Feathers and smoke.
Drums and voices like loons
Beating of mother earths heart.
Left
Dance left like the rising sun.

I breathe in the smoke.
I am sitting directly in front of a wooden bowl where the smell originates from.
Drums
Something steady to focus on

I wish I could accurately describe this calm I feel
In settings like these
The drums are like thunder.
Sweetgrass and sage like a blanket working me from the inside out.
The smoke knows no limits as it enters me and heals every part it touches.

I am at home here.

We are a troubled people forced to smaller areas because of stolen land.
We come from overrun liquor stores and broken relationships
Our languages are depleting as our children leave for the city.
Respect is lost as our children flee from home.

We are grieving our many lost life givers.
Lost and not given proper justice.
Thousands
Upon thousands
Of lost life stories

As much as this smoke calms me it does not calm my racing mind.
It is too busy to get proper words out.
Although my body feels calm.

We are a nation like smoke off sweetgrass.
Long ago we were a full braid and we kept the land, not owned it.
We were burning.
But now our flame has been taken away as the land has been claimed and I fear this generation is the last plume of smoke.

This is a beautiful celebration
We are joined together by many drums and connect hands in the sage filled air
It does not matter if you are a male or a female. If you are both or neither
If you love one, both, more, or neither.
We joined hands.
And we danced.

Our spirits heal.
And that's what I am trying to do.
I am allowing this music to move me and heal my soul.
I need this.
I am going back to my roots.

Askîy
Earth.

I have one thing to say to the creator today
I am not firm in my beliefs
I have yet to decide
But to the creator, I must say

Hai hai.

Thank you