Ai'tamaaksikkohpi'wa Naapioyis

llll ) llllllllllllllllll Ai'tamaaksikkohpi'wa Naapioyis…

I just returned home from meetings aapatohsoohtsi when nitohtsipaapao’kaa a request for niisto ki ki’naksaapo’p to travel saatoohtsi, to aid a family living high above a glacier-fed niitahtaa. It is an aakii who asks us to journey there, following a winding, wooded route we are assumed to already know. As we meander through the miistakiistsi, I observe our vehicle from above, as if I'm gliding somewhere in the skies. When I find myself in noistomi again, we have arrived at a house precariously nested into the steep slopes of a canyon. We enter, accompanied by a host that I cannot remember clearly. Ki as I look out bay windows, omi naapioyis begins to roll laterally, detaching ki finding renewed anchor on the cliffside. Again ki again it turns, tearing one corner loose from the rock, pivoting, ki crashing back to land, threatening to spill eventually into the clear ribbon of aohkii streaming far below. Somehow, I feel that this is as much nookoowa as it is that of the family we’ve been called to visit. Annimayi iksista’pii.

Nitsipookaki feeling scattered, confused. The events of nipaapao’kaan seemed at once familiar ki distant, purposeful yet random. Perhaps, I thought, it was speaking to the inattentiveness of my daily life of late. After the profound clarities experienced during aapistsisskitsaato’s, the light of the present ki’somm seems far more dim, broken by cloud-cover, beaming to the surface of nottaka only in disparate patches....

A few sleeps earlier, nitsitaapatoohpinnaan omi omahkoyis, where we had planned a meeting with asinaikoaiksi to explore a dialog on shared ki contested aitapisskoistsi. In the morning hours, we visited mi’kkakato’si at the Royal Albert Museum. It had once resided on a hilltop adjacent to that of the Viking ribstone. When the evangelical movement reached kitawahsinnoon, it was Reverend McDougal who thought he might take advantage of our relationship to mi’kkakato’si by stealing it into his church, ki thereby attracting potential converts. The ploy didn’t work. Soon mi’kkakato’si began to move around in the naapiikoan world, eventually landing at the Royal Albert, where it now greets visitors to the First Nations exhibit.

About a dozen of us assembled in the museum that morning, sitting in two rows of chairs set up in front of the meteorite. We asked a kippitaisinaakii to greet mi’kkakato’si on our behalf, ki then called upon the elders, one by one, to testify as to their knowledge of our shared relationship to it. Nitawa’tstoohp most of what was shared. I was too distracted by the unfortunate context. Iiksiiyiko, visiting aitapissko in a museum. Tourists milling about. Announcements blaring over the intercom, “Come visit our newest exhibit. Find out if you’ve got what it takes to be a dragonologist.” How can one expect to dialog in this kind of context? Museums, classrooms, interpretive centres… to me, none of these even approximate a learning environment. All assume a passive audience to knowledge. It wasn’t until Vince Steinhaur picked up his drum, kneeled beside mi’kkakato’si, ki sang one of its songs, that I finally felt as though we had connected. Afterward, Vince would tell me, at the beginning of his song the meteorite was pleading with him, “Get me out of here. Take me home.” But in the second half of the song, its message changed. Aaniiwa, “Don’t worry about me. I’m a rock. I will remain a rock long after this building ki this strange way of life are gone.” Nitomai’tsihp what Vince heard mi ikskanaotonni was so important. Iiksskonata’pii, the gift that mi’kkakato’si extended to us. Patience.

When we left the museum, it was to drive a short distance west of the city, to a place now called Lac Ste. Anne. Omahkaatoyiikimi. There, we assembled at a place that shared qualities with mi’kkakato’si, both in that there is said to be a twin meteorite beneath the waters there, ki in that the site itself was also co-opted by the oblates in an attempt to lure niitsitapi converts into their church. Annohk ksiistsikoyi, every summer, it is host to a massive gathering of the devout, who travel there on pilgrimage to enter the aohkii for purification ki healing. Our group walked down to the lake’s edge ki sat together to share stories of the place. As a non-Christian savage, it was my first time there. I sat quietly, listening. Just off-shore, a massive school of minnows rolled like a cloud. I’d never seen anything like it, ki wondered if this was not the camouflaged body of a soyiitapi coming to greet us. Above, passing closely on occasion, flew paahtsiiksistsikomm, her paint just like that of the curious ayinnimaa nitsipapainoaa. Was it exactly the same? Although developed around nearly the entire perimeter, I could imagine the lake’s appearance in the past. Quiet, wooded, its shallow waters often clear ki still. Each time I looked directly into it, the aohkii seemed to rise, beaconing. Others must have felt this too, because when it was decided that we should depart nearly all of us removed our shoes ki socks, hiked-up our pant-legs, ki walked out into the lake. It was strangely warm, ki so shallow that I was able to go quite a distance from shore ki still not immerse above my knees. Each of us carried pisstaahkaan, ki used this as an offering, extending aatsimoyihkaan to omahkaatoyiikimi, soyiitapiiksi, ki all akaitapii who had travelled there in the past, ki whose shadows return still today.

That night in my hotel room, nitaatowopii. An interesting, sprocket-designed crop circle had emerged in a field near Barbury Castle, in England. Ordinarily, I have no use for contemplating such things. The crop circle phenomenon has nothing to do with kippaitapiiyssinnoon, ki the messages – if that is what they are – do not come from kitawahsinnoon. They are not meant for me. Yet this particular circle was interesting, ki one of the groups that I discuss spiritual practices with was asked to consider it. The sprocket design, emanating sunwise from a central circle, was clearly coded to reflect the mathematical sequence of Pi, carried out to ten digits. We’ve seen formations ki images that apply similar sprocketed configurations, but never has it been so clear that information in these circles may be coded. Early speculation suggested that the Barbury circle might offer a key for reading other designs. My curiosity was teased.

I began the session by extending an awarness of noistomi outward onto its reflection in nottaka, ki then morphing the latter into the form of mai’stoo. Ki annimayi I flew, singing, aamitoohts… crossing miistakiistsi, ami’tsssokimi, then over land ki out to the islands of Britain, looking for a circle near a castle. When I eventually found it, I landed in its center, shuffling my feathers briefly, then cocking an ear to listen for its voice. My immediate sense was that, no matter the physical mechanics of its emergence, the design had been inspired by something that was very deeply a part of that place. I tried to connect with its spirit… nothing… nothing. Then suddenly a barrage of clarity. Intrinsic to the design are at least three widely-recognized features – the circle itself, the mathematics of Pi, ki a coiled serpent. All three index a quality we refer to as the infinite or immeasurable. It is the relationship between surface meaning ki the depths of what lies inside. The message at Barbury was indeed a key for a greater reading of other phenomena, but not in the sense of an abstract language, a set of symbols that human beings have created to represent the measurable. Rather, what this design intended was to bring us toward an appreciation for that which cannot be coded, that which must be engaged as a living being, in all its complexity.

This realization, for me, was enough. Despite the sensation that there was more to hear, I was ready to return home. Still in the form of mai’stoo, I spread my wings ki tried to lift. But I couldn’t move. Not vertically anyway. I didn’t feel as though there was anything wrong with my body. There was something else disabling me. I started to get concerned. Why couldn’t I leave? This had never been part of my experiences before. The only thing I could think to do was to move around in whatever manner I still could, to walk. I followed the lines, expecting the order of Pi to play out, hoping that when I’d reached the end I could gain lift ki return to noistomi. But as I walked - in the fashion of mai'stoo, hopping along - it seemed as though the sequence of the design had changed. Instead of ten sprocket jumps, there were only four. Ki from what I could discern of their distance, they might be read as 3.191. I had no idea whether this number was of any significance. At the moment, I couldn’t care. All I wanted to do was leave, ki finally I was able to do so, although my flight felt sluggish, heavy.

A few nights later, I shared this experience with one of the members of my naatowopii discussion group, a man who has been practicing for more than forty years. He too made efforts to visit Barbury, ki came away with a similar impression, that the design is meant to “imprint us with a sort of music, as a way of helping us get started on the non-language, or hyper-linguistic journey.”

The night after my session, nitsokso’kaa. Ki the next morning, nitattaamsskapoo, stopping on the way at Penhold where a rancher I know was slaughtering three iinii. Free of charge, he let me take their hides ki heads, which piipiiaakii ki sipioo intend to tan. So, with a rear hold full of bloody cargo, I drove home to sikoohkotoki.

I did not stay long at nookoowa before again heading aapatohsoohts. In fact, just a single night. My next destination was Siksika, where I was to meet with a planning committee from FNAHEC, to help design a distance curriculum that could be brokered to local universities, introducing naapiikoaiksi to the First Nations public they will undoubtedly encounter during their stay in kitawahsinnoon. Omi kanoohsin was scheduled for two days at soyopaawahko. Miiksi asinaikoaiksi who had been at omahkoyis were there, ki together we worked toward our common ends. Most of the significant planning was conducted on the first day, when we arrived at the consensual agreement that what we needed first ki foremost was a curriculum that would immerse naapiikoan learners in a niitsitapi cosmological world. We would focus on akaitapiitsinikssiistsi, each of our communities selecting four or five of our most fundamental stories to share in a journey that would link key socio-spiritual values to the environment ki major land features. In the long run, we hope, the students of this course will no longer be able to travel anywhere in our territory without at least partially identifying with the land as we do.

After the meeting, I drove to omahksaahkohtopii, accompanied by aahsi’takiyaakii. Although we’ve not identified it, aahsi’takiyaakii ki niisto are conscious of some shared purpose in our lives. Beyond the fact that we are both involved in First Nations adult education, ki so naturally encounter one another at various work-related functions, there seems to be a deeper familiarity between us, one that compelled us to make quick alliance when we first met, a few winters past. It is not in the manner of romance, by any means. We’re both happily married. It’s something else. There was an immediate recognition, perhaps residual from the parallel paths of nottakaannaaniksi. Or maybe it’s that we are meant to manifest some future turn of events that we cannot possibly portend at present. In either case, there’s something to our peculiar relationship, ki so whenever there’s opportunity, we make an effort to visit, curious as to when the meaning of this sensation will reveal itself. On this occasion, we drove to omahksaahkohtopii, walked its circle, hiked down into the coulees below in search of iinisskimm. We talked a lot… I relating a few akaitapiitsinikssiistsi ki some of my work with naatowopii, aahsi’takiyaakii telling of her remembrance of experiences prior to choosing her parents ki entering oistomi. We passed a few hours in this manner, but the mystery between us remained hidden.

Returning to sikoohkotoki ki nookoowa, I felt extremely road weary, ki sadly disconnected from the seasonal happenings unfolding around kainaissksaahkoyi. I decided to take a much needed walk in omi kaawahkoistsi of naapisisahtaa. It was hot outside. The onions were already going to seed, ki ma’siksi were not far behind. It looks like it will be a good season for okonokiistsi, ki all the other miiniistsi as well. Miiksi kitsisomahkokataiksi were enjoying themselves nibbling on the fresh greens. I had meant to find somewhere to sit ki engage with my surroundings for a bit. But instead, I just walked.

That evening, immersed once more in aohkii, steaming at an almost unbearable heat, I extended my attention to nottaka, ki again adopted the form of mai’stoo. I wanted to revisit the Barbury circle, to learn if there was anything more I could hear from it, ki to face the frightening experience of whatever had disallowed my departure from there during my earlier visit. As mai’stoo, I sang my way there, landing again in the central circle, pecking the ground four times, introducing myself, then standing quietly. There was, almost immediately, an exchange through visuals, cloudy to the memory afterward. It was an inquiry. Why was I there? I tried to create images, to convey something of my purpose… that I was training, that I was attempting to develop my practice such that I would be prepared to help others when inevitably called upon. Everything went quiet. The presence seemed to withdraw. I stood there, feeling foreign. Then a rush of clarity, again in images. Aohkii. Unhindered, it comes together in the form of a sphere, like a raindrop. At it’s surface, strongly bound, one molecule to the next. But within, fluid. The many millions of constituents comprising one drop, all indistinguishable. Their cycle, like our own, like the crop design, begins in such a body… then courses, streaming along, connecting with others indivisibly along a shifting path. Each that comes in contact with the next binds in the same manner, with surface strength ki inner fluidity. Moving on, then pooling, pooling, pooling. First into larger collectives, then smaller as the surface continually dissipates, evaporating into nothing. Re-gathering at the center. Something in this cycle speaks to my life, my relationships with others.

I fly away, singing the songs of mai'stoo. Unlike the prior visit, it is no trouble at all to lift ki sway with the wind. As I cross the ocean, ki soar above the Americas, I begin to sense my entanglements with those below. All of the places I have stayed. All of the people I’ve known. Boston. New York. I don’t want to go home yet. Instead, I make my way over miistakiistsi again, ki waft down the Columbia River Gorge, then into the Valley Willamma. There’s someone I need to see, my brother. I sing to find ookoowa in the densely populated hills of West Salem. I land on the wooden deck of his back yard, pecking four times on its surface, ki hopping up to look inside the sliding-glass door. I can see into the living room. My sister-in-law sits on their couch, with both children beside her. My brother lays on the floor, watching television, distant. She loves him, this man who cannot commit. She’s waiting for him to love her back, but her hopes ebb considerably. My brother moves ki I begin pecking at the window, cawing four times. He notices me there, ki I look up at him with one eye cocked. Concentrating, I attempt to speak into his thoughts, to tell him to quit being blind, that nothing else matters so much as his little family, that all he has striven for is surface, that he must try to appreciate what is inside, in the love of his wife, the trust of his children. I speak this, without words, admonishingly, then fly.

Down the Willamma, up the Columbia, to the headwaters here in kitawahsinnoon. I’m hurrying back to noistomi. But wait. Something is familiar. Below, in the high canyons of miistakiistsi, a house nested on the cliffside. It is the same from nipaapao’kaan. Still teetering. Still rolling horizontally across the rock surface. As I circle it in curiosity, it changes my song. This house has its own dangerous music, which I give voice to, stuck in a repetitive, nonsense pattern. It occurs to me that mi naapioyis has some correlation with the lives of my relatives downriver, that it is a reference to them. It speaks to their threatened persistence, precariously clinging to canyon walls, ready at any moment to tumble. I’ve not been able to help them. There is something here I don’t understand.

Misamsootaa

llll ) lll Misamsootaa…

Back in sync, so far as miksi ki’sommiksi go. As ma kipitaakii waned into invisibility, annimayi misamsootaa iitsito’too. Annohk we are in the midst of its classic weather, piipiiaakii ki niisto at home in refuge. But the longer it’s sustained, the more strongly I feel the call to get outside ki experience all that’s going on, all I’m missing. This is the season that tends always to throw me off track. So much unfolding at once, I can’t seem to keep up. The rain deters us from continuing our early harvests. Keeping mostly indoors, I occupy myself with nita’po’takssin, a prolonged X-Files marathon (all twenty-four episodes of season three), ki continued practice in naatowopii. It’s the latter, of course, that’s most interesting.

One evening, early in saommitsiki’somm, nitaipi’kssaapi. It was one of my earlier experimentations with attempting naatowopii while immersed in aohkii, ki nottaka travelled downstream to omi sspopiikimi. There, my awareness was drawn to a certain dense clump of bullberry bushes, in the floodplain behind the main ksisskstakioyis. Ki nitainihp a peculiar ikitstakssin. It was different than any I’d ever seen before, constructed in a manner similar to what’s commonly called a “big offering”… but shrunk down in size. Its body was of red willow, draped with the spotted kerchief I’d been using to cover my eyes at the time. It had braids of sipatsimo for hair. Ki instead of the seven large black-tipped feathers radiating from its head, there were six delicate ki’naksaapo’pistsi. Behind omi ikitstakssin, in the brush, I sensed another presence. Something watching nottaka, making itself known, yet remaining hidden, invisible. My initial suspicion was that perhaps it was pokaitapii, ki when I later conferred with mi’ksskimmiisoka’simm about the experience, that was his intuition as well. It probably had something to do with the planting of naawahko’tsisi. Niiksi pokaitapii were showing me what kind of offering they wanted. So I determined to build it.

The red willows were easy enough to gather. I already had the kerchief ki sipatsimo. What I needed were mistsi ki’naksaapo’pistsi. At that point, I just happened to bump into piitaikihtsipiimi, who thoughtfully asked if I needed anything for nitomopistaan. I told him that I was looking for six ki’naksaapo’pistsi to make the ikitstakssin I’d seen, ki by that very afternoon he brought me not only what I’d requested, but also a piitaominn to use as a fan. I brought all of these materials home, ki there they sat… through the remainder of saommitsiki’somm, through aapistsisskitsaato’si, ki annohk into misamsootaa. My naawahko’tsisi seeds had already been put in the ground, ki hadn’t been growing very successfully. I thought it was time to quit procrastinating, to make amends with the pokaitapii ki give them what they’d asked for.

It took all of an evening to construct nitsikitstakssin. The following ikskanaotonni, nitsipanaipookaki ki brought it to the bullberry bushes, just as I’d seen. It had rained overnight, ki was still darkly overcast. All at sspopiikimi was quiet. Deep inside the brush, surrounded by great polypore mushrooms, I found a clear spot where a deer had slept, below a large mamia’tsikimioyiiyis. It looked right. I planted the post end of nitsikitstakssin there, took a picture (because it looked so nice), then spoke to the pokaitapii ki relinquished it to them. As I walked away, into the poplar forest ki back toward the truck, my sense was that the whole place pulsed with energy. It was not gratitude, this energy, but something more like recognition. They had communicated to nottaka, I had finally responded, ki they were letting me know that my gesture had been received, that the dialog might now continue.

A few sleeps after this experience, I prepared for travel to akaitapisskoistsi in the south. Aamsskaapiipiikanikoaiksi have been negotiating a reimbursement for the theft of their unceded waters. Rather than asking for money, which would likely take decades to negotiate, they’re hoping to hurry things along by requesting land titles currently held by the federal government. They hired an archaeological team from Arizona to help them prepare data for their legal case, ki are now beginning to survey areas they might want to recover. I was lucky enough to have been invited – along with ki’naksaapo’p, mi’ksskimmiisoka’simm, naamaahkohkommi, ki iniipotaa – to travel as an interlocutor with a group going to survey katoyiistsi ki sites along the headwaters of Sun River.

Before we left, I made this journey the subject of my evening naatowopii session. I posed the question, what might we encounter? Then I tried something new. I drew my attention first to noistomi, then cast it similarly toward nottaka, which I perceived as a kind of mirror image before me. Holding in this manner to both moistomistsi, I allowed my sense of connection to expand via aohkii throughout kitawahsinnon. Approaching the exercise in this way, I began to receive visuals. The first was of three niitoyiistsi, lined up beside each other. I could see that all were painted, but could not completely distinguish their designs. What I was able to perceive, however, was that the two outer niitoyiistsi had black-covered tops, while the one in the middle was a brilliant white. Then the visual shifted, ki I found myself looking down a grave. It seemed to be dug into the ground, ki rough wooden planks had been positioned as lining around the walls. There were at least two bodies in the grave, both dressed in buckskin. I couldn't discern their gender, nor if there were more than two of them. But it felt as though something wrong had occurred, perhaps a massacre, or a murder. These people were killed by an enemy who were now burying them. Then the visual shifted a third ki final time, ki I felt myself to be standing on the rim-rock of a deep canyon. There was something significant to be found there, seemingly just out of view behind some boulders by the cliff edge. I tried to move in that direction, to see what was there for me, but I couldn’t. I knew somehow that this was all I was going to be shown, ki so I contracted my awareness back to nottaka ki noistomi, abruptly ending the session.

Two sleeps passed before we began the actual survey. We started out from a hotel in Cut Bank ki drove east toward katoyiistsi. Along the way, iniipotaa directed us to stop at a site where he knew of a stone effigy. It was located on a flat, halfway down a ridge that overlooked a wide grassy valley. The effigy was comprised of a sizeable circle of stones, with lines radiating out to five small cairns at points around its perimeter. The place had been severely weathered ki disturbed. It was difficult to make out what all had been intended in its design. Nearby, in a saddle of the ridge, there was a large glacial erratic, likely an iinisskimm. Ki there were other momma’piistsi nearby… some quite wide. What most fascinated me, however, was an old grave overlooking the main effigy, obviously placed there for that reason. It appeared to have been a typical, early reserve-era death-house, a wooden crypt of sorts placed above ground. A forced compromise between Christian burials, ki the scaffold offerings of kippaitapiiyssinnoon. There were a few remaining remnants of wooden planks ki some human bones still scattered about. It was impossible to figure out, from what was left, how many people might have been set to rest there. My feeling was that there could have been more than one body in the death-house, as there often was, ki that probably some of the momma’piistsi were left with the dead as well. Certainly this place seemed related to what I had seen while practicing naatowopii. Ki given the sense I’d felt then, I speculated that this might have been the remains of a camp that had suffered a devastating bout of smallpox... that the momma’piistsi had been left with their dead, ki that subsequently the U.S. Army or some other government faction had continued to place deceased smallpox victims there.

Our next stop was piinaapohkatoyiss. Before we got there, I privately told mi’ksskimmiisoka’simm what I’d seen during naatowopii. When he heard about the three niitoyiistsi, anniiwa that katoyiistsi had been known as such in the past. Aamiitohkatoyiss was naato’sioyis, tatsikiohkatoyis belonged to iipisowahs, ki piinaapohkatoyiss to kipitaakii. Watching as we drove toward them, there was dark shale above the tree-line on all three, but at times the clouds parted to cast iipisowahsi ookoowa in light. When we finally parked at the eastern base of piinaapohkatoyiss, our group split into factions ki went exploring. We had heard a recent story about a cave called the Devil’s Chimney. A couple of naapiikoaiksi had descended into it, ki there found a mask decorated with abalone shells. They’d tried to take the mask back home with them to Canada, but it had been seized ki now was in a museum somewhere… probably with the Montana Historical Society. In any case, mi’ksskimmiisoka’simm ki niisto wanted to see if we could find this so-called Devil’s Chimney. From our position on the east face, we spotted an odd tower of rock sticking out of piinaapohkatoyiss like a horn about a third of the way up, ki to the north. It seemed as likely a place as any to find a cave, so we set off in that direction, with one of the archaeologists joining to take note of our observations.

In order to get to the rock tower, we had to ascend a ways, then hike up ki down a few coulees. We were surprised at how much running water we found coming down the hillside. From a distance, katoyiistsi seem to be nothing more than dry buttes. Up close though, there are significant streams of spring water coursing through ki feeding narrow forests of poplar ki birch. I saw none of the katoyiss miistsiiksi which these places are known for, but rather great hillsides of ancient pine, weathered ki stunted by the extreme conditions. When we eventually reached the rock outcropping, there were no chimney caves to be found. What we did see, however, beside the tower, was a massive stone slab that rested upon another boulder so as to create a kind of lean-to shelter. We ourselves used it to get out of the rain. Ki on its ceiling there was carved, quite deeply, the crescent of ko’komiki’somm.

From miistsi katoyiistsi, we travelled the Choteau, had dinner, ki slept in another hotel. That night, nitsipaapao’kaa. It was not entirely clear. I know that parts of mi paapao'kaan involved flying. But the most vivid aspect was a young man who seemed angry with me, confrontational. The reason he was upset, he said, was because I was always so negative. All I ever did was find fault in people. He felt betrayed. Aaniiwa he was not going to bother with me anymore, he’d found someone else who was more pleasant to be around. Just then, a magnificent dark-grey hawk flew down toward us. It was immense, easily the size of ourselves. There was a white stripe extending across its forehead ki back along its temples. It might have been a goshawk, but in spirit form, more brilliant than any bird I’d ever seen in waking life. The young man indicated that this was his new ally, the one who would replace me ki was obviously so much more worthy. When I woke up from anni paapao’kaan, I was struck by how true the young man’s criticism was. It was depressing to be challenged with such accuracy, but represented an opportunity as well.

The next ikskanaotonni, nitsipanaipookakiihpinnaan ki drove out to the headwaters of Sun River, accompanied by piitaikihtsipiimi ki a group of forestry personnel. We went first to a cliff just below a massive concrete dam. I’d been there once before, last summer. On that cliff, ki also on a slab of stone just a short walk downriver, there are a number of pictographs ki wide areas painted ki hand-printed with maohki’saan. Among the pictographs is something significant, that we’ve not been able to interpret yet… a horizontal line above a circle, all painted with iihkitsiki’saan. There are also various human figures, ki one small image of a mountain sheep.

After surveying this area, we descended further downriver to a grassy flat beside the cliffs, where the forestry service had put up a few log cabins. The flat itself had a number of momma’piistsi still evident. Ki along the cliff behind ki downriver from the cabins there was a shallow cave with more paintings… one that looked like a large bird, one of iiniiwa, another humanoid, ki an image of two circles (perhaps naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm) beside a constellation of kakato’siiksi or hailstones. I didn't know what to make of all this, other than to say that these places were important for some reason, ki that we would have to continue to visit them if we wanted to learn more. This vague explanation, echoed by all of us as interlocutors, may not have been fully appreciated by the archaeologists accompanying us. On the drive out of the canyon, they divided themselves up so that at least one of them was travelling in each vehicle, ki proceeded to ask us a series of questions. What did we think of what we’d seen that day? Did we know of any stories related to those places? Why do we believe people would have camped there in the past? What animals or plants would they have used there? All of these questions seemed to arise from a perspective that assumed the most important aspect of the Sun River headwaters to be of a historical nature. In my car, accompanied by piitaikihtsipiimi ki naamaahkohkommi, we began trying to shift the discussion more toward presence. We told our archaeologist that the spirits at those places are the same today as they had been in the past, that we can still engage with them in the same way niitsitapi always have. At one point, after we hit the prairie, an awakaasii buck gauged our distance ki made straight for us. When we slowed, it slowed. When we sped, it sped. Finally, it stood on the road right in front of our truck, bringing us almost to a dead stop, before bounding off downriver. Piitaikihtsipiimi told the archaeologist that right there we’d had an experience, that she probably hadn’t even recognized it. Awakaasiiksi don’t chase ki jump in front of people like that. This buck had done it for a reason, perhaps to keep us from encountering danger up ahead, or maybe for some other purpose that we’d never know. What mattered is that he was communicating with us, ki we’d sing his song to let him know that we were grateful for this exchange.

That afternoon, our survey team parted ways ki returned, each to our respective homes. I was thrilled at how our encounters, particularly on the first day, had validated what I’d seen through naatowopii. The only visual left dangling was that of the canyon. The following evening, nitattsipi’kssaapii. I had left naawahko’tsisi offerings at each of the places we’d visited, ki annohk I wanted to explore further what we'd been shown on our journey. Expanding my awareness of connection to kitawahssinnoon once again, I was taken back to the image of the mountain sheep. Above this painting was a small mountain. I had climbed half-way up it the previous year, ki found veins of flint deposited within its rock. Annohk I was again feeling that something high above the painted cliff was of significance, that perhaps there was a place up there for itsiiyissin. Just then, I remembered that I’d once heard a story about an important mountain sheep robe that had been gifted to someone who fasted in that area. Ki the strength of this memory brought my session to a close. I know now that, when I return to that place in the future, I will do so with the intention of ascending that mountain again, this time climbing higher than before. Somewhere up there, I suspect I’ll learn more about the third visual I’d experienced, ki through this act keep the dialog going.

All of these recent experiences – from the energy I felt after building ki delivering ikitstakssin for pokaitapii, to confirming at least some of what I’d been seeing through naatowopii – reminded of how crucial it is that we reciprocate with those who are willing to communicate with us. It’s all too easy to dismiss attempts by non-humans to engage us in relationships, or to neglect trying to approach them from our side as well. It’s far less demanding to just continue going about our own narrow affairs as if nothing further mattered. Not unlike the archaeologists, we’re strongly compelled to turn a blind eye ki deaf ear toward others, for the simple reason that carrying-out any real ki prolonged exchanges with them would seriously threaten our current way of life. At this point, we’re all complicit-in ki reliant-upon mainstream consumerism. This system is founded on the premise that everything has been placed here magically for our sole benefit, ki that – if properly managed – these “natural resources” are fairly limitless. In short, everything is considered to be ours for the taking, gifts of nurturance from our benevolent father god ki mother earth. We alone are thought to be the sacred children, those with real spirit ki true creative genius. Oh, how dangerous ki naive this myth is.

Mo'toyaohkii

lll ) llllllllllllllllllllllll Mo'toyaohkii…

Nitsiikohtaahsi’taki those rare occasions when disparate bits of knowledge ki experience unexpectedly coalesce to transform my understanding. I’ve asked a few naahsiksi if there is a way to describe this phenomenon in niitsi’powahsin, ki their suggestions so far have included: tonihp (I recognized s.t.), nikaomatapotsistapi’tsihp (I’m beginning to understand or be aware of s.t.), ki annaahtsiksi (oh, that’s how it is… an uninflected expression of surprised agreement or recognition, represented in our sign language by reaching out with a hooked forefinger as if physically grasping the strand of an idea that has been offered). All of these suggestions approach what I’m looking to express, but somehow miss the mark. Certainly though, the end-product of this coalescence experience is what we would call mokakssin. Often glossed in English as wisdom, mokakssin is actually a very descriptive term, developed off the verb roots okahsii (to congeal) and okaa (to snare). These same concepts are brought together with certain inflections to form the word mookaakin (or pemmican), which is a traditional food comprised of fine-ground dried meat, mixed with various berries, ki bound loosely together with fat. Mookaakin is highly nutritious, not only as a result of the chemical constituents of its ingredients, but due also to the manner in which they are processed, ground so fine as to make them very easily digestible. Following from this, I believe mokakssin carries similar qualities. It involves collecting or gathering disparate pieces of knowledge in the form of stories, language, songs, experiences, ki working these through a kind of milling process inherent in cyclically renewed practices, until the resultant particles – like the ingredients of mookaakin – are ground so fine that they spontaneously congeal into a greater, more thoroughly embodied whole.

In the cognitive sciences, this coalescence phenomenon is described as the moment when one becomes aware of a gestalt – a whole that constitutes a functional unit with properties not derivable from the summation of its parts. A somewhat impoverished example typically used to illustrate this concept in psychology is the silhouette image that may be perceived alternately as a beautiful young woman or a ragged old hag. The experience of gestalt perception that unfolds when a viewer recognizes the presence of both aspects of the image is often referred to as an “aha” moment, a flash of sudden insight, or a breakthrough. But I wonder if framing the experience in this manner is not somewhat biased by the Western focus on autonomous intellect. Having “aha” moments outside of the obviously contrived context of introducing such images, many people tend to feel as if the insights they gain are something of their own genius manufacture… perhaps even going so far as to claim these “discoveries” as their personal intellectual property, unique ideas that they themselves should be recognized for authoring. No doubt this perspective is related in some way to the rituals of mainstream education ki research in general, where people are taught to strategically pursue answers to particular questions, even going so far as to impose arbitrary time-schedules upon their learning, predetermining specific dates for when their data will be collected, analysed, ki reported as complete. It’s a shabby intellectual practice, in my book. Participants in such rituals grow more ki more prone to artificially construct knowledge through exercises of logic. Moreover, with this standard as the measure for validity, much important knowledge derived from more organic methods becomes dismissed. Ki when, inevitably, someone does experience a spontaneous coalescence phenomenon, the new understanding they gain becomes objectified ki commodified as an “idea” in a market schema for intellectual exchange.

In my experience, the coalescence, or gestalt perception, or whatever we want to call it, is of an order more humbling ki sublime. Rather than perceiving this kind of event as a personalized “aha” moment, I’m always very conscious of the manner in which an invitation for my participation in this greater perception has been in some way extended by those who have proceeded me… akaitapii, the ancestors. In fact, I marvel at the subtle ways they’ve encrypted complex understandings into our language, our stories, our ceremonies. At the same time, I’m also aware that mokakssin is not to be appreciated as something the ancestors developed, as though through some history of logical exercise like the Western scientific method. Rather, mokakssin comprises koitapiiyssin, life-bearing gifts, that we have been given in the context of relationships with non-humans. In other words, coalescence is the outcome of a socializing process, or getting to know others. It’s the organic result of making, maintaining, feeding, ki renewing relationships that expand to incorporate community at a cosmic scale. We human beings are but the youngest children of that community, for the most part yet unaware of the significance of the gifts we’ve inherited. But every once in a while, as we mature as a species, we get a little glimpse.

Recently, I felt as though I’d gotten one of those glimpses, ki the image posted along with this journal entry speaks to what I learned. This photo was taken at dawn a couple years ago, while driving along my commute from sikoohkotoki to mi’kai’stoo, near ma’si’tommo. When I downloaded it onto my computer ki was able to view it enlarged, I immediately had a sense that I should invert it. Upside-down, the image functions as a kind of gestalt illusion, much like the silhouette models of cognitive psychology. In this instance, the image appears as though it were of ksaahkomm, taken from a perspective somewhere in the stratosphere or beyond. This, I realized at the time, must have been mo’toyaohkii, the expansive body of water described in akaitapiitsinikssiistsi as having been occasionally traversed by human beings (with the assistance of naatoyiitapiiksi), to reach the world of the stars. I considered the inverted photograph to be an interesting visual illusion, with a bit of significance as a place described in the old stories, but that’s about it.

Around the same time I took the photograph, ki almost certainly influencing my decision to flip it on end, piipiiaakii ki niisto had begun to put some energy toward improving our understanding of two akaitapiitsinikssiistsi: the origins of both iihkitsikaamiksi ki miohpokoiksi. Now, our reason for doing so was related to having just that winter renewed two counting systems of the traditional niitsitapi lunar calendar (which had been defunct for who knows how long… at least several decades, if not a century). If I were to continue back from there, I could easily trace a path leading through our transfer of ksisskstaki amopistaan, naatoyiipapao’kaanistsi, repatriations, our marriage, ki events in both of our lives prior to meeting that would seem to suggest there has been a continuity of experience that led us to where we are, ki which I’m certain will continue to guide us.

Anyway, in order to renew the lunar counts, we had to rely on multiple sources. There were archival records: a winter count drawn in ledger form by stamiksisaapo’p at the turn of the century, a few lists of the names for each cycle, ki vague mention here ki there about how iiyaohkiimiiksi had a calendar maintained through the use of counting sticks. Akaikkinnaamm, the last iiyaohkiimi who might have really understood these systems, parcelled out his knowledge between the very few he mentored. From one of these fortunate individuals, naaahs mi’ksskimmiisoka'simm, piipiiaakii ki niisto were transferred ki’sommainihkssiistsi, the new-moon ceremony, ki rights to make ki paint the slender sticks that count winter nights. Then, from nitaatowa’pakka piitaikihtsipiimi, who had also been trained by akaikkinnaamm, we were transferred a second set of sticks, those that count the appearance of first crescent moons throughout the annual cycle, ki the song order that accompanies them. Working with these two systems, what we’d read in archival records, ki those akaitapiitsinikssiistsi we’re familiar with, we’ve come to appreciate a four-year pattern of naato’siiksi numbering 12, 12, 12, 13, 12, 12, 12, 13, 12, 12, 12, 13, etc.

Somewhere along the way, I’d contemplated ki practiced these systems enough to recognize that they are related to iihkitsikaamiksi ki miohpokoiksi. In the former story, there are seven boys, children of naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm. They were living together on ksaahkomm, in an era long before human presence here. Ko’komiki’somm had befriended a many-legged, serpentine creature who lived in a log, ki who could shape-shift into a form resembling their own. Naato’si planned to kill this interloper ki, if he had to, ko’komiki’somm as well. But before setting forth to do so, he gave each of his boys a gift - small but powerful items that they could carry with them at all times, to use if they should need to escape danger. Then he went to the log where the creature lived, ki when it tried to scurry out naato’si cut off its head. Placing the head back on the body, he left it there for ko’komiki’somm to find, ki gathered his boys to wait in the brush nearby. They watched as their mother approached the body, ki witnessed the terror that rose in her when she found that it was dead. Ko’komiki’somm had known immediately who killed the creature, ki her terror quickly developed into rage. She ran back to their lodge screaming, prepared to take revenge. In the mean time, naato’si ki the boys gathered a bunch of deadwood near the creature’s body. Soon they heard ko’komiki’somm making her way back from the lodge, still screaming in fury. She threw herself onto the creature’s body, crying. Ki just then naato’si ki the boys jumped out of the brush, pinned her down, ki cut her to pieces. They threw all the deadwood on top ki started a fire. Naato’si instructed the boys to remain by the fire until the last ember died. They were given forked sticks to use if any coals escaped. He told them that if even the smallest bit of their mother failed to burn to ashes, she would have the power to resurrect herself.

It took a long time for the pyre to burn down. When it looked like all had turned to ash, naato’si ki the boys returned to their lodge. He told them to be alert throughout the next four sleeps. If a live coal had somehow gotten away from them, ki ko’komiki’somm was able to resurrect, it would occur within the span of four sleeps. So they waited, ki the days passed. On the fourth day, they heard the sound of someone coming toward their camp. They knew it was their mother. The boys ki their father made a run for it, letting the youngest lead the way ki set their pace. Behind them, ko’komiki’somm drew closer. Naato’si reminded the eldest of the seven boys of the gift he had given him, a bladder bag full of water. He threw the bag over his shoulder at his mother, ki there it began to rain, making the ground muddy ki slippery. It slowed the enraged woman down, but she used her own power to make the rain stop, ki soon was catching up to them again. At that point, the next oldest brother turned ki drew a line in the sand with his finger, creating a massive canyon. This slowed ko’komiki’somm down considerably, but she eventually made her way to the bottom ki up the other side. When she’d almost caught up with the boys again, naato’si shouted to the third eldest to throw back his gift, a rock. A huge mountain range erupted out of the earth. Ko’komiki’somm called upon the ants, who came in droves ki bore a tunnel through. The next boy to use his gift, the middle brother, threw a short stick. It became a dense forest. Their mother ran back ki forth along its edge, trying to find a passage. Eventually, in her fury, she just pressed her way straight through. The fifth brother carried a bladder bag of air. He untied it ki threw it over his shoulder. When it hit the ground in front ko’komiki’somm, a massive wind erupted, sending her tumbling in the opposite direction. She grasped at all kinds of plants ki objects as she blew along, until finally getting hold of a tree with deep roots. There, she held tight to the tree ki waited for the wind to die down so she could pursue once more. The boys were running out of obstacles to set in front of her. When she’d almost caught them again, naato’si told the second youngest to set free the vibrantly-colored bird he had given him. The bird flew up in the air, ki immediately a black cloud formed. Loud sounds boomed out, ki electricity streaked toward ko’komiki’somm. She dodged ki ran to hide amongst some trees. This was the first time any of them had experienced thunder or lightning. But almost as quickly as the cloud had formed, it disappeared, ki the woman ran on after her sons. They had one gift left, another bladder bag full of water, carried by o’kiinaa, the youngest. As their mother closed on them, o’kiinaa threw it back, ki as soon as the first drop of water hit the ground it began to spread in all directions. Naato’si used his own powers so that he ki his sons could levitate above the expanding water, ki out into the void. Down below them, their mother ran as fast as she could along the earth’s surface, trying to find some way around mo’toyaohkii, this ocean. But it had no end. Naato’si ki his boys continued to drift away until they were out of sight.

Ko’komiki’somm sat down, desperate, trying to think of how she could overcome this obstacle. Then it came to her. She had received many gifts from her husband, ki there was one that just might take her to the other side. She hurriedly gathered up some dry wood ki made a small fire. Then she took a coal from this fire ki set a pinch of sweetgrass on it. The aromatic smoke from the sweetgrass drifted up toward her husband ki the boys, ki when ko’komiki’somm stood ki stepped over this smoke, she too began to ascend. Soon she had crossed through the water ki was on the other side. Up there, high above the earth, her movement was not limited. She could sense everything, including the location of her boys, ki she could go to them as slowly or as quickly as she wanted to. Certain that she would have her revenge, ko’komiki’somm rushed to the site of her children, ki almost got hold of o’kiinaa, the youngest, when she felt a blow to her left leg. Naato’si had seen her coming, ki at the last moment threw his hatchet with such force that it went clean through her leg, chopping it off. Ko’komiki’somm crumpled, bleeding. This was an opportunity naato’si couldn’t afford to miss. He stood over his wife, speaking softly, running his hands from the top of her head down her shoulders ki arms. He was stripping away many of the powers he had gifted to her in the past. At first, she fought against him, but then relented. When naato’si had finished, ko’komiki’somm held her dismembered leg back against the stub of her thigh, ki it reattached. Naato’si told her that the leg would continue to fall off periodically from then on, causing her to bleed. As she bled, so too would all of the women of ksaahkomm, so that what had happened between them would always be remembered. Then, knowing that his wife would still want to seek revenge, naato’si made night ki day, so that his boys would occasionally have a period of darkness to rest in, while their mother sought them out blindly. The boys thereafter have been called iihkitsikaamiksi (the seven), known more widely as the Big Dipper.

Now, when I first encountered mo itsinikssin, I really didn’t think that deeply into it. All I saw in it was a mythology relating the origin of geographic features. It wasn’t until practicing the two lunar count systems we’d been transferred that my thoughts returned to iihkitsikaamiksi, ki I began to wonder about how we might still use the gifts naato’si had shared with his boys. There were seven, just like the seven winter moons. Ki most of the time, when their constellation is drawn on tipi designs ki the like, they appear not as a dipper in shape, but as a crescent. I began to consider what the seven gifts might offer in terms of helping people survive the seasonal trials typically associated with each moon of the winter season. Ki I also realized that if iihkitsikaamiksi was connected to sstoyii, then miohpokoiksi (which almost always appears on the south ear flap of painted lodges, opposite iihkitsikaamiksi) must be connected to niipo. Because indeed, there are six stars in the paintings of miohpokoiksi, arranged in a sun-like design with five clustered around a central member, rather than appearing as the Pleiades constellation actually does in the night sky.

In the story of miohpokoiksi, there are six brothers who were neglected by their parents ki relatives. Every spring, when the otsiikini were in bloom, the people would hunt iinii ki give their children the red robes of new calves. But these six brothers never received red robes. All they ever got were brown ones, or robes made of mature iinii. The other children made fun of them. When another spring season came to pass ki their desires were ignored again, they decided to leave the human world. They went off to a hill by themselves. There, the older brother took hair from a white weasel ki placed it on the backs of each of his siblings. Then he put some of the same hair in his mouth, told his brothers to close their eyes, ki blew the hair up toward the sky. When the boys opened their eyes again, they were in the lodge of naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm. Naato’si asked the brothers why they had come. They explained how their relatives had neglected them, ki that they would like to see them punished. They asked naato’si if he could take the water away from human beings. Hearing this request, naato’si just sat quietly. Then the boys asked ko’komiki’somm, ki she felt bad for them. She pleaded with her husband to help her take the water away. She had to ask him seven times before he agreed. The next day, the earth was very hot. All the lakes ki rivers began evaporating. Ki the following night was warm as well, with a strong moonlight. By the second day, the water was all gone from the surface of the earth, ki people began taking their dogs to the riverbanks, having them dig holes to find more. This was how many springs were created along our rivers. Within a matter of days, it became so hot that people had to dig holes in the hillsides ki crawl inside to keep cool. They would have died if they’d remained above ground. Each time the water in the springs gave out, the dogs would dig new holes. It seemed like there would be no end to the heat. But the leader of the dogs had some powers. He was old ki white. After seven days of suffering like this, he gathered the other dogs ki together thay began howling at the sky, calling to naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm, explaining why the six brothers received no red robes, ki asking that they have compassion at least for the dogs, who had never done anything to hurt them. The next day, naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm brought heavy rain. It rained for a long time. Ki the six brothers remained in the sky as miohpokoiksi, bunched-up to keep warm.

There are actually several different versions of mo itsinikssin, but I won’t summarize the others because really I don’t have much to say about them at this point. All I understand at present is that miohpokoiksi are the moon cycles of niipo. Their significance, as related by many kaahsinnooniksi, is as a reminder to treat our children with respect. But I think this is only a fraction or aspect of the wider lesson to be gained... or maybe an understatement. Both of these akaitapiitsinikssiistsi – iihkitsikaamiksi ki miohpokoiksi – describe events ki relationships that have unfolded between cosmic beings. As such, they can’t be fully appreciated simply in human terms. But if we understood people to be representative of a particular cosmic being, say ksaahkomm, on the other hand…

Annohk we’re approaching nearer my recent coalescence experience. During aapistsisskitsaato’si, as mentioned in a prior journal entry, I’ve been experimenting with an exercise that brings me to a certain awareness of noistomi ki its connection to aohkii - most immediately that of kitawahsinnon, but also by extension to that which flows throughout ksaahkomm as a whole. In this state, like in sstsiiysskaan, notions of time ki separation by distance no longer exist. I can travel via noistomi, aohkii, wherever I please, instantaneously. Ki anywhere this aqueous wandering takes me, I am able to engage with others in a dialog that occurs not quite by way of voice, but rather more through imagery ki sensation. This exercise is my iiyaohkiimi variation on a collective effort that is being explored by a group I’m involved with, which is helping all of us to grow in our respective practices toward some common ends.

One of the questions this group has been addressing most recently in the context of our expanded states of awareness pertains to imbalances between ksaahkomm ki aohkii, body ki mind, as registered in the reconciliatory forces at play in our current climate shift. Ki through an interesting synchronicity, I happened to be preparing the delivery of my first presentation for The Climate Project at the same time as our collective project moved in this direction. For me, public presentation always prompts accelerated learning. In this particular case, I wanted to make some changes in the presentation Al Gore had developed – reframing some of the science in niitsitapi terms, ki offering solution suggestions that break away from the current, consumption-driven models. Working my way slide-by-slide through the presentation, I found myself leaning heavily on the story of iihkitsikaamiksi to talk about the atmosphere, its functions ki characteristics. Going back to omi itsinikssin, it’s clear that the bladder bag of water thrown back by o’kiinaa was that which became our atmosphere. A seamless body of aohkii positioned between ksaahkomm ki the world of kakato’siiksi. Omi mo’toyaohkii was a gift from naato’si, meant to help his children escape from danger, the revenge sought by ko’komiki’somm… whether this is ko’komiki’somm the celestial body, or the forces she wields, or both.

In niitsitapisskska’takssin, ko’komiki’somm is associated with the cold of winter, the dark of night, ki aohkii. Mo’toyaohkii, in effect, can be thought of as a protective robe that shields the life of ksaahkomm from being overcome by these forces. Our robe must be permeable enough to allow the radiance of naato’si to penetrate ki warm us. It must also be permeable enough to allow some of that heat to escape, retaining only that which is most optimal for life to continue to flourish. One of the things I realized, in preparing for my presentation, is that there is a certain cycle, maintained by the life of ksaahkomm, which functions more-or-less to periodically smoke-treat our protective robe, ensuring that it won’t become too porous. However, human beings over the last five decades have been subjecting the robe to such an intense ki prolonged smoke-treatment that it has basically become a sooty mess. It’s no longer permeable to the radiance of naato’si in the manner that it was meant to be. But by no means is it entirely ruined. We don’t have the power to destroy this gift, because it was not given to us specifically. It was given to the youngest son, the generations furthest down the line. This robe is sacred, powerful. Iikaatowa’pii. It will induce a balance to ensure that the organic life of ksaahkomm continues. Ko’komiki’somm has found her way through it before, in an era when such balance was upset. She can certainly come through again.

This is where the affect of coalescence goes far beyond any of the fancy thrills of surface illusion presented in cognitive psychology. Rather, true gestalt experience compels us to completely reconceptualise everything we thought we knew. There is so much that could be extrapolated from the association between what is happening to our atmosphere ki the story of iihkitsikaamiksi. When I even start to consider the implications, my mind just reels. It would be of no use to try elaborating too much on how my awareness has shifted from this experience over the past few days. However, there are a couple of significant lessons I should mention before I close.

Given the perspective that our atmosphere is a sacred ki powerful gift, inherited by the future generations of earth life, ki meant to act as a significant obstacle to our being completely overcome by the threat of imbalance or disharmony... what might also be understood of the gifts naato’si gave to his other six sons? In the context of the present climate shift, how might we draw from this story to reframe our appreciation for the protective role of rain, canyon-lands, mountains, forests, wind, ki electrical storms? Each of these, like mo’toyaohkii, iikaatowa’pii – they are very powerful in the unique manner in which each can deter danger.

Another related thought… considering both iihkitsikaamiksi ki miohpokoiksi, ki revisiting the earth-is-to-water as body-is-to-mind corollary proposed ki presently being explored by the group I’m involved with, what understandings might be gained? For myself, I am reminded of the observation naaahs ki’naksaapo’p has often made, which is that we are in a sense abusing some of the abilities we have. Ki’naksaapo’p tells a story about the time he caught a fish ki brought it to his grandfather. The old man lavished him with praise, ki immediately set to work cleaning ki cooking the fish for dinner. Not long after that, ki’naksaapo’p went back to the river ki caught nine fish. He was so proud. He brought them to his grandfather expecting to really be appreciated. The old man looked at the fish with regret ki aaniiwa, “Why did you do this sonny? We don’t need this many fish. One or two is all we need. Don’t ever do this again.” Ki’naksaapo’p has carried this experience with him to this day. Ki he points out that a child, learning that it can do something, often does not consider whether he or she actually should. This is the same way mainstream society is negotiating its newfound technological knowledge. Rather than considering what the actual benefit of each technology can be, ki therefore to what extent it should be used, we are just catching as many fish as we possibly can. We are so proud of our perceived accomplishments, it’s going to take the spirits of future generations speaking through our sacred grandparents, naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm, to scold us for our carelessness. This is precisely what happens in the tale of miohpokoiksi. We are neglecting to consider the desires of our children, however many generations away. Their spirits are feeling this neglect. They may very well go to naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm, cut their ties with us, ki seek retribution. Maybe this is what we are seeing in the surge of radiance intensity coming from naato’si today.

As both stories infer, our appreciation of ksaahkomm should not be reduced to just ourselves. We have a presence here. We are of this body, to be sure. But ksaahkomm is not necessarily of us. Are we its voice? Apparently not as far as the dogs are concerned. Ksaahkomm itself is a gestalt, a coalescence…. a whole that constitutes a functional unit with properties not derivable from the summation of its parts. Like any-body, it comes into being in relationship to others of its order, as defined by an even wider system that encompasses all of the cosmic bodies. If we hope to contribute to a strengthening of the relationships between ksaahkomm ki these other beings, including naato’si, ko’komiki’somm, all of the kakato’siiksi, perhaps we should recognize that there is a pre-existing ki ongoing dialog amongst them. Opening ourselves to hear what is being said in that discussion may be our first step toward significant participation ki maturity.

Awatsimaanistsi

lll ) lllllllllllllll Awatsimaanistsi…

Tangibly vibrant, mo aapistsisskitsaato’si. So much energy, so much power, bursting like aapsspinniikoaiksi from the hard shell of winter’s owaistsi. My intuition tells me simply to dance along as a partner or player in this surge of renewed life. Kitawahsinnoon taisitsipssakk, Let go… let go. Miinotoomsoohkomit. Kitaaksiisookoo. Ki nitssksinihpa anni niitsii. It’s been demonstrated. While piipiiaakii labours happily with a group of aakiiksi at mi’kai’stoo, brain-tanning deer hides, I throw a line in the backwater streams of Farm Four ki come away with six apaksskioomiiksi. It’s enough meat for at least two meals in our small household, acquired with very little effort. Then, a couple sleeps later, piipiiaakii ki niisto plant seeds for our annual vegetable garden behind nookoowannaan, ki during our preparation of the ground we gather young foliage from a number of spinach-like, spear-leaf goosefoot plants that have grown of their own accord since saommitsiki’somm. It takes no time at all to fill four ziplock freezer-bags with these nutritious leaves, which piipiiaakii plans to sauté in butter ki garlic, ki serve at various dinners. I imagine that if we occupied ourselves for an entire morning gathering these plants, we’d quickly have enough to last all year, ki a surplus to give away as well. It’s that easy. The goosefoot are that plentiful. Ki yet, they’re only one of at least a dozen local vegetable species I’m aware of that are ready to be harvested right now.

There’s no question, kitawahsinnoon ayiisootssp. But most don’t even seem to recognize this. Among the minority who do, like kiistonnoon, we typically accept only the smallest portion of the gifts offered. It’s as if we’re being treated to an elegant dinner, but have arrived to the event with full stomachs, or find ourselves intimidated by an exotic menu, or just hold back in preparation for some other indulgence planned for afterward. We sit here amongst our hosts, refusing to even sample the food on our plates, choosing instead to snack lightly on a garnish here or there, just enough to feel justified in claiming to have indeed eaten. Oddly, we have a keen interest in making such assertions, in occasionally accepting the invitation to dine, in learning at least the names of the dishes set before us. This is the curious part. Why would we even bother, if we’re not going to surrender ourselves fully to the dining experience?

Matonni, in the evening, I asked myself this same question while sitting in a deep, almost scalding bath, walking myself through an exercise that I’ve been exploring recently, to help bring clarity to these kinds of dilemmas. Immersed up to my shoulders, I close my eyes ki bring my attention first to noistomi, then to the connection I have with aohkii… not only that which surrounds me in the tub, interfaced against my flesh, but also (ki by extension) to the whole of that which circulates throughout kitawahsinnoon… flowing from the miistakiistsi ki maksisskommiksi down across the prairies, coalescing in pools that feed the sky ki eventually circulate back again. In this manner, I realize a sensation of inseparability between noistomi ki aohkii, as if they are one ki the same. It is just as matsi’sai’piyi ainihkiwa, aohkii noistominnaan. Ki it is similar to the sensation I experience in sstsiiysskaan, where I am no longer so much physical, but spirit.

From this state of heightened or adjusted awareness, there is no longer any notion of time, nor concept of separation over distance. I can travel via noistomi, aohkii, wherever I please, instantaneously, searching for answers to whatever questions happen to be most relevant in the moment. On this particular occasion, I want to return to the events of earlier in the day, when ki’naksaapo’p ki niisto drove to miistsi kawahkoistsi ki ni’tommoistsi west of Nanton to visit aitapisskoistsi. I sought to re-experience our encounters with these places from the perspective of this different form of consciousness, to feel around for anything I may have missed when relying on a more limited set of sensory capacities.

Our first stop that day had been at aakiipisskaan, where ki’naksaapo’p hoped to get some film footage of omiksi kakanottsstookiikoaiksi I’d photographed on my recent pass through the area. We were lucky, or perhaps aakiipisskaan had been awaiting our arrival. On the walk over to the jump, I found my first mi’ksikatsi oyiiyis, hidden under some gooseberry brush high on the ridge. Then, when we entered omi pisskaan, we found not only the nested chicks, but also a full-grown kakanottsstooki, perched picturesquely on a rock shelf just below the ancient carving of iipisowahsi. It was, in fact, the same shelf where I’d left ninnisskimm overnight during sa’aiki’somm, in an attempt to gain naatoyiipaapao’kaanistsi. That prior evening, as I drove in the dark toward Edmonton, I’d experienced a doubling of noistomi – one self in the vehicle, another walking the path to aakiipisskaan. Ki as the latter self rounded the cliff-side ki approached the hollow of the rock shelf, I encountered a man there, waiting, silent. The features of ma ninna were not distinct enough to describe in any detail. He was more phantom than physical. He was old, but young. At first my skin crawled when I recognized his presence, but I pushed this initial fear aside ki followed as he led me further along the cliff-face, into a low-ceiling cave. I knew this place well. The cave had a long, narrow window facing across omi kawahkoyi. Ki as I stood there with ma ninna, he made a sign as if shooting an arrow out through the gap, toward some rock formations on the opposite side. The next day, I’d returned to collect ninnisskimm, ki imagined that ma ninna would be there when I came to the shelf. He wasn’t. Nor, to my surprise, was ninnisskimm. Then I looked down into some crevices in the rock, ki found it, the leather strap that transformed it into a necklace eaten cleanly away by rodents. Annohk, what remains of that innisskimm, my first sacred transfer, binds the top of a small skinitsimaan that holds some of nisaaamistsi.

Seeing kakanottsstookii there, on the same rock shelf, as ki’naksaapo’p ki niisto approached aakiipisskaan, brought me immediately back to the encounter with mi ninna. What if the kakanottsstookii was simply another embodiment of that same spirit? Ninnaimsskaiksi, they say, return to us as sipisttoiksi bearing messages. Perhaps he had something to tell me. In the moment though, rather than listen, I allowed the cameras to function as a divide between us ki this other being. Ki’naksaapo’p, with the movie camera, made his way slowly to a position near mi kakanottsstookii, ki then called for my assistance to try ki coax it to take flight. I had wanted to get some close-ups with my still-camera anyway, ki so took the opportunity to approach with very little abandon. Ki ma kakanottsstookii didn’t budge. I walked so close as to start growing intimidated, wondering how I should react if the sipisttoo decided to attack me. But as I considered this possibility, it finally took wing, passing swiftly around the cliff-side ki out of sight.

After aakiipisskaan, nitsitapoohpinnaan a little ways south to an erratic boulder, fissured so as to create a kind of cave. Archaeologists had reported that there were ancient pictographs on the roof of this cave, ki they hadn’t lied. When ki’naksaapo’p ki niisto wedged ourselves inside, we were immediately impressed with the power of what we were witnessing. There were a number of images – a human figure, the crescent of ko’komiki’somm. But what stood out most, obviously central in significance, was a stylized depiction of ksiistsikomiipi’kssi, connected to a human being by a bolt of zig-zag lightning. Before we dared take any images, ki’naksaapo’p ki niisto made an offering of pisstaahkaan ki spoke to the purposes behind of our visit. Then, after another round of camera-work, we made a careful survey of the immediate area ki decided that we should climb up the steep slope of ni’tommo behind this boulder, to discern whether or not the painting’s significance extended to that height. It was raining all the way up, ki I hadn’t even brought a jacket. But neither of us minded the weather. We were all too satisfied to have become acquainted with this new aitapissko.

Along the slope leading up toward the peak of omi ni’tommo, I continually photographed the plants I was seeing – the wild strawberries, shooting stars, yellow bells, ki violets of many hues. I didn’t gather any of these plants, although I knew them all to be useful. I felt like we were on a mission of sorts, a pilgrimage, ki that it was no time to be bothered with digging in the dirt. At the top of mi ni’tommo, ki’naksaapo’p ki niisto were rewarded with a tremendous view in all directions. Certainly this site must have functioned as saamissapii in the past. There were sandstone rock formations up there as well, one with an odd square painted in niitsi’saan. But nothing more. Ki soon we began to feel chilled, tired, hungry. At this point, we turned back, winding our way slowly down the hillside, past the boulders, ki back out onto the flat below. There, near our vehicle, we found a sizeable cairn that had somehow entirely escaped our notice on the way up. For me, the cairn confirmed the likelihood that this place was, as I’d suspected, the origin site of at least one ninnaimsskaahkoyinnimaan. It would be the story of this event that was painted on the roof of the cave, ki the cairn would have been where people left their offerings over subsequent centuries.

That was what I’d experienced on-site. But back in the tub at nookoowa that evening, revisiting the site remotely by means of connection through aohkii, I felt that there had indeed been much overlooked. Re-sensing the visit we’d had, expanding noistomi to include the land, the rocks, the plants, the birds, I suddenly understood that we matapiiksi of today are stuck in a continual state of fasting. We have become completely invested in the pursuit of knowledge, but not at all in its application, in its life. Ki as we are each inseparable from all else in kitawahsinnoon, as we habitually fast, so too does our environment. By our actions, the collective ecological body is slowly, steadily being drained of its nutritive resources. The aohkii that connects us dissipates in the wind, leaving behind only minerals of cold earth, stone, the bones of the dead. It’s a paradox. Having experienced forced disjunction from our relationship with kitawahsinnoon, we seek a re-acquaintance, a revitalization. But it is this very desire, ki the inquisitive action it incites, that keeps us from living that relationship. The longer we continue to explore mere possibilities, the more our life escapes us.

Aakiipisskaan

lll ) lllllllll Aakiipisskaan…

Matonni, I had to drive to mohkinsstsis for a FNAHEC (First Nations Adult Higher Education Consortium) meeting, to plan for the implementation of distributed ki distance learning in our tribal colleges. Before departing from Sikoohkotoki, I updated my schedule for the remainder of niipo, ki was somewhat depressed to learn that most ksiistsikoistsi are already booked-up with various speaking, teaching, ki meeting engagements. This practice of setting a predetermined agenda for one’s life, ki anchoring it in a calendar system that is already at least a step removed from what I can only call “real-time”, creates significant obstacles for anyone trying to practice kippaitapiiyssinnoon. The biggest problem I have with such scheduling is that it leaves little opportunity to truly engage in a dialog with kitawahsinnoon. For instance, because of our clocks ki calendars, we’re often made to feel hurried or limited in the amount of energy we can afford to invest in relationship-building activities like visiting with places, plants ki animals, or even with our own families. In fact, any such activities we regularly maintain outside of an employment context become categorized as hobbies or pass-times, as if they’re just something to keep us occupied until we get down to real work again. At the very least, the imposition of mainstream time has us preoccupied with where ki when we are supposed to be next… which in turn may force us to prematurely terminate various engagements, even at their peak of productivity. But the problem is often far greater than this. Our relationships with clocks, calendars, ki agendas dull our senses, to the point where we may not even recognize or perceive the various non-human voices around us. How many people could identify (or would even pay attention to) the sound of a kakanottsstookiikoan, for instance? I wouldn’t have been able to, were it not for the events of matonni.

All day long, on my drive to mohkinsstsis, ki throughout the FNAHEC kanoohsin, I carried a sense of… almost mourning. I was very aware that there were things unfolding all around our region that would not occur again until next year, ki that I was missing out on experiencing many of them due to having my affairs scheduled in advance. How much of kippaitapiiyssinnoon has fallen out of practice, or been entirely forgotten, because of this dilemma? To me, living by the clock is kind of like walking past a group of kaahsinnooniksi, not even bothering to acknowledge them, shake their hands. Not even looking at them. Worse still, turning a cold shoulder to them when they approach bearing gifts. Healthy, mutually beneficial relationships are based on reciprocity ki shared experiences, cyclical exchanges ki renewals. If we go on acting as though the sspommitapiiksi, ksaahkomitapiiksi, ki soyiitapiiksi don’t matter or exist, what can we expect from them in return?

Thankfully, my drive home gave me an opportunity to at least take some stock in present happenings. Naato’si is setting later, so I still had some remaining light to work with. Ki what I decided to do is drop by aakiipisskaan on my way south. There are a number of important aitapisskoistsi between mohkinsstsis ki sikoohkotoki. Aakiipisskaan, the place where the first niitsitapi marriages occurred, is one that I frequent.

The experience there, for me, was completely invigorating. Just what I needed. Along the road leading to aakiipisskaan, I was able to observe that the male ki female sa’aiksi were still travelling around together, which suggests that perhaps they haven’t made their oyiiyiistsi yet. In the grassy plain above the jump, kippiaapiiksi were still in bloom. Ki on the rock shelf below the cliff, two kakanottsstookiikoaiksi had hatched, in the same nest as last year. When I came up on them, I could see that their mother had left a couple dead mice off to the side of their oyiiyis. Then one of the kakanottsstookiikoaiksi, more agitated than its cowering sibling, clicked his beak at me repeatedly - a sound I could immediately imitate, ki will never forget. So I backed off, ki continued down the slope, noticing that the stinging nettle ki gooseberry were just starting to leaf-out, ki that a lot of the black soil dug up by rodents was visible, exposing hundreds of fragments of old iinii bone, ki even the occasional arrowhead. Farther below, by the creek that runs through omi kaawahkoyi, there were swampy areas that resonated with the sounds of matsiyikkapisaiksi. I hiked down ki waded into the water among them, slowly, patiently, to get a few close-up photos of their distended throats in mid-song. I was with the matsiyikkapisaiksi for a while, then made my way back to the truck. On a fencepost in the distance, I witnessed sikohpoyitaipanikimmiksi coupling, something I’d never seen before. All of this made me feel so refreshed. I offered pisstahkaan in gratitude. By the time I was driving away from aakiipisskaan, all of my depression from earlier in the day had completely dissipated. The only unfortunate thought that lingered was new… an awareness of the significance of my camera. Although I may commit myself more often than most to tracking the goings-on amongst these other beings, I’m still something of a tourist among them. The experiences I have are constantly novel, exciting. My learning curve an extreme arch. Certainly one aspect of my photography is its potential to help me share the world I see with others. But another significance of the photo is its presumed ability to capture, via the magical laws of similitude ki contagion, some of the power from that world, to be brought away. It is a kind of taking. Ki I wonder, what are we willing to give in return?

Akaiksisiikini

lll ) lllll Akaiksisiikini…

Iiksskonata’piiyi amopistaanistsi. Living attentively with them everyday, I find that they constantly reveal aspects of our experiences that are either hidden under normal conditions or, more often, outright avoided because they challenge the stories we want to believe about ourselves. Sometimes, the manner in which amopistaanistsi communicate with us is very blunt ki straightforward. But it can also be extremely subtle, leading us unknowingly toward lessons that require years to unveil.

When piipiiaakii ki niisto first brought ksisskstaki amopistaan into nookoowannaan, I entered a period of heightened agitation. Loud noises ki voices began to really bother me, especially the distinct sounds of naapi’powahsin… which I thought was odd, because it’s our first language. None-the-less, I stopped listening to the radio, cut down considerably on television, ki began secluding myself in either my bedroom or office whenever we had too many visitors chattering in our living-room. Initially, my assumption was that I was either sensing what nitomopistaan itself felt in this new environment, or that perhaps something had been done to me physically during the pommakssin process that fundamentally transformed my aesthetics. In any case, after a full winter season living in frustration over the abundance of noise around us, my sense of intense annoyance began to dull somewhat, although never completely subsiding.

It was around that time that an altogether different agitation began to trouble me, namely a growing intolerance for some of the short-sighted ki foolish behaviors I was witnessing in others, especially family. Ki in this respect, my life became a considerable challenge. Nitaatowa’pakka, kiitokiiaapii, who I was relying on to responsibly carry his role as partner with nitomopistaan, repeatedly bowed to an addiction that jeopardized his marriage, his employment, ki the trusting relationship we’d built (in addition to being a terrible influence on ohkoyiiksi). At the same time, nitaakiim, ni’tsitstakiaakii, was trying to use procreation as a means to secure her relationship with a boy who didn’t really want her, ki who was not remotely interested in taking care of her… a decision that I knew could only bring more hardship into her life ki ours. Then, after forty years of seeming stability, ninna iiponiowatsiiwa niksisst. This latter event was, of course, particularly devastating for me. Before I’d learned what had happened, I felt intuitively that a radical change had occurred, ki that it had something to do with my parents. I’d even used the satellite imagery of GoogleEarth to look down on their house, so far away, trying to figure out what my intuition was about. I wouldn’t have to wait long. Just a few sleeps passed before ninna phoned to confide with me the news of his infidelity, ki the certainty that he’d be leaving niksisst. With both kiitokiiaapii ki ni’tsitstakiaakii, my responses initially took the shape of concern, then moved toward disappointment, ki eventually a kind of judgemental disinterest. With ninna, who I had tremendous respect for, my first reaction had been similarly concerned ki supportive. I even attempted to help him strategize the separation for minimal damage. But then came a day when I had to confront the pain ki despair carried through the devastated voice of niksisst, ki all of my respect ki support for ninna turned immediately to a resentment so strong that, almost two years later, I’ve still avoided speaking to him again.

These are only a few of the most extreme examples of what I’ve experienced in terms of heightened agitation since ksisskstaki amopistaan came into nookoowa. Yet there have been countless lesser disturbances, some too brief even to warrant memory. The point is, when faced with these kinds of challenges, my reaction has generally involved intolerance ki, if carried on, eventually a fair bit of disdain or resentment. In fact, one might easily interpret my emotional response pattern as something unbecoming of an iiyaohkiimi, or even potentially dangerous for those around me. As the public discourse in our region goes, those who are involved in naatowa’pii are supposed to practice kimmapiiyipitssin - a habitualized compassion for the interests ki needs of each member of society, as if they were our own children, ki as if the whole of the community were one close-knit family. Our inner sentiments, especially if given any voice, are thought to be communicated to amopistaanistsi, ki therefore carry the potential for realization. On the other hand though, aakaaniiyo’p “iihtsipaitapiiyo’p isstsskimaanitapi”. This was certainly true during the period leading up to our transfer, ki naahsinnaaniksi warned us that more challenges would follow. What piipiiaakii ki niisto were advised, ki what we’ve stuck to all along, was to maintain diligence in attending to nitomopistaan – through aamato’simaan, aatsimoyihkaan, ki’sommainihkssiistsi, etc. We’ve done that, ki we’ve learned a great deal in the process. At times, that learning has been immediate, or at least easily recognizable… direct lessons from mi’ksskimmiisoka’simm, the catching of naatoyinihkssiistsi. On other occasions though, the growth one gains through naatowa’pii is gradual, an embodied consequence of steady diligence in practice or saponihtaan. Annohk, for me, ki perhaps through this more gradual process, although the heightened intolerance ki agitation of recent years has not by any means completely abated, I’m beginning to sense a shift in my understanding of its meaning, ki also in the potential for positive action that it could ultimately produce.

Over the past few sleeps, my awareness of the changes underway in this respect have intensified. I’m not sure why this is… there have been a number of simultaneous events that I’m currently associating with it. What almost certainly brought it to a head, though, was a recent visit from ni’tsitstakiaakii ki otani, aanataakii. Piipiiaakii ki niisto had returned from mi’kai’stoo that evening to find aanataakii running around in our living-room with just her diaper, acting silly ki trying to get someone, anyone, to pay attention to her. The other aakiiksi were huddled around isskohkitopiiaahkoyinnimaakii, poking at her, kissing her, laughing hysterically at her every expression. Seeing that we had visitors, I was at first very cordial. But it wasn’t long before the volume of noise in our living-room, especially in the form of naapi’powahsin blaring from both the television ki the aakiiksi, began to annoy me. Under normal circumstances, I can sense nitomopistaan as a congenial presence throughout nookoowannaan. But when there’s too much loud activity around, as there was that evening, I get the feeling that nitomopistaan recoils ki hides away behind our bed. Nimaatssksinihpa whether this is just projection on my part. I don’t think so. It seems every bit as real as when I’m aware that nitomitaa is hiding under her blankets in our closet, in similar avoidance of such frenetic activity. Ki soon I myself feel compelled to join them.

Closing myself off behind our bedroom door, ki laying down, I hope that I might sleep through the ruckus. Ki I’m almost successful when I hear aakiikoan hollering excitedly for ni’tsitstakiaakii. There had been an accident. Aanataakii, crouched behind a chair, was suddenly overcome with a diarrheic urge, the results of which had burst out of her diaper ki all over our carpeted living-room floor. Once the accident was noticed, nookoowa erupted in excited noise, ki ni’tsitstakiaakii rushed aanataakii to the bath. The little girl was humiliated, crying, ki oksisst consoled her by saying, “It’s okay, honey. Nobody knows it was you, and I don’t care”. From my bed, I could hear ni’tsitstakiaakii saying this. Ki I thought, why don’t you care? Then I came out to survey the damage ki order an immediate, thorough clean up. My first reaction when seeing the pile of diarrhoea was irritation. I thought, this was so easily avoidable. She should have been wearing more clothes, someone should have been attending to her. As the aakiiksi cleaned up, I went outside to smoke ki distance myself from the loud, messy scene. At that point, a wave of intuition hit me… I suddenly felt that the whole event was unavoidable, that it was meant to happen, that it had occurred as a natural result of aanataakii visiting nookoowannaan, being in the presence of ksisskstaki amopistaan. We were being shown something. What nitomopistaan was telling us was that there’s something really wrong with this poor little girl’s diet, something we need to begin taking seriously. In other words, what I felt was that the whole incident was a kind of warning. Ki moreover, that perhaps many of the agitations I’d experienced over the last couple years were similar in nature. Perhaps I had not just turned into a grumpy old man. Maybe there was more to it, ki the negative sentiments were merely a means of directing my attention to important matters.

I considered this possibility for the rest of the evening, ki the following morning drove up to siksika with naahsa, ki’naksaapo’p. On our way there, aiksisiikiniwa ki nitsinoaayi a number of omahkai’stoiksi. Both observations I took as signs that the transition into niipoyi had arrived. Ki at that point, again, intuition came. I was reminded that there are cycles to learning just as there are to the seasons. Perhaps, I rationalized, my winter training with nitomopistaan has come to its conclusion through the newfound awareness that states of agitation can be potentially functional. That they might serve as a kind of early warning system for significant issues to be dealt with. The challenge is no longer a question of what is wrong with myself or others, but rather what to do about the things I’m being shown.

Aohkii Naatoyiiwa

ll Ainihkiyi Matsiyikkapisaiksi…

Just as I’d suspected would happen, when the last sliver of saommitsiki’somm disappeared, matsiyikkapisaiksi iimataniiyaa. The evening before, nitsipapainoaa naamsskii, an orange ki brown salamander… nitaanistaitsihtaa it’s a signal for us to go ahead ki plant naawahko’tsisi for the season. I doubt we’ll have another frost.

Matonni, piipiiaakii ki niisto travelled around kainaissksaahkoyi. We picked some asparagus at sspopiikimi. There were only a handful of nice fat ones; it looks like we should wait a few sleeps for the rest of them to grow out. Our next stop was at awakaasomaahkaa ookoowa. I wanted to throw my fish trap in the water there, ki to get an update from him about some of the niitsi’powahsin phrase recordings he’s been doing for the Kainai Studies website. Aaniiwa he had a chance to visit with Francis, who spoke about sa’aiksi in the past being so numerous that the oyiiyiistsi would completely circle most omahksikimiistsi. Francis aaniiwa this is what is meant by “momma’pis” (the same as we call our stone tipi rings). I was excited to hear this, because as an iiyaohkiimi it makes a lot of sense. It had taken me some years before I came to appreciate the parallels between moistom, niitoyis, ki kitawahsinnoon. In so many naatoyinihkssiistsi, we refer to kookoonnoonistsi as naatoyii. But what does this mean? At least in part, it speaks to the connection between kiistonnoon ki kitawahsinnoon. If we think of mansstaamiksi as niitahtaistsi, the limb-bones ki ribs of our ecological body, then what is to become of us when we pollute them, or pinch them down into narrow spikes with our dams? We’re hazarding the collapse of kookoonnoon, which cannot be other than our physical bodies. The other thing that impressed me about the idea of momma’piistsi being like oyiiyiistsi around omahksikimi is how it might enhance one’s appreciation of the camp arrangement at aako’kaatssin. There, kanakkaaatsiiksi ki mi okaan are all in the middle of the circle, essentially separated from kookoonnoonistsi by a body of water. Ki this reminds me of iihkitsikaamiksi ki pawaksskii… in both akaitapiitsikikssiistsi, it is a large expanse of water that separates us from the home of naato’si ki ko’komiki’somm.

These thoughts lingered with me for the rest of the day, as nitsitsiimiihkaahpinnaan – first up on mookoansiitahtaa, behind Buck Many Finger’s place, where we found that the trout had not made it that far upriver yet, then back in the wetlands around awakaasomaahkaa ookoowa, where the pike were small but hungry.