Raymond and Jenny,
I was reluctant to share this painfully disturbing account with you. But you will hear about it anyway. I suppose we can at least join in prayer for the countless families who were devastated by these abominable crimes. At least their stories have been recorded, are being heard and will never be forgotten.
With warmest regards, Jim M
Canada ‘complicit in race-based genocide’ of indigenous women
A Meditation for our Sisterhood in Canada
A Love Song from the heart to call them all Home
An old African proverb states that until the Lion has historians of its own, the history of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.
In no way is my intention to deduct from the abominable enormity of these crimes perpetrated against our daughters in Canada. Rather, I would humbly offer that my story be seen as a companion, a lullaby for this tragedy and those still yet to be unveiled by the unceasing revelation of time. A love song from the heart to call them all home.
If the truth be told, this horrifying Canadian (Hunter) example is but one microscopic glimpse into the indigenous (Lion) communities harrowing worldwide experience.
In my own situation, in Aotearoa, New Zealand, while still in-situ, our ancient priestesses had instilled into our very marrow, by care, caress, and a multiplicity of sound, that Papatuanuku, Mother Earth, was our original parent, so consequently, to Her and Her alone, we paid homage. Metaphorically, saplings, that’s all we ever were in the great unfolding mystery. Potential forests of trees that would grow in time to make our own humble, yet spectacular contribution toward feeding and nourishing the greater good, of every thing imaginable. We in turn, would be replenished anew under our nation of Waitaha’s sacred covenant of reciprocity.
In the entire cosmic mystery under Mother Earth’s protective petticoat alone, could humanity begat the physical experience we have always taken for granted.
Our sisterhood’s wretched dishonoring in Canada is simply the Lions continuing generational trauma of having been so savagely torn from the embrace of our 1st Mother Papatuanuku.
Made homeless in their worldview understanding of home. Suffocating in the loss of relationship to Elders and Ancestors in the shape of Mountain, Tree, Riverway and Gust of Wind, loss of language, knowledge. Wisdoms. Cast out of Eden…to use another appropriated term. Loss of the umbilical tether that allowed space and time to coalesce.
As well, it has shown us how sophistication many-a-time unmasked as insidiousness, has cloaked the predatory inclinations of a degenerate Hunter.
Colonization and a strict diet of religious doctrine forced upon the Lion, from a religious, military and secular Hunter Triad was the triple headed trident for the illegal appropriation and subjugation of all the ancient, sacred motherlands and the rainbow colored Pride of Lions who had been gifted their original stewardship.
In an orderly, balanced society, individuals don’t stand out, however, what is exemplified is the sum contribution of family, of community, to making that society efficient and prosperous, never rich, or wealthy – but content. Looking out at a world, made in the image of Hunter, how many rich and wealthy people, families, communities, societies, nations are really content today and if not, what is the underlying basis for their angst, anger and despair?
Maybe there are just too many different lenses and measuring sticks by which we judge each other’s motives and actions. A kaleidoscopic range of questions there may be, but in return, a singular unity of response – separation and fear.
Lion’s homelands of stewardship, which totaled 3/4 of the Mother Earths habitable surface at the time, were also considered to be savage, defined from Hunters fiefdom perception as barren and uneconomical. The term one uses in today’s cute, apologetic language of conservancy for the sparse pockets of savage remnant that remain, is Wild Nature.
How sad. That surviving remnant is not what it used to look like or even be. In Its pristine virginity there were multitudes of natural, Nature loving attendants, four legged, two legged and winged among a host of others, who cared for her, a cacophony of euphony reverberating throughout.
Nature has no merit in measuring the definition of wild. She just doesn’t have the luxury to emote or forgive a miscalculation or tinkering with her timeless, precision-built circuitry. There’s just too much at stake. Nature has never been wild or savage. She sings a Mother’s song. A lullaby.
But let’s be abundantly clear, Nature is the original solo mom with a mission. Continually ignoring her cautionary warnings and for the good of house and home, she’ll discipline with spit raging firestorms and a molten iron fist! Wild, savage, loving – take your pick!
Today’s homelands for our present day pride of girls and boys have become Hunter’s world wide financial goldmine. Industrial Prison Complex’s and the exploding Mental Wealth Facilities, (not a spelling mistake for they certainly don’t represent Health or Wellness to my Teachers.)
Our children have become the new hydroponic forests, minus the nourishment of the nutrient solutions, beneficial for their craving growth. Our cubs are merely looked upon as income-generating Artificiality embedded in steel nurseries. One just has to look at the age group incarcerated over the last 100 years to see the truth of our lost Lion potential, and the future generational and genealogical lineages being decimated and made dysfunctional, seedlings only, for the next generation of institutionalized propagation. A systemic, coordinated program one might suspect of Hunter to cull the herd of a specific group. Apocalypse reversed.
A tree, a woman, a man, a child, how sad it would be – least one of you might never experience a moment so quiet – alone, except for the grace of being kissed on the brow by the rain or swept away in the halls of your imaginings by the wind.
In the wisdoms of the Lion teachings, to the highly sensitive ear of the aggrieved, or disturbed, the healing methodologies of Nature’s breezes, in psychological terms, become emboldening affirmations for healing when they wend and blend themselves through the natural chorus of groves, orchards and forests. When the DNA in one borne to dance is stilled inside a world of unremitting steel, those hereditary lines could be pictured as being nailed to a cross. Both visible and undisclosed traumatic injury allows hopelessness an opportunity to bleed life’s precious gift away, child, after child, after child.
Welcome to the Steel World of Hunter, where nothing is forgiven or forgotten and rigidness prevails, the appropriation even of Nature’s healing whimsical winds, deafened by more violence into the silence of submission.
Over time, from observation and self-preservation, the Lion’s communities begin mirroring the lie where there is only one accepted view. The dominant Hunter’s one, and in an endeavor to survive, the Lion mimics the behavior as well. No matter how fastidiously it dresses up and learns the new language, everyone can still tell he, or she’s a Lion. The mane, the tail and an unyielding call to roam, roar and partake in the occasional meal of fresh red meat are dead giveaways to his nemesis.
However, a one-man game of solitaire that has been artfully adapted for two but the rules of the game still remain as for one, the victor will always be he who shuffles the deck, deals the cards, sets the odds. Where one participant is addicted to empire and expansion as an unalienable right, the other, though possessing an inherent appreciation of her place in her own space, has not one iota of understanding to what these flimsy, plasticky things she holds in her hands represent.
The mighty Lion succumbs and will forevermore be romanticized as being another one of those unexplainable intangibles of the savage past, a Wild Nature.
Similar to the sturdy, bristlecone pine tree, just standing there for thousands of years in the same old spot, apparently wasting precious time. Accomplishing nothing it seems, except – not die. Those unexplainable, lush green fields found in the most arid of deserts, starting to wither. Or those once-upon-a-time majestic, feathery, white clad Tibetan mountaintops – now, alarmingly warmed, naked and bald. Wild Nature.
And of course our Lion Cubs, they who will never be forgotten,
Held aloft at the same magnitude of consequence as the ancient bristlecone, the miraculous oasis of life and the peak of mountain range. Those caged up boys that belong with pride to all our kind, and all our ravaged, innocent daughters, tossed-away-like-used-up-no-longer-loved-raggedy-dolls-to-the-roadside.
How dare He!
Hunter just couldn’t help himself. He just had to have the sanctity of light and the dignity of life sucked from every last one of them.
Well, for the time being at least…
The belief from our Waitaha teachings, is that the sooner we grow into, or are forced through some as of yet unknown circumstance, or perhaps even cosmic emergency into acknowledging that our singular culture is called Humanity, the Children of the Blue Dolphin, Mother Earth and that our artificial labels of nationality are just that – a sham, a mere tool for separation and fear.
If we could only appreciate that our diversity is but an added bonus to compliment our unique standing in this sacred cosmic Hoop. We are alone in the entirety of it all, as Lion’s ancient wisdoms and Hunters scientific enquiry have both attested to.
Come a time, consciously realized if we so desire, our human species will have the heart, the mindset and status to be our own Saviours. Both Hunter and Lion, as a united host, will then hold equal opportunity to decide whether to grasp the golden opportunity or cast it all away into the soiled winds of a disparaged dream simply because we still couldn’t believe in our own goodness to be worthy of it all.
What audaciousness to infer, that for one precious moment, cocooned on the womb’s edge of eternity, we might rather choose extinction then enlightenment.
Te Hei Mauri Ora, We Breath and have Life.
To all who may spend a moment in reflection, a candle burns on our simple altar for our daughters in Canada and all our children in need of love wherever they may be.
Jenny and Raymond TeKorako Ruka, from the family of Waitaha, a Nation of Peace.