Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa: Naatowoksisskomm

20 August 2008

Naatowoksisskomm

lllll ) lllllllllllllllll Naatowoksisskomm…

Almost a complete moon cycle passes since my last journal entry. I’m stuck indoors, ki there seems little worth writing about. All of it just a blur of preparatory work for the upcoming academic semester. The heat has been brutal. But matonni, just before the winds blew a cool storm system in from saatoohtsi, I noticed that omiksi mai’stoiksi were starting to flock together… there were, as they say, “murders” of them on my way to the office. Was it a signal for the impending storm, or an indicator of a change in seasons? One thing is clear, my count of ki’sommiksi for niipo is off. At the transition from sstoyii, matsiyikkapisaiki’somm ki aapistsisskitsaato’s were one ki the same. Where I thought matsiyikkapisaiki’somm was going to be, as the last ki’somm of sstoyii, I am tentatively thinking it was saommitsiki’somm, because of how deceptive it was, for both myself ki the aapsspinniiksi who lost so many eggs to the flash blizzards. Annohk, I thought the present ki’somm would be pakkii’pistsi otsitai’tssp, but it’s really not. Actually, this could be okonokistsi otsitsi’tssp, because although they started to ripen in the last moon cycle, most really came into readiness at the beginning of the present cycle. The pakkii’pistsi are not there yet… but they’re on the way. So, nitaanistaitsihtaa that annohk we are in okonokistsi otsitsi’tssp, ki I don’t really know how the last cycle should be referenced. I need to do some research.

Since my last journal entry, I have only two exciting experiences to report. One occurred while practicing naatowopii, immersed in aohkii as usual. I was focusing my awareness on Cygnus, or the Northern Cross – a constellation that is not presently recognized in niitsitapisskska’takssin, but which I believe may be related to omiksi ksikkomaahkaayiiksi who carried Pawaksskii across mo’toyaohkii. I had called to those naatoyiika’kato’siiksi, as well as others (sspommitapiiksi, ksaahkommitapiiksi, soyiitapiiksi), inviting them all to my session, announcing that I was in pursuit of istawa’pii ki kamota’pii, ki that afterward I would try to draw a representation of whatever they showed me. At that point, I began to feel that there were pitsiiksiinaiksi coiling around my ankles – a rattler on my right ki a garter on my left. My legs were immersed in the searing-hot aohkii, ki omiksi pitsiiksiinaiksi indicated that I had a choice to make, to receive something from one or the other. It seemed to me that the more agitated each of the pitsiiksiinaiksi grew, being under the steaming aohkii, the hotter each of my ankles became. I figured my selection would be made when one of the two gave up, running out of breath or becoming too hot… I would ask for a gift from whichever one remained. But after an extensive wait, neither of them quit. Both were able to bear it. I noticed, however, that my right ankle was hotter than my left. So I decided to select the cooler pitsiiksiinaa, the garter. It then told me that one of its protections was that it could hide underwater for long periods of time, waiting out any dangers above. It told me that I could make an anklet of its skin to wear on my left leg for that protection of avoiding trouble until whatever is pursuing me gives up. It also gave me a song. I got out of the aohkii right away ki recorded that song so I wouldn’t lose it. Then I went back into the aohkii ki again tried to concentrate my attention on omiksi ka’kato’siiksi. At that point, some imagery emerged from the darkness of my closed eyes… a ka’kato’si, radiating light in four directions, embedded in a matrix of what looked like a hexagonally-woven electric field. I saw this imagery briefly, ki then a sudden burst of energy - stylized, blue lightning in shapes reminiscent of those on our paintings of ksiistsikommiipi’ssi shooting from all directions toward ma ka’kato’si. These simultaneous flashes of lightning resounded in noistomi. It felt like I’d just been shot in the head with a massive bolt of electricity, accompanied by a sonic boom.. This was enough for me. I got back out of the aohkii, ki determined to respond by drawing these final visuals.

The other somewhat exciting experience that occurred since my last entry was a trip that ki’naksaapo’p ki niisto took to naatowoksisskomm, where we did a presentation on the challenges of trans-science communications between western ki indigenous systems. Our talk was well received, but hasn’t as yet produced any immediate invitations to attend other sessions, nor serious expressions o

f interest in trying to realize improved communications. We’ll have to see what ripple effects come down the road. However, the presentation itself was not at all the highlight of our trip. Rather, on the journey there, we drove through omiistsi miistakiistsi from the south, ki along this route encountered ma naatayo… the first I’ve ever seen outside of captivity. Ki’naksaapo’p pulled over on the side of the road, ki I was able to get close enough to take a few photographs before it fled to the woods. I followed it into the trees, missing a few great shots of it leaping silently through some small clearings, but then lost it completely. From there, we went to the Banff Centre, dropped our luggage off in our rooms, ki ate dinner. Then we went further west to Paint Potts ki gathered two pails full of a’saan. This was the first time ki’naksaapo’p had been to gather a’saan, ki he was quite overwhelmed with the site, ki the way the ochre welled-up from inside the earth, forming springs ki cauldrons. We determined to bring our students back there in the future, reintroducing this practice to our community. When we got home, after the presentation, each of us set to work cooking the pail we’d collected. Mine took almost eight hours to bake through, producing about four bread-pans full of maohki’saan.

Obsessing On Purpose

Like most living beings - human or otherwise - I have cultivated a number of behavioural routines and aesthetic predilections that bring structure, or perhaps a sense of security, to my everyday life. In some instances, these quirks and habits border on the embarrassingly obsessive-compulsive. For instance, at nookoowa, I routinely make sure that anything situated on tables or counters be set in an alignment parallel to the edges. Sometimes, nipiitaam or nitana will offset things purposely, just to watch me run around straightening them. On the other hand though, I prefer our tables and countertops to be absolutely empty except when in use, and all items that might otherwise be placed upon them to be neatly stowed away in closets, trunks, and cupboards. I also try to make sure that any like-type objects that happen to be stored on a shelf - such as books, video games, compact discs, statuettes, picture frames, what have you - are neatly aligned and arranged in some pleasing order. My bed must always be made, unless someone’s in it, and nothing beyond sheets, blankets, or pillows belongs on it. It bothers me when clothing is tossed on the floor, or draped anywhere other than on hangers in our closets. Furniture, in the form of couches, cushioned chairs, dining sets, etc. strike me as clutter, limiting the spaces that one would otherwise have available to conduct creative activities. I prefer to sit on the floor, with just a pillow or folded blanket for support. I don’t like any lighting except that which comes from naato’si, nor prolonged periods of electronic noise. The different foods on my plate cannot touch, unless we’re eating Mexican, in which case it must all be mixed together into a bean, cheese, and rice paste. And I don’t think sinks are places to keep dirty dishes, or sponges, or globs of fallen toothpaste… although they are for cleaning such things immediately. The list could go on, all these partialities that are so rarely realized to my satisfaction. The truth of the matter is, in the long run, most of my aesthetic habits bring me more irritation than comfort. Yet I continue to uphold them all the same.

One of my greatest obsessive-compulsive behaviours, a massive sink-hole of energy, and that which applies more than any other to the present project, is an overwhelming desire to document periods of transition in my life. I’ve been journaling since I was about twelve years old, using this practice as a surrogate companion of sorts, with whom to discuss the occasionally strange (and often mundane) changes I’m constantly attempting to make in my life, in whatever direction I happen to be exploring at the time. Over nearly three decades, I’ve experimented with a wide variety of media, from classic stationary and blank books, to audio notes, photography, film, sketching. I’ve written in both first and third person, I’ve tried to approach the practice as story telling, as ethnography, as documentary, as art. But my trouble is this… for me, the final product of my efforts is never good enough. I’m constantly shifting tactics and media. I’ve probably made some stationers fairly rich. In fact, any new idea at all can compel me to destroy prior work and start anew, because my sense is that a fresh journaling project is like an opportunity for the redefinition of self. It’s a personal renewal. A cleansing, a chance to make a vow and completely transform the narratives that guide one’s experiences. An old journal, on the other hand, one that no longer accurately reflects my sensibilities or interests in the present, is to me a blemish, an imperfection, a blatant reminder of the self I’ve already outgrown. Such past projects are like carelessly wrought sculptures, beyond repair. And so I must begin, again and again.

Now I know, some may say that for the artist it is the process that matters, not the product. And there are examples from around the world to demonstrate this claim. There are the Tibetan sculptures made from butter, which melt in the sun. The sacred sand-paintings of the Navajo, scooped-up and discarded at the close of their healing ceremonies. Origami cranes, floating down the rivers of Japan. There are all manner of ikitstakssiistsi to look toward as monuments to the significance of process over product. True. I don’t deny it. But these examples involve at least two aspects that my journals do not. First, they are almost always seen to some stage of human completion, each creative act having a very defined conclusion, the point at which they are left in sacrifice to the sacred beings, the ancestors, the future generations. Which brings up the second distinction they have from my journals – these creative acts are also highly spiritual, inaugurating, feeding, or renewing sacred relationships. And while my journaling practices have always nurtured, I’ve never really approached them as offerings to the forces that sustain my life. Rather, and perhaps sadly, I feel deep down that they have been little more than tools for fostering detachment, as if the immediate activities involved in my pursuits for growth and transformation are somehow not enough in themselves. And I’m aware that it is in large part my history of exposure to an immature and ego-centric global ethos that has conditioned me to such hollow practice.

There is another (and related) reason why I tend to discard imperfect or outdated journals, over-concern myself with the organization of items on my shelving systems, fret obsessively over household clutter, etc. It is because I have been enculturated in an aesthetics that defies nature by placing all like items together, and all unalike items apart. It’s a system partial to concrete categories, surface in its emphasis, allowing little room for metamorphoses, transfigurations, or interconnectivities. In fact, it is a way that fears these complexities and the potential loss of present form. A journal, by its very nature of recording a series of thoughts and life experiences, all of which are unalike except by means of their association to a single person in the midst of constant change, somehow simultaneously calls-to and troubles this aesthetics. As typically carried out, a journal is in essence just another means of imposing false order on the flow of life, both by objectifying experience and by organizing its representation into segments of a linear-time framework that is completely removed from the shifting cyclicality of the natural world. My fluent relationship with both kinds of awareness has, in a sense, rendered me bipolar. I strive for a certain level of systematicity, all the while knowing full well that such order reflects an impoverished approach to negotiating the human condition.

Perhaps what I’ve needed all along is a healthy recognition of both the limitations and potential functionalities of record-keeping practices, particularly in the traditions of aokstakio’p and aisinaakio’p… this, followed by an alterative adoption of those beneficial techniques and media from the established global culture, inwardly, in a manner that augments rather than re-shapes niitsitapia’pii. I am lucky, in this sense, to be already engaged in a learning process through iiyaohkimiipaitapiiyssin, which I’m sure will offer many insights along the way. But all the same, I know that to achieve my vision, to revitalize forms of niitsitapi record-keeping through my journaling practice, I will have to work much more closely with those constant resources I can trust - niitsi’powahsin, akaitapiitsinikssiistsi, ki nipaapao’kaanistsi. I will also need to develop a habit of respecting the advice of my own deeper intuition, and begin responding regularly to the voices of the sspommitapiiksi, ksaahkomitapiiksi, and soyiitapiiksi of kitawahsinnoon. My hope is that in blogging the present journal, Akayo’kaki A’pawaawahkaa, I can explore and perhaps realize this interest. And if nothing else, if the urge to renew strikes again, all I have to do is hit DELETE.

Akayo'kaki A'pawaawahkaa

20 August 2008

Naatowoksisskomm

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