I see what governments do and what they have done over the years. They would like us to blame one specific race or colour for the destruction and torture that has been plagueing this planet. In the last 120 years or more they have done an amazing job at cultivating and growing a guilt on the people of European decent for all that has happened on this planet.
We can see from various resources coming to us now, that the idea that the White Man came to North America to colonize and destroy the Indigenous Peoples of this land, is a flat out lie. Through discoveries, we are seeing that as far back as the 12th Century, Europeans were travelling to, trading with and living beside the Indigenous of these lands.
To think that this was not happening before Columbus is foolish at best.
I completely understand that history is created by the victors. Unfortunately for the defeated, the truth of what was before they were conquered is clouded in lies and half-truths.
Being a 3rd generation Canadian-born of mixed European decent and growing up among pure bred Europeans, I have seen my fair share of racism and cultural superiority floating around. Nothing compares to the bang up job of separation that our governments, schools and history books have perpetuated among us all as peoples of this planet.
Where's The Poetry?
I look for inspiration to guide me in so many ways. I see the agenda to separate us further from each other. I see the agenda to shame us for the natural state our Spirits embody.
I hear so often the accusations of 'white privilege' and have to wonder if no one remembers the Irish rowing the massive ships to Africa to pick up the slaves that the African leaders were selling to Crown and Church.
I'm not trying to minimize the torture, damage and genocide that came to the lands of North America. I am however trying to show how it's not just North America that has suffered this fate.
So where exactly is the poetry in this?
There is a beautiful Sami Folk Singer and Musician, Mari Boine, that I have been listening to in the last few months. Her music came my way around the time of Winter Solstice and although I cannot find this particular song, the words are what show us the truth that happened in Europe that mirrors the way it was perpetrated here in North America.
oppskrift for herrefolk (recipe for a master race)
by Mari Boine
draw boundaries on the map
and call it The State
be King Minister
Protector and Father
send bailiffs and businessmen
priests and soldiers
to the people who own
the land you take
use bible and booze
break promises and agreements
be a diplomat
use articles of law
against ancient rights
let no one question your authority
that’s how you suppress a minority
let language and culture
take their place in the museum
as research object
and tourist attraction
give lively speeches
on each festive occasion
let it disintegrate and die
that which was a nation
let no one question your authority
that’s how you suppress a minority.
by Cari Lee
Tell me which pound of flesh is more worthy of tears.
Tell me which eye-color gains the most favor.
Tell me how the skins of one are more valued than another.
Tell me again how my bones are different than yours.
Tell me how our blood is something to be weighed for value.
Tell me again how bombs are ok for certain bodies because they are not of the same stock as others.
Tell me how I should be ashamed of my ancestors.
Tell me how I am the problem.
Tell me how we have lost our way never to find it again while others know better.
Make sure you beat it into my heart and make it my truth so I am living in a pool of guilt and remorse.
I'm crying the same tears, bleeding the same blood from whatever wound is made. I am mourning the same ways of my ancestors as they scream through my veins.
We are the same...they put up walls, we tear them down. That is our job.
One of us is not less than all of us, all of us is not more than one. We are all equal in or differences.
No division...division is our demise.
My tears cannot stop or won't, I need to cleanse this pain away to be strong enough to stand tall and proclaim that I will not stand in this guilt trap you have painted for me.
We all matter as much as the other.
My flesh is like yours.
My eyes see what you see.
My skin is as valued as any.
My bones are as strong or brittle as the ones across this globe.
My blood cannot be weighed or measured for a value other than life and creation.
My body is of strong stalk, like all are.
I am one with my ancestors in love.
I am not the problem, I am the solution, as are we all.
I have not lost my way, I have found my path and none know for me better than I.
We....it's really about WE.
In my frustration I write and I cry out for understanding. For me, I don't understand how others don't understand. I feel the truth in my flesh, in my blood, in my bones. My questions are rhetorical. I do not understand.
by Cari Lee
When will we stop crying out in separation?
When will a time be when we realize there is only unity in our pains and progresses?
When will you see our blood in their blood in our blood? Your blood.
When will we stop feeling the victim betrayed far greater than any?
When will we see all suffering is suffering?
Does the wind not carry the cries of our breaths?
Do the waters not cleanse our skin?
Does the earth not nurture us equally in kind?
Do we not all warm by the fires burned bright?
When will man and woman stand at sides in strength?
When will the child be safe betwixt them in protection?
When will the two-spirited again be revered and not mocked on display?
When will we once again see the wild as our home, as our safety and nature?
Remind me again why we do not know?
Remind me where it went wrong?
Show me where our ancestors warned us that the disconnect would come.
Remind me of the moment we were to usher the old back into existence.
Take me back to the point of the plan and let me ride naked into the forest before all is lost, and the city falls.
It is the simplest, most intricate events in this life that cultivate slowly to make the greatest things happen. These small weavings through time are a treasures we often overlook. Walk each moment in a way that leaves you whole and not wanting. Not always the way it goes but surely the way most rewarding, most memorable and most pleasing when hindsight sits at your feet, beckoning you to understand the lesson.
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Your medicine is in the woods.
Your pharmacy is in your kitchen.