Stars

Joy in the Journey* is one of the themes of Advent, which is a central part of the Catholic religion, to which my mom was faithful. For me, that thought always takes me back to a dark country road, under a green and white blanket, under the stars. It was a muddy night, and our…

On the New Age: Ode to an Alien Nation

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…

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.

Hallows: At the Thinning of the Veil

Read this while listening to Sting’s “Love is the 7th Wave” from 1985’s Dream of the Blue Turtles, which runs in my head as I write. (Megwetch, Mr. Sumner, for that&many more songs). at the edge of darkest season as the bright and ripe subside in rolling sober robes, november high above the city thermals…

Lydia the Psychic

Episode 1: Bound and Kneeling I met Lydia twenty seven years ago, and i’ve kept her secrets since then. I’m telling you now, because I know she’s not coming back here. She told me that herself. Where she’s gone? Not telling that either. You don’t get to know, like you don’t get to know her…

Transit of Alexandra

Fuckin they’re on Native Time. I ain’t scared Ma, I’m mad. Fuckin chicken shit! I’m shaking cause I’m mad, Ma, that’s how mad I am! Two sets of footsteps, one a halfbeat behind. She catches up to Ma as they pass me, raging about white cunts on stolen land they’s just borrowing this place we…

Little Autumnal Verse (for RM)

Just for fun, here’s a verse that came to me this morning, inspired by a Twitter pal’s lament over the sadness of rain in October. It reminded me of my dad, passing on the Anishinabe view that Winter is simply when our Mother rests. This resonates with views I’ve learned from various Earth-based spiritual systems,…

Equinox 2017: Seasons Change

Hello again. It’s been a while. This spring, my mother passed away. My father passed when I was nineteen, just setting out in the world. Mom was 51 then, as I am now: 51, a woman who’d given up bank work to raise a family with her husband working in the Armed Forces as a…

For My Mother

April 17: Nocturne: Tiny Now She is tiny now, my mother and jokes in the morning, when her teeth aren’t in, how she whistles like a little bird. And i want to reach back to the nights when she brought the piglets in laid them in the woodstove oven so tiny, but she believed in…