously sick from the life of an addict. I don't know. So maybe it was a blessing he doesn't suffer today? Or maybe it is still the most devastating thing to happen in our life? 

So that's the thing isn't it, can we see a Blessing where we feel misery? 

It Pains Me

 "We are still here." This is the sentiment of many Indigenous people out there. The destruction caused by colonialism, Christianity, is immeasurable. Who knows what has been lost due to the greed of White people. It pains me that we live a life of "what if's." The destruction caused by Wendigo is right in front of us and still it continues like it is as a good thing. Whole civilizations have been destroyed, been wiped off the face of the Earth because of White society. It is not a racist statement, just a fact of their way of life; the accumulation of everything. 

“There’s no winning for us. We’re screwed. We were born into a system we don’t agree with, and we got caught. Here, out there, it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing left for us.”

— Richelle Mead

Do You Have Any Currency Left?

Most societies in the World now measure things with price, cost and monetary value. From the Forest to the Oceans, there is a dollar amount assigned to them. It is a weird way of looking at things. I remember entering the off-ramp at Calgary Airport and seeing a poster on the wall; it said "water our valuable resource." We put money value on anything and that is how people can relate to things, "what it costs." 

On BBC television there is a show called Us, I watched a few moments of season one, episode two. The scene was at the food buffet in some hotel. A young Asian Woman was taking a couple of jam spreads when  an older White British man said "the buffet is based on trust and you should just take one jam spread." So she puts one back and goes sit down. He says to his wife, "a bit much with the truth thing?" The episode went on where the Asian Woman was outside the restaurant and says to the Whiteman, "Hey it's me, the thief," and she pulled out a couple of bread roles from her pockets to show off, and then she went on her way. This is interesting little scene. It was meant to be funny but made me think about the Whiteman's audacity.  How can he admonish someone for "theft?"  This is where I think of our own currency. Do we have currency to scold, to begrudge, to critique, to pass judgement? The White British dude had no currency to speak of, and to chastise young woman about taking an extra jar of jam. The guy comes from a society which built unimaginable wealth through theft. So it's really takes some real "nerve" to be the message of the trust virtue. 

We can just about question the value, the currency of most societies, governments and companies. This past week we drove out to Alberta from Manitoba. We went to visit a brother and his family, along with a cousin. The week was to end with us going to Jasper Park and a train ride into the mountains. Turns out Jasper was burning up. Alberta is a province in Canada where the Right political ideology reigns supreme. With the Right thinkers in power, there is no thought to public services and there has been more support to private business. Alberta was ravaged last summer with Forest Fires, and it has not changed much this summer. The Premier of Alberta, Daniel Smith said "we won't always have a $2.9-billion disaster like we did last year."  So you might say that Smith has no legitimacy in what she says, or in other words, she has no currency to share with anyone. How can the government share "thoughts and prayers" to a situation they have helped to occur? 

That is the thing isn't it, who has the currency to be critical of what is happening in the world? Israel has no currency when they speak of democracy, human rights and discrimination. Israel is demonstrating to the world what an absence of moral currency or decency looks like. The United States is another example of the utter lack of human decency. They are actively supporting a Genocide and actively attacking everyone who speaks against the horrors of slaughtering children. So many different places and situations where there are questions as to who "has the right" to be speak. I can understand to a degree why some folk are loud when it comes to issues. For certain, I support Indigenous people and are willing the support for them.  Do we support with every situation? What if, for example, a group of Ojibway people went and slaughtered a 24-pack of Bears. It is a horrible act and should be condemned. But would I condemn it? I would among our group but not publicly to outsiders of our group. 

So I think this is what is happening in the public sphere, people are not willing to voice against things because they want to be supportive, even when children are having their limbs and heads blown off. 

Ogimaawab Sutherland: Ojibwe Teachings - Stories

The epoch of Wenabozho in "oral history", aadizookaanan (sacred stories). Traveled Turtle Island gives names to everything on it. On his journey, hungry, mischievous, & tricking/helping many beings on the way by shaping and molding them, Wenabozho played a major role in the evolution of creation.

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"Gaagige-minawaanigoziwining" means the "Land of Everlasting Happiness." The Milky Way is known by many names in the Anishinaabeg language, including Jiibay Mikana, Mashkiki Miikana, Jiibay Ziibi, and Mashkiki Ziibi. The clusters of stars and many constellations represent the Anishinaabeg clans, or "gidoodeminaanig." In the night sky, our clans shine brightly in the Milky Way, forever telling our stories and those of our ancestors. Our ancestors gather and shine down onto the Earth, connecting us to the loved ones who have gone home. As I put out the spirit plate they put out stuff out for us too. Has we sleep in the night they come and visit us and offer us gifts. We call them into our ceremony. Everyday we have an opportunity to share with each other our stories.

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Anishinaabeg ikidowin(an) noongom

Anishinaabeg word(s) today

Gayaazhi-akiiwi-gikendamowin(an)

Traditional Ecological Knowledge(s)

Anishinaabe-gikendaasowin(an) - Anishinaabe knowledge(s)

Gete-gikendaasowin(an) - traditional knowledge(s).

binaanoondan - acquire knowledge.

biziskenindam - have knowledge

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"Niigaan Miikana: Path of the Future"

The Anishinaabeg teaching emphasizes that we must always prepare for the future, considering the well-being of others. We think about our children and the environment, which includes the spirits of the trees, water, and wind. When we contemplate the future, we include these elements because they are a part of us. Our actions reflect in the outcomes we experience. For example, yelling at a child can instill resentment, hurt, fear, or low self-esteem. Such actions affect not only the individual but also the community, as a traumatized child can impact the well-being of everyone. Similarly, destroying our environment makes it toxic, affecting our health and the health of the animals and other beings we share the world with.

More can be said... I ask myself should I share my whole insight. But it remains on a thought that was in another and shared with me long ago ..

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"Gookomisinaan, Our Grandmother" the namer... Dibiki-giizis the moon...

Gookomisinaan, our beloved grandmother, was the first to bestow names upon us. As Wenabozho grew older, she passed this sacred gift to him. In our tradition, it is the role of our grandparents to give names. When Wenabozho and his siblings were born, gookomisinaan our grandmother, gimishoomisinaan our grandfather, was the one who named them.

One night, Gookomisinaan fell asleep and, in her dreams, she traveled to visit her daughter, Wenabozho's mother Wiininowaa. In the dream, she saw her daughter holding the newborn Wenabozho. As she watched, an amazing rabbit appeared, playing in the woods and naming everything it saw. Inspired by this vision, Gookomisinaan knew the perfect name for her grandchild.

She called upon the trees, inviting them to be niiyawen'enyag, which means "partaking in becoming family." Among them was the birch tree, known as wiigwaasaatig. This tree became Wenabozho's namesake, niiyawen'enh, symbolizing "partaking in becoming family." Wenabozho, in turn, called the birch tree Wen’enh.

Each tree offered part of it self, medicine, “giniginige a mixture of medicine” today instructed to use this medicine as an offering to all of life. Our "tobacco asemaa".

The bond between Wenabozho and the birch tree grew strong over time. When Wenabozho was a boy, the birch tree protected him from the Thunder Beings, offering him shelter from their fierce storms. Later, when Wenabozho needed to find his lost brother, the birch tree helped once more by offering its skin to make the first canoe, allowing Wenabozho to journey across the waters. Wenabozho wrote instructions for gete-Anishinaabeg on the birch bark, and the birch tree forever telling the story on the inside of its bark.

Despite their deep connection, Wenabozho and the birch tree had their disagreements. One day, during a particularly heated argument, Wenabozho, in a fit of anger, threw the scabs from his butt at his Wen’enh, the birch tree. These scabs clung to the tree, and today, we see them and know them as “chaga Shkitaagan.”

This story of Gookomisinaan, Wenabozho, and the birch tree teaches us about the importance of family, the tradition of naming, and the bonds that connect us, even in times of conflict. And whenever you see the chaga on the birch, you'll remember how it came to be and the deep relationship between Wenabozho and the birch tree.

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“Umbilical cord odis” “odis s/he umbilical cord” in the Anishinaabe language. A sacred connection of the umbilical cord at birth. The cord is considered a direct link to the spirit world, as the womb is a sacred place for growth where the spirit connects to the body. It is believed that the spirit/baby chooses its parents. Anishinaabe tradition is to protect the womb, ensuring no negativity is brought near. The community celebrates the womb as the spirit and body develop, establishing sacred bonds. People speak to the womb not as a child but as an adult. Songs are sung, and words of wisdom are shared. Before the influence of Western ideology, the Anishinaabe understood that the heart and spirit first developed a connection, with the heart serving as the house for the spirit. The placenta is seen as the universe and a tree; it is perceived as a tree connected to the universe. An old Anishinaabe story tells how the first people climbed down a tree into this world, a symbol that continues today within the mother's womb.

At birth, the umbilical cord is cut, and it is saved along with some pieces of the umbilical cord and placenta. Family members would go out into the woods before 4 days and bury the placenta at the roots of a tree. The piece of umbilical cord connected to the child eventually falls off and is saved in a pouch alongside medicines such as cedar and other medicines. As the child grows older, they are given sacred bundles, and within these bundles, the piece of umbilical cord is placed among other sacred items such as a rattle, drum, moccasins, or ceremonial items. The child grows into an adult and wears this bundle in a medicine bag around their neck.

I Hate The Poor

When you hear of Winnipeg's Main Street, images of poverty, homeless and the pitiful. There are Winnipeggers who drive around the area just to take photos of people at their most vulnerable and desperate. You can see their efforts proudly displayed on social media sites. One of those sites is People of Winnipeg on Zuckerberg's (also referred to as the world's worst human) Meta platform. This page is filled with the ugliness of being poor, being on the streets, being vulnerable, and it is a page made to show how we can make fun of the poor, how much we hate them and how we ridicule them. 

We don't like to encounter the poor do we? We see them in their ragged clothes, their unclean look, the stench of rotting flesh, festering opening wounds, dripping puss, dried blood, and the indignity of not washing. We are repulsed. We don't want the stench to get on us. We don't want to touch their hands as they reach out for a "hand-out." If we do give them coin-change, we make sure to drop it in their hand or even drop it on the ground, because we fear the chance of getting the poverty touch us. We want them out of our space as quickly as possible. If we had our way, we would never see them. 

We are not afraid to voice our visceral disgust of the poor. We know the majority of people share the same sentiments. The poor are to be despised, to be ridiculed, to be removed from our neighborhoods, our communities and our society. To us, the poor, the homeless, are maggots just living off the carcasses of dead streets. They are just festering scabs on the concrete which we hold dear. We do not want the reminder of how unfair the world is, and the poor remind us of the inequities of society. 

The other day I was driving on Main Street, right in the heart of the poor. There was a gathering of people outside one of the shelters. As I drove by I saw ambassadors of goodwill working on a person. The person was laid out not moving, while the good will ambassadors were trying to revive the person. The ambulance and police were just arriving as I got the intersection greenlight. It is the reminder of what happens to the poor. Either they just go on with existing or they die, we don't know or do we care. 

"Not In My Neighborhood" is a good clean mantra to use. The poor can exist but not around me, around us. "Out of sight, out of mind." We have so many cute idioms to keep us clean from the ugliness that we are. It is not the poor that we hate, it us we hate. We are the cruel, the ugly, the true maggots of society. The poor are the measuring sticks we use to feel we are doing well in society. We look at the rich and long to be them.  We put the rich of pedestals, we worship, we watch their every move, we try to dress as they do, we carry our little Chihuahua's in bags because the rich do that. We watch tv shows and collect magazines of the "lives of the rich and famous" and it is our bible. We are the decrepit, the ugly, the morally repugnant. We look at the rich, we see we are not in their universe of decadence. We say to ourselves, at least we are not poor. 

I fucking hate the rich.