Shé:kon sewakwé:kon, greetings all. We’ve had a lot of sun the past several days. For me, that means much more time outdoors. A few hikes with new and old friends; hands in the soil, digging and planting; sitting with the water, the trees. Time in nature also translates to increased reflection and contemplation for me.
I’ve been thinking a lot about words on pages – these articles and my poetry.
I'm fascinated by the bond created between me and you, the reader. It continues as long as you decide to carry and consider the message I offer or experience the feelings my piece(s) emote for you – even when the feelings are negative.
When I publish a piece, I no longer have control over how the words hit. My intentions and predictions become moot. Yet, I have to try and consider all the possible ways I might impact you. I must try my best to preemptively care for you while authentically honouring the story I share.
If there is no reciprocity, the relationship is imbalanced. The reader will not care for me and what I want to share if I do not make these efforts. That’s reasonable…and challenging.
When I'm gone from this realm, I will leave many words on many pages. What I felt and what I channelled while writing the words will live on after these hands have forever stopped typing.
All that feels as equally magical as it is dutiful. I see much of life this way.
As we approach National Indigenous History Month, I have a couple of suggestions for ways to support the way to reconciliation. First for me will always be, reconcile with the land. Nurture your connection to our Mother Earth. She will offer so much insight about how to care for all you are in relationship with.
Next, support Indigenous artists, creators, and entrepreneurs. There are incredible things happening across Turtle Island, from fashion to film to treaty talks to culture sharing. No matter your interests, there is an area to find connection.
Go beyond the term history, look to what is happening now. The resilience, the strength, the love that has been passed down through the generations is a deeper, more expansive force than the trauma. That is why our cultures and languages survived.
There are countless stories that are being told and that will be told. There are stories being lived now that can be witnessed. Explore and seek them out.
Last week I attended a screening for the new television series Little Bird. I knew of the coming of this series long before last week. It is a story I was privileged to be introduced to through the work I was doing with one of its creators (and a friend), Jennifer Podemski. I got a peak behind the curtain during the developmental stages of the script. I can tell you firsthand that this story was well-loved as it was tenderly being given life.
It is a difficult telling of true events. It’s raw. It’s important.
I was cared for in the space where I was being exposed to this story. The availability of support on set was planned and prioritized for cast and crew. The way it would impact all Indigenous people who are and will be touched by this story was thoughtfully weighed. And then the broader audience was considered.
As a creator of works, I am grateful for what I learned from other Indigenous storytellers who understand and promote a holistic approach to sharing their creations. I want that to be reflected in what I do too.
I will perpetually look for areas for growth within myself. I hope the teachings of Ka’nikonhri:io, The Good Mind, will continue to guide me.
Skén:nen, peace.
Jillian Morris is Kanien’kehá:ka, turtle clan and band member of Six Nations of the Grand River Territory now living in Collingwood, and serving as the town's poet laureate. 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.
