Feathers belong to birds. Any human, anywhere, who uses them in any way is using a gift that we appropriate, to which we assign human meanings. What do the birds have to say about it? Lately, on social media, I’ve seen Indigenous thinkers and activists moving to take down a spate of New Age practitioners…
Month: November 2017
Surf Rider (for JW)
A little poem inspired by another Twitter pal’s call for us all to work toward a better world, together. I’ve never met you, Jesse, but I believe we share a love for this world of wonders. I see it, too, sometimes, flashing a fin in the murky waves of this present time; battling the undertow…
On Aboriginal Veterans’ Day
Today is Aboriginal Veterans’ Day in Canada. I suppose this is a necessary part of the process of Truth and Reconciliation for our nation, but I find it an ambivalent undertaking. It’s necessary, because so many Aboriginal men, and women, served in Canada’s Armed Forces despite their civilian status placing them in a position of…
For the Master, One Year Gone Onward
on any given day, divinity comes floating down the wind, or through still air reminding dirty seekers in our reek and tattered sensibilities that yes, it is still there. yes, it is still there. Thanks for the songs, Mr. Cohen.
In Honour Of Lifelong Learning, on this Day of the Dead/Dia de los Muertos
With love to Margaret, and all my many beautiful teachers. You are the Gift. Today, I am an adult. I read, long ago, that Cherokee people count 52 as the age of majority, when one attains to the full rights/responsibilities of adulthood. It resonated with me, the notion that, by 52, one’s had kids (if…
Prairiepomes 