Remembering to Be Human Beings: Three Years After Standing Rock

Many felt that a dream had led them to Standing Rock in 2016, myself included. Many spoke of how it felt like their Ancestors had nudged them awake, as if the Earth was rising in a chorus of resistance.

Turtle Island, November 2016.  | Photo: Si Matta (H a v e n)

Turtle Island, November 2016. | Photo: Si Matta (H a v e n)

Time stood still in the liminal spaces of the day to day of camp life… and the ritual of living was a Sacred space.. one worth defending.

I was at Standing Rock, because I felt I needed to gather and bear witness to what was happening there as relatives put their lives on the line to defend the Sacred. I was there to bear witness to prophecy and resilience, and the meaning of dreams and place. I was there for my own Ancestors, and the future generations. There was a collective joy and togetherness in camp, that many of us felt ripple through our hearts, melting intergenerational traumas to the ground. We all felt that fire in our hearts!

I share this video I made, to show more of that feeling of what it meant to be there. I have tons of riot footage, and footage of anger and despair, but I wanted to show that, even though they tried to break our Spirits, we were remembering what it meant to be human.

To all the Water Protectors the world over,

Masie!

Mni Wiconi!

Grandma Aggie and the Reminder of the Sun.

I woke up a bit before the Morning Star and could hear the silence of subfuscus mists hovering upon the hills and valleys. I laid awake, and reminisced about early mornings at Oceti Sakowin Camp in 2016, “Wake up, this is not a vacation!”.. I awaken to broken silence, echoing off old canyons, where trees fold time in the roots of soggy soil, I ponder my dreams.

Taowhywee, Morning Star

Taowhywee, Morning Star

Today, I am off to say goodbye to an Elder, Grandma Aggie. I never met this holy Elder in the flesh, but her calling and life, resonated hard in my bones. When she talked about the sacred water, I could hear Wyam (Celilo Falls) pumping from my heart, and the sacred River flowing through my veins. Grandma Aggie felt so familier to me. The smell of Salmon and cedar smoke over open fires waifs from her voice. Grandma Aggie could be my own Grandmother, which, is not a new feeling for us Indians. It is an intrinsic part of our DNA, an intrinsic part of our Story.

My partner awakes to make some coffee and prepare herself for the journey. She knew Grandma Aggie personally, and looked up to her as a fellow Grandmother herself, learning to walk into Elder-hood. I watch her braid her hair with stories of Grandma, and what she meant to her. About her regrets of not staying in touch more, but holding the sacred memory close, she releases a single tear. I prepare the car for our journey to the Siletz Reservation, where we will lay Grandmother’s bones along side her relatives. As I am walking to the car, I hear my own Grandmothers voice in my head, and look up to greet the horizon. The young morning star obscured in fog seems so enchanted and calm. A deep breath overtakes me as I greet the day. I pray, remembering.

{Listen to my Grandmother, Shirley Amos, talking about finding our place in the sun.}

Our drive meanders through the Oregon Coast Range.  The mists ebb and flow like the Ocean waves crashing against the shores of broken trees.

Hwy 20 west to Siletz Reservation. © H a v e n

Hwy 20 west to Siletz Reservation. © H a v e n

My partner tells me the story of how Grandma Aggie’s People were relocated to this wet fortress from the dry tinder Rouge Valley of Southern Oregon, which was known as “Oregons own trail of tears”. A story all Indigenous people share. A story of displacement from place and belonging. A story that is passed from one hand to the next, drenched in tears and whiskey. It is hard for us Indians to trust our strengths, and as I sit and listen to the Stories Grandma Aggie’s family tell, I know I am not alone.

Just as our stories are heartbreaking and traumatic, they are also laced in resilience and joy. There is a deep belonging to Place that fuels an inner fire no colonial power can kill, and no god can enslave. Yet, the scars are deep and seeping, and our Mother is in danger. We must find our place in the Sun, and rise above for the future generations. Thank you Grandma Aggie for the reminders, and the Stories.

The Road to Oceti Sakowin Camp: Stories From the Lines

His voice is heavy with the weight of struggle, yet stands tall with determination and will. His name is Christopher Francisco, a proud Navajo Diné brother who was one of the last to feel the effects of the Indian boarding school system and its manifesto of ‘kill the Indian, save the man’. Christopher is a strong and solid soul who cares very deeply for the Earth and his People and has been very active in defending their Sovereignty.

DCIM100GOPROGOPR0216.JPG We have become fast friends and I have learned a great deal from his wisdom. We have started working together on story gathering projects here at Oceti Sakowin Camp during this time of struggle against the North Dakota Access Pipeline.

Listen to his Story.

 

Celilo Falls, Standing Rock and The Dream.

I dreamt of Standing Rock last night, except it was Celilo Falls. Thousands had gathered to protest and block the U.S. Army corps of Engineers from flooding our Sacred falls.

Home Guard on the Columbia, by Benjamin A Gifford (1899) (photo- courtesy The Valley Library, Oregon State University)

Home Guard on the Columbia, by Benjamin A Gifford (1899) (photo- courtesy The Valley Library, Oregon State University)

I awoke from the dream in great lament and sadness. I am feeling pulled by the Salmon People to stop this monster of a snake and lend my body to help protect our Mother! And take a journey to gather the stories of the People who are taking a Stand to stop the North Dakota Access Pipeline (#NODAPL) at Standing Rock. I wish to document and gather stories of the Elders, the Children, and any and all who feel this draw to make a stand to flip the current paradigm of our Sacred Mother. I want to document what it means to be indigenous to a place, and to put your life and prayers into protecting it.

I am planning on leaving Monday, October 31st, 2016, from Olympia, Washington with just enough money (I have been dealing with serious health issues the last 5 months and have been out of work), but have many prayers that we (there is two of us) will be provided for.

We Are Water! photographer unknown

We Are Water!
photographer unknown

So I am humbling asking folks to donate to our Standing Rock fund (also linked below) to help us pay for the journey east to North Dakota. We will be traveling in a large utility van and wish to bring supplies (you can find the supply list here) to the Water Protectors as they hunker down for the Winter and the long fight ahead. So please, if you can not donate financially, help out by donating supplies for us to bring over! If you wish to send supplies with us, please contact us!

Many Blessings and All Our Relations!