Jillian Morris is Kanien’kehá:ka, turtle clan and band member of Six Nations of the Grand River Territory now living in Collingwood. She will be sharing stories and experience passed down through the oral traditions of Kanien’kehá:ka culture in her regular column, entitled Ka’nikonhrí:io, (The Good Mind) published on CollingwoodToday.ca.
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Shé:kon sewakwé:kon, greetings to you all. We are well into the fall now – saying goodbye to the gorgeous colours of the season. The fallen leaves will enrich the soil as they break down, offer habitat to insects, promote new life after the coming winter. A story of life cycles.
Storytelling, as many know, is a vital part of the Indigenous experience. I have spoken of the significance in stories carrying forward knowledge, teachings, and ways of doing that are necessary to the survival of our cultures. Encoded within are understandings of the land, interconnection, governance, laws, relationships. It is a profound practice to retell the stories told by countless generations before.
Recently, what I have realized is that these traditional stories have also had influence on my creativity. Relationships in nature – which many of our stories represent – inspire the relationships I build in my writing. Allowing the imagination to be fed by the beautiful yet complex ways in which species interact and respond to one another. Seeing the reciprocity among them. Acknowledging all the life around me as teacher.
There are many ways that reclaiming my culture has benefitted me – it grounds me, provides a sense of belonging and purpose. I didn’t realize how it would expand on my ability to dream, to create, and to explore gifts I wasn’t aware I had.
In recent years I returned to writing poetry, I started this column, I have tried my hand at acting in community theatre – and one day I’ll finish that post-cataclysm fantasy novel I started during the pandemic. I have found that performance art, storytelling and activism co-exist quite well in the same space. A practical attempt to bring awareness to Indigenous ways of knowing and being can be brought to an audience through imaginative, poetic, and artful means. Because telling stories through creative mediums can transcend our differences – all cultures are built on stories.
A quote often attributed to dictator Joseph Stalin states, “the death of one man is a tragedy, the death of millions is a statistic.” I may not fully agree with this statement, but I understand the sentiment. A collective story can have less depth than the personal, intimate story of the individual loss.
I hadn’t found this truer than during a recent experience I had. I met a couple of older individuals in the community who I told of my heritage. The discussion quickly moved into conversing about Canada’s horrendous history. “Did you have family that went to residential schools?” I responded in affirmation. Then the two went on to discuss among themselves how difficult it was for them to learn about the hidden truths and “I can’t fathom having my children taken away ... It must have been terrible what ‘they’ went through”.
Oblivious to the impact they were having on me, I said “Yes, I don’t have to imagine, that was my ancestors, and the impacts live on.”
“Oh yes, I know” and they continued, clearly missing my point.
Had they been aware of my lived experience, I am certain the discussion would have gone differently. I wouldn’t simply be one among many of a collective story. None of us really are. Every story has meaning and matters to the other stories it converges with.
I take this as reinforcement to keep writing, to continue sharing, and to let my creativity guide. Ignorance doesn’t deter me it gives me resolve. I am still here – we are still here. There are many more stories to tell.
Skén:nen, peace.
