Shé:kon sewakwé:kon, greetings all.
We have just come through the first week of spring. I’m excited not just for the warmer days coming but for the inspiration that blooms during this time. I can feel my creativity getting a boost from the anticipation alone.
When my kids were growing up, I had these two beautiful excuses to continue feeding the child within. There were hikes and outdoor play that encouraged exploration, learning, and imagination. The stories we would come up with together made these times even more magical.
I recall searching for the perfect staves – or walking sticks - as we began our hikes. As a family, we would discuss the quest we were about to embark on. Readying ourselves for the obstacles and enemies that would pop up along our journey. A hollowed-out tree, a hiding place for sprites – spies of the enemy; a moss-covered rock that came to life as the wise turtle that would guide our next steps; prints in the softened clay soil that told us we were not alone.
We were ready to wield our magic – fireballs, energy blasts, lightning strikes – to protect ourselves from our relentless hunters. We weren’t afraid to run if the numbers became too big to defend off. We’d find cover and wait out the search.
We would kill four hours in our fantasy world without a second thought. Our imaginations stretched and exercised. Lingering whimsies about what was “to be continued”.
These two adventurers are now 23 and 18 years old, both artists.
Life hit really hard a few times in ensuing years. As a family, we faced serious circumstances related to abuse, depression, and suicide. Threads of a family tapestry that reached back generations. There was a fragility that seemed to take up residence in our lives and for a time it felt permanent.
I wondered what it meant for the growing minds and spirits of my children to be exposed to these traumatic losses, premature deaths. My own grief was a confusing mix of feelings, questions, and wonder. What must be going on in their bodies?
We learned and are still learning how to carry the tragic parts of our stories.
Under the weight of that grief and a search for healing is where I reconnected to my culture. A return to the stories and teachings was the way back to optimism and a hopeful future. I spent one-on-one time with Elders, I participated in ceremony, I learned songs, and shared in many circles.
I became a better wife, mother, daughter, and friend. I was kinder, more patient, and judged less.
What was most unexpected was that my culture brought me back to the playful and make-believe. The creative child was reborn and given permission to imagine again.
We think we know so much as people, the supposed apex beings of this physical world. But our traditional stories, while enlightening us in so many ways, also remind us of the incredible limits of our knowing.
I’m grateful for the ignorance, for the mystery. Inspiration and creativity dwell in the gaps. I am a better artist for it. My artistic offspring are better for it.
Welcome to the return of spring and the mystical nature of rebirth and new life.
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. She shares 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.
