Migwech Ancestors

Posted on December 1, 2013 by South Wind

Since snow and ice arrived, already many accidents are occurring. People are being careless and not giving the snow, ice and cold winds the respect due them. The ice does not make promises of health and safety to anyone. Even the super-cautious among us can experience injury from falling on black ice. So please take extra care!

Had a visit to my camp last week with a couple of guys to do some work. We manually carried in materials, enough to get the men with me started on a project. Once I put them to work, I walked the kilometre back to the van with a toboggan I had hidden at my cabin, to retrieve the rest of the supplies we needed to complete the work at hand. The snow-covered trail was rough, trees were strewn across it, fallen by the great strength of a storm which passed through about 10 days ago. Pulling the toboggan, loaded heavy with tools was not easy. A trip which usually takes 12-15 minutes took a brutal 45 minutes and I needed to sit for a while after getting back to the shack.

As bad as it was, the toboggan made my work so much easier. Back home much later I got to thinking about the inventions of the First Peoples. The structure and design of equipment and tools they dreamed up were truly deeply rooted into their sacred beliefs and of course their natural ingenuity when it came to working with things from the forest to improve their lives. The canoe, snowshoes, wampum beads and the toboggan are just a few of the things our people brought forth hundreds if not thousands of years ago that even the greatest minds of today’s modern technology cannot improve upon. Let us stand with humility before our ancestors who are responsible for these things.

A human being who steers clear of technology (as much as possible) and who cannot be seduced by money does not think like most other people. This is a human being whose mind is in constant communication with the spirit living in his/her heart. Such a person understands what prayer is. The land works with such a person. Our Anishinabe ancestors, the ones who invented snowshoes and the like, were such human beings.

I leave you with this winter wish:

Long ago, an ancestor would sit near a small fire where the “cold moons” of Winter had instructed ice to begin to form at the lake’s edge. Ice appearing on the lake directed the ancestor to acknowledge the moon, the water and the changes taking place on the land which had potential to bring suffering and hardship to family, friends and community. The ancestor would pray, with pipe or drum and the spirit of “Winter Season” and Kichi Manido would hear the prayer. With humility, the ancestor would request that the harsh winds of the season would be few. And that “fire” would warm the skill of the storyteller. The ancestor’s words, heard through the smoke of the pipe or the beats of the drum, were that “Winter Season” would be kind and bring peace and joy into the lodge of the good people.

It is with this in mind that I make my request that you, my friends, and all your loved ones, have a safe, healthy and accident free “Winter Season”.

With blessings,
Albert Dumont, South Wind.

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Tobacco Good, Cigarettes Bad

Posted on November 24, 2013 by South Wind

I hear volunteers are being sought to settle on Mars before 2020. “A one-way trip,” they say. Are you interested? I think I’ll pass! Bungee jumping? I’ll pass on that too! A cigarette? No thanks!!!

I was a big smoker at one time. Started out with Export A in my teen years, then switched to Player’s Filter in my early twenties. Puffed on at least 32 of the poison sticks each and every day of the week. What did I get out of it? Nothing good, I’ll tell you that. I remember when I vowed to kiss John Player and his disgusting weed goodbye once and for all.

An elderly lady I respected greatly had passed away from an illness brought on from smoking. Her body was found sitting in her favorite armchair, a cigarette, yet to be lit, rested between her fore and middle fingers, her right hand held a ‘Bic’ lighter. On the table near the body a freshly opened large pack of cigarettes, full minus one, sat atop a glass ashtray. I heard the news and went to pay my respects. At the funeral home one of her relatives asked me if I wanted the cigarettes found near the old girl’s corpse. I took the cigarettes and standing beside the coffin I requested that she (the deceased) help me to quit smoking. “I know you wanted to quit yourself,” I said, “but could not do it. From the world where you are now you can help me find the strength to give up cigarettes.” The cigarettes in the package the dead lady unwrapped in the few seconds before her death were the last cigarettes I ever smoked. The lady who could not find the motivation to stop smoking herself, obliged me my request. The spirit world is a powerful place. Never, ever, doubt it!

Leaving the land where the bones of my beloved relatives, deceased many moons ago, are returning to dust makes no sense to me. To leave Turtle Island and go to Mars, even if Mars offered more opportunities for me and my loved ones, would not diminish the nonsense I see in going there. To tie an elastic cord around my ankle and then jump off a high cliff is a big thing of foolishness to me, too. But even more crazy for me is the thought of putting the end of a paper wrapped, smoldering, chemical filled, tobacco stick into my mouth and willingly drawing poisons into my lungs. Man, the crap in the cigarettes can possibly bring about a torturous death for the people who smoke them. How could I do that and still claim to be sane? Cigarettes are not cool, they’re nonsense!

I smoked for many, many years. If I got a buzz from a cigarette it must have been pretty minute, ‘cause I have no memory of any joy or feelings of Shangri-La I received from them. I do remember coughing like hell in the morning and getting winded almost to the point of falling over after running a hundred feet. Smoking is a nasty addiction. I recall after smoking, bringing my hand up to my face to scratch my nose and smelling my nicotine covered fingers. Stinko!!!! I imagined taking a long drawn-out sniff of my lungs after a day of smoking. The stink would no doubt have made me woozy. To my friends who smoke I ask: Have you ever taken even 10 minutes out of your life to ponder the catastrophic damage smoking can do to your health?

I quit smoking about 15 years ago. The 3 weeks after my last cigarette were not good. But it wasn’t so bad after that and I was good to go in short order. Today, I wonder how it came to be that I was so foolish as to ever begin smoking in the first place.

I talked with a friend the other day who said, “In this world everything begins with money.” Maybe it does today, but there was a time in the past where everything began with tobacco. Tobacco was not associated with death in those days. It was connected to the good life. It was offered onto the forest floor for the pipes of our long dead ancestors. It was given into the rapids of the Great River as a gift so our journey on the river of life would be a good one. When we wanted assurance that a promise or commitment would be kept, we brought tobacco into the circle. Fire could only be made sacred when tobacco was placed into it. Somewhere along history’s pathway, abuse of tobacco became rampant. Too bad, too bad indeed!

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Tribute to an Elder

Posted on November 16, 2013 by South Wind

A beautiful human being, old and wise, whose spirit grew ever stronger with each of her 92 winters of life, has passed away. Beverley Robinson – Morin – Von Baeyer was a one-of-a-kind human dynamic. I was privileged to know her and honoured to be allowed to share memories I had of her with her loved ones at her Celebration of Life service on November 11, 2013 at McGarry Memorial Chapel in Wakefield, Quebec.

I didn’t know Beverley very long but man, did she ever leave a big impression on me! I first met her 8 years ago at the Wakefield Library when I was there to read from my book of poetry “With the Wind and Men of Dust”. Poetry was one of her great loves and Beverley, curious to know what a First Nations poet was all about, sat in to hear me. As a result, we became fast friends. My wish now, is to do justice to her memory by telling you, my readers, about her.

Beverley went against the grain. For all who knew her, nothing more need to be said. She loved justice, real justice and condemned those who tarnished it with spin and outright lies. “Oppression” was the ugliest of words to her. The understanding and compassion she had for the underdog was the size of the sky. She knew that the pulse of the nation was loudest in the homes and dwellings of our grassroots community. The most precious thing about Beverley though was that she treated everyone with utmost respect. Many things were sacred to her and when someone intentionally disturbed any of her sacred beliefs in any way, then and only then did they lose Beverley’s respect. Hardline to be sure but her rigid stance was tempered by the softness of her big heart and she forgave at the first expression of real remorse.

Beverley loved the land. She had the ability to see the spirit of nature, to feel its energy and glory and was aware of all its healing powers. She would press the palms of her hands against the bark of a tree and make a request of the spirit within, to help her with something of bother to her physical or emotional self. “It always works,” she told me.

Beverley had an amazing way of bringing joy, hope, wonder and healing into peoples’ lives through the “reading” of their palms. Her readings were always uplifting to the person whose palm rested on hers. In the lines of their hands she saw the gifts they were blessed with at birth, but were laying dormant because of neglect and she encouraged these good souls to finally do something about it. She was a builder of dreams.

Beverley’s ancestors, after leaving Britain to settle in the “New” World of the Americas, pulled up stakes and headed north as British Loyalists after the American Revolution. Her people loved Canada dearly and brought with them to this great country an undying respect for First Nations Peoples. Beverley accepted wholeheartedly, that the First Peoples were true stewards of the land. And that the forests and rivers would surely die if the prayers, rituals and ceremonies of the First Peoples ever disappeared.

The wind where Beverley and her beloved husband Hans are now, does not caress their skin in the same way as it did here. It touches them like a veil whose fibres emit the songs and fragrances they loved so much while living on the earth. Beverley no longer needs to press her hands to the bark of the trees in the spirit land to retrieve medicine. She only extends her hands to them now in the way people would whose wish it was to hold the hand of an old friend who had stood in support of them through a crisis of life. I believe (as did Beverley) that she will be rewarded for her many good deeds and acts of compassion in this world by occasionally travelling here to visit her family and friends still living in the physical realm. Her spirit will nestle itself into the heart of a fox or other animal or bird and she will look upon the faces of her loved ones and see them with a clarity never experienced before. A blessing beyond compare. Beverley promised to visit me as a hawk. I fully expect her to do so!

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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What Spiritual Beliefs Mean to Me

Posted on November 10, 2013 by South Wind

Spirituality? Salvation, yes! And it has a great deal to do with our ability to walk on waters which would blur our vision to what is truly sacred if ever we sunk into them.

Without my spiritual beliefs I would have most certainly ended up in prisons. I was caught in a death grip by a severe addiction to alcohol. Escape from it didn’t seem possible. I was in a rage and I was dangerous. But it all changed for me when I discovered the ancient spiritual beliefs of my Anishinabe ancestors.

I had the ability to see, hear, smell and taste like most other human beings as I stumbled without purpose through life. Today I no longer take the blessings my eyes, ears, nose and mouth allow into my life, for granted. My spirituality directs me to heap praise on all goodness God gives, so I can experience the four seasons of life with health and vigour by my side.

My spirituality points to the land as a place to go, to retrieve wisdom and hope. A lake surface freezes over in the winter months. A thick ceiling of ice, snow and crust block out light from where the fish live. A time of darkness befalls the perch but he does not despair. He is aware that in time, sunlight will once again enter his world. And when it does, he rejoices and is thankful. With this I am taught to stay strong, knowing that healing will eventually occur for me no matter what amount of pain might press into my heart today.

The birth of a human being is a miraculous occurrence. And because it is women who provide the womb and water in which the heart of a human being begins to drum, women hold a special place of honour in our spirituality. Long before other peoples came here, women of the Anishinabeg nations were entrusted to be keepers of the waters. It was they whose prayers, rituals and ceremonies were believed would keep the lake, river and stream free of poisons. Women were honoured as leaders and were feasted as gatherers of the many medicines the land generously provided to the Peoples so all would enjoy good health.

The duty of the men is to gather, and make ever ready for future generations, the kindling that keeps the fire of “life’s purpose” burning brightly.

The children are wise teachers and a constant reminder to us as to why we must keep the land healthy. My spiritual beliefs direct me to honour the children and to stand with humility before the old people of my community who dedicate the last years of their lives towards the health and wellbeing of our future generations.

After life has left my heart and the memories I held dear have been placed into the care of my children, I will awake to a world anew. My ancestors will greet me with honour songs and a great feast will take place. And forevermore, I will be surrounded by love and peace.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Question? Period!

Posted on November 5, 2013 by South Wind

The Reform Party, guised as the ‘New’ Conservative Party, held their convention in Calgary this past weekend. The delegates cheered, danced and humbled themselves before their king, just returned from the battlefield known as the ‘House of Commons’. The delegates sang in praise of their illustrious leader. And it warmed their little hearts to see that the rumour they’d heard of their king being wounded by the swords of opposition forces were not true. ‘Wounds?’ They saw none. “Our King is invincible. He cannot be slain,” they shouted as they voted to pass ultra-right wing conservative policies. Poor, poor Reformers, they don’t get it, do they! The rest of us do not view the world through their tainted lenses. We see what’s real. We know when the freedom and democracy our young people fought and died for in two World Wars is being mocked. We won’t stand for anything less than ethical, responsible leadership. Leadership that protects the human rights of all and stands against those who would needlessly destroy the little of what’s left of our once pristine homelands.

A week ago today, I was invited to sit in the galleries in the House of Commons to bear witness to the debates taking place below. “Lucky me!” I thought! Turned out I wasn’t so lucky, just disappointed. If the House of Commons is there for debate, none occurred on the day I was present. Question Period? Better to call it “Question? Period!” I can tell you that though many questions were asked, none were answered. Harper came across like the village idiot. Those folks who lived long ago, whose dream it was to have a place where duly elected leaders could debate issues important to the health and wellbeing of Canada’s citizens would have done somersaults in their graves had they borne witness to what I observed last Tuesday. What a farce! A pathetic contempt for Parliament if ever there was one, brought to us by Prime Minister Stephen Harper and the Government of Canada.

How can anyone respect a system like that? How can anyone respect a prime minister who tells ‘his’ followers, “I couldn’t care less,” referring to what Canadians who do not embrace his doctrines think. “I’ll do what’s right.” Right? Yeah, the far right! Sorry, Mr. Prime Minister, but us simple grassroots folks don’t want anything to do with the far right.

Let’s make a promise now! Let us promise to vote in 2015. Can you imagine another six more years of Harper and a government with an ultra-conservative agenda? I don’t even want to go there.

“I couldn’t care less” – his words will surely sound the prime minister’s political death knell.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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An Agenda of Hate – Michael Coren

Posted on October 27, 2013 by South Wind

Hate monger Michael Coren dished out another hate promoting column for the Ottawa Sun newspaper on Friday October 25. I am sure Ol’ Lucifer is real proud of Ezra Levant’s little lapdog for doing so. Coren, being a Christian convert, believes in the existence of the devil. This doesn’t deter him in the least, however, from writing hate-promoting trash. He extends his greedy little hand after putting the boots, through an editorial, to the First Nations Peoples, “Gimme my cheque,” he says to Ezra. The dollars are his alone for now, but after Coren’s hard, cold heart stops ticking, Satan will collect his due. Beware Coren, you won’t wiggle free before God when your life is reviewed. Cash means everything to people like Coren. Jesus had better not get between Coren and his ilk and their money lest he wants to experience another crucification.

In his latest tirade about the Elsipogtog Anti-fracking protest, ‘Let’s end the politically correct fantasy’, Coren states, “I am so sick and tired of First Nations activists’ self-pity, the saccharine sentimentality, and their sheer inability to be grateful for the great country Canada is.”

Man, in my 63 years of life I have never, and I mean, ever, met a First Nations person, activist or not, who wallowed in “self-pity” because of the many injustices heaped on him/her by Canada. That we do is a myth created by mean-spirited Canadians who see First Nations, children included, as vermin who interfere with the economic progress of this country.

Ezra Levant wrote a couple of months ago that “Indians” could learn something from the Jewish people who have struggled and been persecuted against and still have found success through their determination to get ahead. The thing is this though: Jews were first elected to political office in Upper Canada in 1837, whereas the First Nations were only given the “right” to vote in 1960. Things would be a lot different for First Nations today, if we had been part of the decision-making body in the Parliaments of this country since 1837.

I want Michael Coren to know that I am sick and tired of something, too. I become sick to the point of almost vomiting, when people like Coren tell me, a First Nations citizen, that I should be grateful to Canada. Grateful for what? Do you expect First Nations Peoples to be “grateful” that thousands upon thousands of Aboriginal children died of abuse and neglect in those horrible places called “Residential Schools”? All manner of abuses took place there. Perverts and mean-spirited people were kept on staff to prey on defenceless children, living far from their families and loved ones. Broken treaties and the theft of our lands and resources, we can get over those things, but the deaths and cruel abuses of our children? I will not get over it, not in a million years. Does Coren as a Christian, believe that Christ blessed the abuses which occurred at the Residential Schools? Is he not ashamed as a Christian? And be motivated by what Christians did to children and contribute how he can in the way of reconciliation. The type of people who nailed Christ to the cross were of the same type who allowed children, sick from disease, to die alone and afraid in their sick beds at Residential Schools. Let there be no mistake about it.

People like Michael Coren forget that the First Nations People have been abused and oppressed in Canada for over 150 years. Our recovery will not occur overnight. It will be a slow process. It may take a few generations before we are healthy again and living as God wished us to. But we need friends and allies to help us. If only those people who really understand the teachings of Jesus would come forward and denounce the frauds among them like Michael Coren. If they did, it would be a sign that the bible truly is capable of saving souls.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Fracking – Against God

Posted on October 23, 2013 by South Wind

I recall speaking to a man in midlife who had criss-crossed North America many times over the course of his life. On the shoulder of a highway, he would extend his right hand, fingertips pressing onto his palm, the thumb pointing down the road asking, “Going my way?” This wanderer and I chanced to meet at the edge of an old forest, from which the trees and birds could be heard singing in harmony. I asked him what it was that had motivated his travels. “I am in search of solitude,” he answered. He went on to say that he had yet to find it, at least not in its purest sense. If only he had stepped into the nearby forest, he would have found what he was looking for. The voice of his spirit would have immediately lent to the choir singing with vigour in the forest. And the wanderer would have discovered spiritual peace at long last.

In one form or another, people who love the land cry when they are told news of environmental disasters caused by the outright negligence of buffoons unqualified for the task placed before them or because a corporation cut corners to enlarge their already inflated profits. We cry because we feel the pain of the birds, animals, insects, fish, waters and all else of nature whose health has been forever destroyed or laid in a critical state because of what was done to them.

I wonder where we will find enough tears when we cry for and with the land enduring the fracking process. We can hardly bear to even imagine the pain fracking brings to our relations on the land.

Shale rock is more than stone. It is the place where Mother Earth stores her memories. It is a sacred place where lives the oldest of the old, the wisest of the wise, and where the most gentle and loving of all grandmothers and grandfathers wait to assist us in our circles of life. It is a place which has known the touch of the oceans and seas, the bubbles of life of fish and the songs of creatures great and small who travelled over them. It is a place where the caresses of the south winds and the healing rays of the sun have melted into them since the creation of the earth. It is a place where a line is spiritually drawn. A line that tells greedy corporations, “Do not tread here.”

I do not believe that it was First Nations protestors who brought guns or bombs to the protest site in Elsipogtog. I believe that the person who set the police vehicles ablaze was either an infiltrator or a police officer acting on the orders of his superiors. Remember Ipperwash? The police reported to the press after Dudley George was slain that the Aboriginal protester had opened fire on them first. It was all proven to be a bunch of lies.

I stand for peace and for the lighting of our pipes to protect the pure waters and pristine landscapes of our indigenous territories. Even when those who stand against us break our bones, we will mend and return to make our stand as stewards of the land. We can and will defend ourselves if we are forced to do so.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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Raging? Not Me!

Posted on October 21, 2013 by South Wind

It shook me up a bit on the weekend to hear a woman I hardly know tell a group of people, “the North is where our friend Albert would stand because he is raging and angry.” I’m quite certain that the lady who spoke the words did not have malicious intent when she did so. She had sized me up as someone, perhaps just a bit out of control, and relayed her view of me to the people in an attempt to bring clarity to the message of an exercise she had initiated involving the four directions.

Let me be crystal clear on this. I am not “raging” about anything. Rage is an emotion I shed from my life along with the dark days of imbalance and addictions which were crushing me spiritually, over 25 years ago. When I think of what creates rage I imagine the top of a person’s head being lifted up and trowels, filled with anger and frustration being packed into the exposed brain of an individual ill-equipped to deal with the invasion because of being emotionally crippled by the actions of an unjust society. Rage would consume every thought the person had, effecting them even to the depth of their bowels. I do get angry. Anger is healthy, I keep it under control.

Part of what I said previous to the assessment (“raging”) made of me, was this: “If the people who came to our continent (Turtle Island) from afar really had our best interest at heart when they rounded up our children, and by force placed them into Residential Schools, they would have been better advised to grant us the right to vote in 1850 instead of waiting until 1960 to do so.” My identity as a member of an Anishinabeg nation does not weaken when I vote to oust politicians whose beliefs are such that if they maintained power, it would be at the detriment to the health of my children. To vote yea or nay to the laws of a government does not mean you have agreed to take your place in the whitewashed corridors of a foreign society. You have lost nothing of your rights as an Aboriginal person when you exercise your right to vote.

Something else I said to the group is the following: “I renounced my Christian beliefs when I was twelve years of age. By then, I had been under the relentless attack of a cruel teacher for two years. The teacher was a Christian held in high regard by others of the Christian faith. I was left deeply scarred, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. The teacher told me that my ancestors were in hell. I did not believe this to be true. If Christians were people who condoned vicious attacks on the most vulnerable human beings (children) around them, it signalled to me that I could not have anything to do with such a religion.” I did let the group know that even though I renounced Christianity, I still believed in God.

I felt back then, and the feeling is around me yet, that the breath of the Great Spirit engulfs me as it does all other life placed here on Mother Earth. Let us all be honourable and humble before the greatness of the land and we will do well as human beings. Respect for one another will finally come to pass.

Spiritually, I know when an action of the government will bring destruction to the life of a forest. Spiritually, I am directed to physically act to stop what it is that would kill all of our relations on the land. For me, my duty to protect the land begins with anger. 

A current example: Members of the Elsipogtog First Nation are resisting fracking on their land (in New Brunswick). When I read the description of what “fracking” is, I cringe physically, mentally, emotionally, and especially spiritually. It’s painful to imagine what this process does to the land. My blood pressure rises, my temples begin to throb. I get angry! Spiritually I am overcome with the desire to protect the land, with prayers or with actions.

Do not confuse the feelings of becoming annoyed or frustrated as something similar with the emotion of anger. There is a huge difference. I know when I’m angry, I know when I’m annoyed or frustrated. I’m an activist and it comes with the territory. Yes, I do get angry. But raging? No, I’m in control. I don’t even like being in the same room where rage is occurring.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

UPDATE: Good news for the Elsipogtog First Nation! On 21 October, a request by SWN Resources Canada to extend a court injunction that prevents some forms of protest near its staging area and and storage facility in Rexton, N.B., has been denied by a judge.

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The Wonders of my Ancestral Land

Posted on October 12, 2013 by South Wind

Travelled by Greyhound to Toronto early on Wednesday morning. It was a beautiful day and the ride was leisurely. My reason for going to the “Big Smoke” was to speak about my poetry book Broad Winged Hawk at York University where a group of students will be promoting sales for it. Met some nice people at York U and got re-acquainted with some old friends, writers I have great respect for. All went well in T.O.

What I write about below are the thoughts and feelings I experienced after the coach I was riding on began the Highway 7 phase of the trip back home.

It’s 3:20 p.m. Thursday and I find myself again on a Greyhound. This one taking me back to dear ol’ Ottawa. As the coach climbs and descends hills, negotiates curves, and overtakes or follows slower traffic on the highway, I pass my time staring out of the tinted windows of the bus onto the majestic beauty of my ancestral homeland. Along the roadside I see shallow ponds, surrounded by large round, moss laden boulders. There are many wetlands, all of them pre-historic looking and full of wonder, and occasionally a lake of striking character appears, with beaver cabins and abandoned osprey nests on her shores. Special too, are the natural forest clearings lined by giant pines whose old limbs stretch further into the east than they do in all other directions, reminding all that the refreshment of a new dawn will give birth to tools and medicines empowered to completely conquer the traumas experienced today, however great they are. I see on the rolling hills white birch trees interspersed among the cedars and pines and poplars. Being a bird hunter from way back, I am aware the rooster partridge is there drumming or dancing to impress the partridge hens. My mouth waters just at the thought of the rich flavours of partridge soup making contact with my taste buds.

Riding the Greyhound with me are about forty other passengers. They are of varying races and cultures. But regardless of where they came from on this planet, and regardless of the amount of time they have lived here, none of them are having the thoughts about the scenery the bus is leaving in its wake that are like mine. When I look at the land, I see something greater than its beauty. I see a place of medicine and healing. I see a sanctuary filled with wisdom and teachings. I see a place of mystery, life and wonder. My heart drums in harmony with the song of the land. My spirit rattles and calls to the spirits of the forest, a cry of blessings for all things living there.

Where I sit on the coach, I see seven people in close proximity of my seat, busy tapping their thumbs into the face of a square shaped gismo. Some are plugged in. The bus moves forward, a large hawk in a field climbs the sky. But the eyes of the people are cast downward. Their thumbs don’t miss a beat. As the hawk is nimble with his wings, likewise are these young folks with their fingers. The “bold new world” promised to the young people is taking hold and is at the same time, robbing them of their natural connection to the land. What a terrible shame.

And so, on this Thanksgiving weekend, we offer a prayer of acknowledgement and honour for all those things alive on the land, which, if they did not exist, then neither would we. We ask You, Creator, to bless the land with health and vigour. We ask for pureness in the winds we breathe and in our waterways which provide sustenance for our bodies. We are thankful, too, for the health and wellness of our children, grandchildren and all of our relatives and all of our relations. We ask that our feasting will be enjoyed by all who take part of it. We ask these things of You, Creator, with great humility in our hearts. Migwech.

Do not pity me
Do not shed precious tears
But let your voice rise above a whisper
And tell the citizens
That the song of life which is theirs
Was a song I could never learn

I longed to hear my own song
Where was it
Where was the council fire

I wandered and searched
But never found my purpose
Where was the feast
Where was the honour
The drumbeat had disappeared
Even the wind did not exist

O city fathers and mothers
Gather from the sidewalks my experiences
Tell your sons and daughters
That these are memories
Of a street dweller
Who was taken away by eagles
To soar at last among the stars

(excerpt from “Do Not Pity Me”, Broad Winged Hawk)

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

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The Sweet Traits Of Our Teenage Girls

Posted on October 2, 2013 by South Wind

The Sweet Traits Of Our Teenage Girls
dedicated to Maisy and Shannon (who disappeared in 2008)

A pearl, a girl
A wind that whirls

Talk of love, of a dove
Of God up above

Teddy bears, country fairs
Doing things on a dare

Giggles and wiggles
And twinkles in the eye

A sigh, a good cry

A song about “What’s wrong!”
A circle in which to belong

A friend to the end
A shield that never bends

A plan for a clan
A wife and her man

Wonder about blunders
And things that cast a soul asunder

Pow wow dancing, models prancing
Handsome boys glancing

Enter the evil
Our greatest fear
Our girls disappear

Damn those evil men for their lust
They have broken humanity’s trust
And left
Our lives broken
Our spirits shattered
Our hearts hollow

The sweet traits of teenage girls – I know them so very well! I am blessed to be the father of daughters and the grandfather of granddaughters. No sons or grandsons to be seen in this neck of the woods. Many times it seems, I have watched girls emerge from the whirlwind of teen years and land on that minuscule circle of bubbling earth on which only strong and confident women take their first steps as leaders. Our women are regaining their power. I am happy for them and joyful, too, for our communities will benefit greatly because it is so.

My daughters and granddaughters are superbly intact with health and vigor. They are destined to leave their mark, their unique imprint on the soul of the land. The realization of their dreams. I know they will do it.

But I worry about my girls. My hope for them is as great as the hope all parents and grandparents have for the women and girls in their families, that being, they will live long, healthy, happy lives. What causes worry for me is the fact that a great number of our Aboriginal women and girls are murdered or disappear each year in this country, now known as Canada. We want our womenfolk to be safe.

4 Oct 2012 Families of Sisters in Spirit Vigil. Photo: ©juliecomber.com

There is only so much we can do to protect them but it is a lot if we do it right. It begins with showing girls respect right from the time they emerge from the womb. And then we back up that respect with unconditional love each and every day of their lives.

If my teenage girls were to suddenly disappear from my life, a shroud, heavy with the stones of despair would fall over my shoulders. It would cling to me as bark does to a tree. Even the most spectacular dawn could not pull it free. My heart would feel, each hour of every day, as if the nails of sorrow were piercing it over and over again. A right lost to me if my girls vanished would be my right to hold them in my arms, to reassure them and to grant them counsels empowered to heal through the strength of my own life’s experiences.

If evil men stole my girls away from the sanctuary I helped to construct for them, my soul would thereafter suffer a crucification each of my waking hours. My sleep time would be only a time of calling out their names and of the shedding of my tears.

But because you are there, my family, my friends, my community, the healing circle, I would somehow find the strength to carry on.

Keep the Circle Strong,
Albert “South Wind” Dumont.

Please note: October 4th is the 3rd Annual Families of Sisters in Spirit Vigil 2013. It starts at 6pm at the Human Rights Monument on Elgin at Lisgar. If you are in Ottawa, please attend to show that Aboriginal women and girls are loved and valued.

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