Great sadness

I am lost for words. I recently wrote about Justin and what powerful work he was able to facilitate in Lummi community and beyond. But now, he has walked on. My heart is broken. I didn’t know him personally and the loss of his light has hit me hard. I can’t begin to understand how much more this loss has hit his family and community. 

I may write more later. My heart needs some time. But I wanted to create some awareness in the blog community about this fundraiser on Justin’s behalf. 

First and foremost, your prayers would be greatly appreciated. And, if you can, your donation would also be greatly appreciated. 

Please take care of yourselves and your community. We are all connected and the it’s great work when we take care of each other.


Lummi Youth Canoe Journey to Paris: Fundraiser

The people I admire, but whom I have never met in real life, are numerous. Which means I probably spend more time on social media than I should. I’m not going to apologize, though, because knowing these people, even if only through social media, does bring a richness to my life that I cherish.

Justin Finkbonner is one of those people. Though we have never met in real life, I try to keep up on what he is doing. He is a powerful force in the Lummi community. His dedication to the culture and to the youth is incredibly inspiring. Currently he is trying to raise money to get the Lummi Youth to Paris for the Climate Summit.

“The Lummi Youth Canoe Family has been invited to attend the United Nations Summit on Climate Change 2015 in Paris France. We need help getting the canoe there in time. Flying is our only option at this time. If anyone can help with connection or by donating money would be great. Thanks for your support”

Lummi Canoe Journey to Paris Fundraiser

I’m hopeful that I can raise even a little awareness about this fundraiser and help them continue to do good work. If you are not able to share monetarily at this time, please share with your networks. The power of connection never ceases to amaze me.


Making space for change

That thing, where I write about Indigenous people who inspire me….that’s on the stove, on low heat. The list is long of people who bring me joy and inspiration. Thoughts are congealing and I’m setting the heart space for those words to be full with spirit so that they are capable of building a bridge between meaning and understanding. I also need to kind of get permission to write about some of those people, since they aren’t public figures.

Today, though, I am itching to write about overthinking and getting unstuck; about preparing a way to move into the best version of oneself one can be. But also preparing to move into a new way of being as humans.

I’m an over-thinker. Over-thinking isn’t necessarily bad. I’m coming to realize, though, that when life gets rut-stuck, my thinking gets bogged down in the repetitive motions of life and it creates discomfort in my soul. My soul longs for scenery changes;  for new experiences, where my brain has the opportunity to process new pieces of data and new images. Traveling, exposing myself to different experiences and new scenery are necessary ingredients for my thought processes to properly untangle and to be productive. My neural connections, in a rut, remind me of the video game ‘pong’.

Coming to know this about myself, I begin to wonder if this might be a good medicine for the world where people are stuck in thoughts and beliefs, refusing to change, reticent to grow. What effect might being exposed to changes of scenery that are completely foreign to them have on their understanding of the world? Would they begin to think differently as a result of seeing things from a new perspective? Would their hearts be softened? Would they no longer be able to give power to anger, no more than the recommended acknowledgement of said anger?

I am keenly aware of the impact the power of knowledge has had on my life perspective. It has helped me to see the world in a much different light. Because I understand history and because I have dedicated myself to understanding it in context of the human experience, I know that my perspective is different from others. It has also taught me (and the lessons are ongoing, mind you) the power of patience and fierceness in educating the mind and the heart to see truth.

I intend to practice putting myself in different environments so that I can see the world from a new and different perspective. I will take the lesson of the Hanged Man to heart. It will become a tool for me, one that I spend some time developing over the next few weeks. Maybe months.

In the meantime, I will share with you a video that came to me this morning. One that talks about the power of seeing the world through Indigenous eyes. With an Indigenous heart.


Honoring knowledge

When you obtain knowledge, you have a responsibility to share that knowledge in ways that make the world a better place. That is how I was raised.

My graduate degree is in Tribal Governance. I have a Masters of Public Administration. What I learned in that program has helped me see life through a phenomenally beautiful lens. Getting accepted into the program was quite the process, and I know that there were people who were as qualified as myself who didn’t make it into the program at that time. The knowledge I gained in the program is a powerful, very specific type of knowledge, and I had hoped to have found my way to a position where my knowledge was my work, my job. That path hasn’t revealed itself yet, but I take this responsibility seriously.

I do volunteer my time where I can be of some assistance and I try to be that voice of knowledge in my personal life, when opportunities arise. That was the main purpose of this blog.

It occurred to me recently, however, that there are so many amazing people who are doing powerful work and my voice is but a wee one. The other day, someone put a meme on that f-book tool that said “Tag an Indigenous Woman Who Inspires You” and I thought to myself, ‘geez….that would be about half my f-book friends!’. Out of that, an idea has grown that I hope will allow me to put my knowledge to work and at the same time shine light on those amazing people who are already doing the work.

I had previously planned to do this on this blog, but with specific topics and interesting books that were important to read. Kind of like a book report or an op-ed That plan never really got off the ground, and time’s still ticking away.

I think part of the reason that never launched is because I actually have still not fully recovered from all the reading I had to do in grad school (believe it or not). One would think I would be tired of writing as well, except writing is just something I do. It’s like breathing.

So, I will tell you the stories of the people I am blessed to know (even if only casually) and adore, who are working in Indian country to keep hope, traditions, cultures and people alive and well. I will not let this gift of the seed of knowledge I have been given lie on fallow soil and rot.

50 is just around the corner

Fall is such a powerful time of year for me. I celebrate my arrival on this plane on December 29 of each year. It’s an interesting time to celebrate one’s existence. Four days after a good deal of the world celebrates the life of a Master Teacher and two days before the Romans, under Julius Caesar, decided we would start a new year. School was always out, so no celebrations with classmates. Most people are traveling to be with extended families. Only 8 days (a most auspicious number, eh) after the equinox. All in all, I love having this birth date.

It’s not unusual for me to spend time contemplating my life, and this usually accelerates around my birthday. This year will be no different. Turning 50 seems to be auspicious timing for undertaking this activity.

Upon waking a couple of days ago, a distinct impression, a powerful push, nudged me to consciousness. Life changes are calling. Some questions appeared in the first few moments of the impression: where is my energy weak? where might I be leaking power? how do I spend my time? Then the big question came a few hours later: what do you believe?

I haven’t examined and re-evaluated my belief system in a bit. I have received and integrated a whole lot of information over the last few years. This has had to have had an impact on my beliefs, but I haven’t taken the time to sit quietly to inventory and evaluate them with any intention. I think this has led to dissonance in my spirit. An example I can share: I claim to be a champion for compassionate behavior – except, apparently, when I’m driving. I see this as a sign that there is a crack in my vessel. The vessel which holds my spirit and soul in this body. And the crack points to dissonance in my being. My beliefs and my actions do not match.

It’s true these cracks aren’t always negative. Often times, when a new version of one’s self is being born, the vessel will crack to allow the new version of the self to emerge. Think chicken egg. It’s also true, I think, that dissonance, like balance, is a constantly shifting experience. Ignored, however, at the peril of one’s mental, emotional and physical well-being. So, I embark on the journey with a curious mind, but a cautious spirit.

Over the next few weeks, I will be undertaking a re-examination of my beliefs. Beliefs about myself; about human nature; about strength, love, hate and compassion; about the Divine; about what it means to be a woman. You get the gist. Some of this evaluation may be shared if I discern that the process might help others going through something similar. I look to many sources outside myself to gauge whether or not people in or near my orbit will benefit.

This means that I might be more of a hermit than usual. It will require me to remove unnecessary distractions. Disciplined time management principles are already in the process of being established. Japanese potters apply gold to cracks in pottery. The gold mends the breach and brings the vessel to wholeness. I will take this as an inspiration if the cracks need to be healed. But I will also contemplate the chrysalis and the egg. Perhaps a new version of myself is trying to come into existence.

I feel immensely blessed knowing that there are people, spirits and more-than-human relatives who are willing to support me in this endeavor. It’s a huge responsibility born of a certain amount of privilege.

statistics in the style of yogi berra

I’m going to throw some words out there, some ridiculously anecdotal statistics, despite my having been trained better. I do this mostly to 1. get these thoughts out of my head where they do little good and 2. to put them in your head, and your head and your head, so that hopefully, together, we can do some good.

98% of non-Indigenous people know NOTHING to very little about the truth of Native history on this continent (this is a global phenomenon but for right now, we will just stay on this continent). 98% don’t know anything. Or they know enough to make them dangerous. Literally.

Another 1% know the truth about Indigenous history, but they spend their time trying to disparage, minimize or outright refute the historical records and experiences of millions of people.

Another 1% know the truth, and do what they can to speak the truth to those who will hear. To allow the winds to blow away the clouded history and to shed light in the dark recesses where the truth of Native history exists. (a little melodrama for good measure).

Why am I writing this? I see that truth is coming to light. More people are speaking up. The light is getting brighter. The winds are getting stronger. Truth is coming out. I have a word of caution, though. Once you know the truth, you can’t un-know it. Once you have seen things in the light, you cannot run back to the shadows. You have a responsibility to the truth.

i’m wondering if we are doing right by the truth? Not that I think we should drop the reins and stop. I’m beginning to see that truth is like water. Water is a precious more-than-human relative. It is the lifeblood of our existence on this planet. We have a responsibility to truth like we have a responsibility to water. Water can be a powerful transformer, it can re-shape landscapes. How water (truth) re-shapes and transforms landscapes has everything to do with how we honor and work with it.

We need the truth. It’s no cliche that the truth will set you free. I look around and see the illness that lying and deception has created over the generations. We talk about healing and being safe….truth is where we will get our healing.

If 98% of the people don’t know the truth of Native history on this continent, probably a good 50% of them don’t CARE to know the truth. So where is the wisdom in trying to tell them something that they wouldn’t know how to handle or process to begin with? It’s comparable, in my mind, to casting your pearls before swine. If 48% of them care to know, but they are what I call lazy-thinkers (make easy deductions and stay away from thought patterns that cause them grief) I would venture to say that they are probably relying on that 1% of people who know the truth and do everything in their power to refute the truth.

There is the potentially fertile ground where the truth can be sown and where we might harvest the fruits of our work. (is it just me, or did this get all sermon-y? ahem) Honestly….we have a responsibility to tell the truth. We have a responsibility to tell the truth where it can be received. We have a responsibility to apply it lovingly, fiercely and with wisdom.

Now, how do we know where and to whom the truth should be told? I dunno. Not that I haven’t thought about it. I just don’t know. But maybe you do. Or you. Or all of us together. Maybe we can figure it out.

We can’t not try.

a brief check in

There are words and thoughts percolating in me…but they aren’t quite ready for consumption just yet.

I will share something that I hope will mean something to others.

I recently have been feeling isolated, alone, abandoned and generally out of sorts. I thought that it was just me. I thought that I was going through some really challenging emotional times and I honestly thought that I was hormonal. I was keeping all the pain and discomfort to my self. It was leaking out in my behaviors. I worked on stuffing it deeper inside, to be dealt with later.

That’s not a great strategy. Especially for someone who has walked too close to the edge of the abyss and knows the appeal of the darkness all too well. I know better.

Thankfully, I have a partner in life who knows how to help me get better perspectives. Once I started back-stepping, I started reaching out to my friends. A text here and there. A phone call. A social media message. And I heard from many that they were also going through something similar. I began to realize, not only is it not me, but we all have something to learn and share in this experience.

We are in an interesting season of change. It is so important that we learn to reach out and to be more receptive to gaining strength in the hearts of others, even if they are in similar dire straits as ourselves. There is magic and love to be experienced. Don’t hold in your pain. It’s an opportunity for growth and for strengthening the heart connections we have to each other. It will make us stronger.

PretIndians and cultural authenticity

This is a post that I have been trying to put together for months. It’s good that a little time has passed.

Over the summer, I observed many “conversations” on social media about cultural authenticity. That’s the nice way of putting it. What actually was transpiring was a lot of people who were tired of being minimized and caricatured lashed out at people who had benefited on many levels by claiming to have identity which was deemed to be dubious, at best. And rightfully so in many cases. But each time I observed the words “pretIndian” or “wannabe” being used in reference to someone’s identity, a little piece of my humanity died. Observing these interactions led me to turn inside myself and deal with the values and beliefs I have surrounding my identity.

For the record, these questions and conversations about identity are important and I believe that we should continue to interact with each other in this vein. However, what has me troubled is our varying propensities for poorly defining the parameters of inclusion and how we practice exclusion. Practicing exclusion. This is especially troubling to me as it concerns Tribal identity and the slow genocide known as blood quantum.

This article is intended to encourage people to engage in deep, thoughtful conversation about identity. To use words like “pretIndian”, to my mind, is unhelpful in these conversations. Instead, let’s talk about authenticity and the broken lineages and how to create inclusive community. I’m not claiming to have answers or authority, even, but surely we can do better than just throwing people to the wolves and dismissing them outright. Let’s do better and ask better questions and get to the heart of these matters in compassionate, strong and powerful ways. I also hope, through this article, to help identify some of the difficulties I have encountered with claiming my cultural identity and how I have sought to be authentic and respectful, not only of my ancestors, but of those who are fully identified in those cultures..

This is what I know about my ancestry: I am Ojibwe and Scottish on my father’s side. I am Choctaw on my mother’s side. I recently discovered that my maternal grand-father was born in a rural part of Washington state, so I’m going to be researching that line very soon. The only sure link I have is to my Scottish heritage. Only because that has been well documented.

This is from a note I wrote after a meditation recently:

|| Don’t call me a mutt || Or refer to my ancestry as if it were a steak sauce

|| My ancestry is rich, complex and made up of || stories and breath || souls and sinew || eyeballs and ether

|| Red hair, brown eyes and deep blue hearts || I ken my kindred || their heartaches, sacrifices and joys pulse in my veins || even if I don’t know their names

When I speak their language, I know it is my language ||

Here are some of the values and beliefs I have about my identity: I don’t claim anything that doesn’t ring true in my spirit. My claiming what I know will not detract from others who have a similar ancestry. I’m not about the per cap. I’m just trying to heal some ancient wounds. I’m just gonna be right here, trying to learn my languages and my cultural traditions. If at some point in the future, my knowledge can be of service to sovereign nation building, you know where to find me.

Beginning with the assumption that my oral history is accurate and true:

In “Make A Beautiful Way: The Wisdom of Native American Women” there is a chapter written by Barbara Alice Mann, titled “Slow Runners“. Ms. Mann details the difficulties eastern Tribes have had in gaining recognition, not just outside Indian Country, but also from within Indian Country. This chapter highlighted pieces of information that helped me more fully comprehend how my familial history as an Ojibwe is a really complicated symphony. The oral history I have been given is that my paternal great-grandmother, Velma, was Chippewa, but she had been adopted by a white family and had essentially acculturated as a white person. Given the political and social components of the time she lived in and what her choices might have been, it’s not hard to see how this transpired. What Ms. Mann’s article provided for me was a more in-depth contextualization, especially as it pertains to Native peoples who lived in the Ohio Valley, which is where my people are from.

Mann points out that in 1888 a special law was enacted to hasten the removal of Native people’s from the Ohio Valley. “Because minimizing the number of Indians eligible to receive land was a primary goal, a special law, 25 Stat. L, 392, was passed in 1888, declaring that Indian women who married Euro-American men were no longer Native, and neither were their children”. (p.90) Nookomis Velma was born in 1896 and that same year the Curtis Act was passed. The Curtis act required that Natives were to be expunged from the Tribal rolls forever, once they accepted the deed to their land allotment. In 1898, the Dawes Commission was formed and the possibility of an Indian woman living a life free from genocide, harassment or oppression practically disappeared. This happened consistently across the continent.

For a person with a conscience, it’s rough terrain to travel: knowing that the link to my culture is tenuous because it is, so far, based solely on an oral history. Add in the effects of colonization, and the chances of providing anything that comes close to proof are practically nil. The closest I can get to my Ojibwe heritage, so far (having not traveled yet to Ohio) is to say that I found Velma on the register of an orphanage at the age of 13. I also found her on a census at the age of 2, the granddaughter of a man who is not listed as her father on her birth certificate. But the father listed on her birth certificate died ten years before she was born. The family she is associated with at the age of 2 lived in Franklin township, Warren county, Ohio. At age 19 she gave birth to my grandfather and named him Franklin Warren.

Our family history, orally, is tenuous in the sense that we have scattered and my little branch of our family was kind of the black sheep branch of the family. I have extended family and yet do not know them. I have bits and pieces of stories that were spoken to me and an inability to reach out and find the connectors. That’s a story for another day.

In “Indigenous American Women: Decolonization, Empowerment, Activism” by Devon Abbott Mihesuah, one specific chapter provides me great insight about the process of claiming identity. Chapter 8, titled ” Modern American Indigenous Female Identity” highlights the process by which Indigenous women come to terms with who they are with respect to their cultural history. This has been very helpful to me in identifying both the stages and the pitfalls that accompany claiming identity and resolving the internal conflicts associated with those processes. Once I started reading, it helped me to understand, more clearly how this process might unfold for someone who has the stereotypical look of a Native person and how that experience is different from mine because I don’t “look Native”. More specifically, it helps me to identify the pitfalls as I strive to not be that person who claims an “articulated identity” when it’s convenient and who uses it to acquire some sort of privilege in the world.

Ending with the assumption that my oral history is untrue: 

These questions then come up for me: who am I? what do I do with the knowledge I have gained? What are the consequences of me moving forward on the assumption that my oral history is true until it can be proven to be untrue? What if I never find out for sure? How do I claim my ancestry, respectfully, without causing harm to others who live and breathe all the aspects of their identity? Who can’t escape the stereotypes and whose families paid the price for being who they are?

My first premise is ‘do no harm’. I will not act in a manner that deprives another person who has lived an authentic Native experience of their truth, their right to speak, to be an authority. I will choose carefully how I share my wisdom and knowledge since I have no authority under which I can speak.

I do this mostly in silence. On my own. With a humble heart. My knowledge and wisdom are shared sparingly, wisely, lest I fall into the trap of speaking on behalf of a culture for which I have no formal teachings or authority. I do not link my knowledge and wisdom formally to my ancestral heritage, even though there are teachings I believe have come to me from my ancestors.

Mostly I often speak to my ancestors and ask for their guidance on this journey. I don’t want to dredge up a painful past of pain and suffering if I am incapable of doing anything to make it right.

At the end of the day, I don’t want to be accused of being a PretIndian or a wannabe. Don’t call me a mutt or refer to my ancestry as if it is nothing more than a steak sauce. Not when my heart and soul are afire with questions and the desire to be authentically human; not when I am a complicated and powerful woman, strong with many weaknesses, wise and foolish but passionately driven to always do good work with good people.

Miigwech and Moran Taing. May we come together in peace and know each other for the authentically beautiful souls we are.

having ears to hear

Last night, we went to sleep under the stars in a remote part of the state. I woke up often during the few hours of sleep and acknowledged the spinning of the planet by noticing that the stars were in a different position each time I woke. There’s nothing quite like sleeping under the stars, when the lights from civilization are minimal. Well, maybe what comes close is driving home while the sun slowly rises behind you. That’s how my day started.

One of the joys of taking a more arterial route to work is that I’m able to savor some hidden joys of not driving I-5. When I’m paying attention, I can see and acknowledge the birds. I’m able to see that slight movement on the side of the road and acknowledge the rabbit. If I’m paying attention, I can acknowledge the trees and say miigwech to them on a daily basis. Recently, heron has been a prevalent spirit on my drive into work and I’ve taken the time to seek her meaning. I have eyes that are capable of picking up the subtle moments of our existence, but I don’t always remember to use my eyes in that way so some days the drive in to work is just a grind. I try to not take for granted this gift and forget how to be thankful.

So it is with ears. We have ears on the sides of our heads, and they process a ton of information. They are capable of picking up both the subtle and the gross. However, mostly they pick up on the gross. The ears inside our hearts allow us to pick up on the subtle whispers of life, if we know how and can remember to use them. This last week, I picked up on a message that I believe comes from the subtle world of Creator and my ancestors. It came after I was painfully contemplating the conversations and denials surrounding the genocide of Indigenous people. I am no longer amazed by the amount of ignorance that exists within the general consciousness. But I am ALWAYS profoundly hurt to realize the pervasiveness of the continued, willing existence of that ignorance.

How is it that such ignorance continues to be so prevalent? It’s not as if there aren’t people telling the stories. The histories are documented. It seems to me, today, the telling of the history is not the problem. It’s the hearing of these stories where the insufficiency lies. This promotes a rich soil for propagating ignorance. Profound and willful ignorance boggles my mind and can lead to the creation of deep bitterness and cynicism in my heart. I don’t like having space for bitterness and cynicism in my heart so I invest energy and space to uproot them before they go to seed.

There is an inability to hear which is pervasive in our collective consciousness. An unwillingness to acknowledge where violence, atrocities, and evil actions have preceded a supposed ‘victory’ or ‘conquering’ of people exists. This willingness to be ignorant is used as a tool of denial to try and silence the voices of those who carry and speak the stories. I recently read a brilliant article that discusses some of the nuanced arguments used to outright deny or minimize the reality of Native American genocide. Cutcha Risling Baldy Article Cutcha’s words are powerful but it’s mostly her brilliant approach at logic that I think wins big points in making headway toward understanding.

To show you that I’m not immune to this persuasion to be willfully ignorant, here is something that informs my contemplation of this issue: realizing my paternal ancestry is both Ojibwe and Scottish. This has meant coming to terms with the knowledge of the history of Scottish settlements in North America – and coming to acknowledge the history of Scottish people being driven from their lands.

I have come to realize how complex the decision to be an informed human can be. It’s difficult. It can be painful and potentially devastating to one’s sense of self. To realize that there is a huge possibility that some of my ancestors participated in or perpetrated horrible actions against some of my other ancestors is immensely disturbing to me. Not everyone has the capacity to receive this information and to figure out how to live life knowing this history. Knowing what it really means. That it’s not just a story, but a reality that happened to real people. And knowing that there really is no excuse for this violence, this lack of humanity. Perhaps this is why people choose to be willfully ignorant.

Here is the subtle message that came to me this week: May the stories of atrocities and violence that have been endured be heard so that healing may begin and justice may be engaged.

The key word being “heard”. We must keep telling the stories and trying to navigate the incredibly tough parts of accepting this history. It’s apparently not enough to tell the stories. I’m hearing a nuanced message that we have to also pray that the ears in the hearts are opened so that truth and justice may prevail. That when we tell the stories, we are honest in our telling so that the truth has it’s proper power. There is probably more to the message, and I’m sure it wasn’t meant for just me. So, I’m sharing in the spirit that those who have ears to hear may pick up whatever message or lesson lives there for them.

I pray that my words are strong, written in a good way and bring good things to the world. Apegish wii-zhawenimik Manidoo

I’ve been thinking….

First things first.

I want to make sure and give CHI MIIGWECH to gimiwan! For aabijibiisaa (rains without stopping), for animikiikaamagad (thunder) and for waasesemagaad (lightning). Mii igo geget gii-gichi-gimiwang. (It rained really hard!) We so have needed the gifts from our more-than-human relatives: rain, lightning and thunder. Bebakaan igi mitigoog izhinaagoziwag. The trees all look different. I can see their stress more clearly now that the gimiwan has blessed us. On the one hand, I’m very grateful for the rain. And on the other hand, seeing that the situation is probably worse than we want to admit is something I can’t ‘unsee’.

I’m the person that can see. Not necessarily like a see-er. More like an observer. Well, except for some social situations. I can be totally clueless in some social situations, not observant whatsoever. Seriously, though, I’m that person who sees the centipede, the beetle and the slug on the path as I’m walking and tries to make sure to not step on them. I see birds when most people don’t. I hear them. I talk to the crows. Seals show up when I find myself on the beach and I speak a word to them on the wind.

For all my education, I’m still sorely ignorant when it comes to being clear about how to identify or translate what they are saying. However, I am certain that the noticing/listening/seeing is a big part of developing that reciprocal relationship between humans and our more-than-human relatives. So, when I say that I see the stress in the trees, I say this with confidence. They needed the rain. They need our prayers and our love just as much.

I don’t think this ability is uniquely mine. There are many other quirks that I can claim as uniquely mine, which we won’t inventory right now! HA! No, we are all born to this ability to hear, to connect, to listen. We are made of dust, both earth and star dust. We are inherently connected to the wild and undomesticated of our world. We have to learn how to become less domesticated without going feral. Undomesticated is elegantly positioned in the world. Feral is just fierce, without manners and without teachings. How do we adopt more of the elegant undomesticated elements and keep from going feral? I’m still trying to learn that. When i say that you can do this too, I say this with confidence. Not only CAN you do it, but you are being called to do it. To listen, to notice, to see.

I’m trying to learn languages that are in my DNA. On one level, it’s not easy, but the more energy I put there, the more graceful the effort becomes.  The more you do it, the less ‘crazy’ you will fee. Just be careful that you don’t lose perspective and become that weird hippy relative who hasn’t learned to live with paradox and duality. (she says quietly to herself)

I’m on my way to an adventure. An adventure that will put me in relationship with water in a very big way. I plan to pray and listen and practice the language. If you would like for me to carry your prayers and your energy with me, please message me and let me know. I will gladly and humbly bring these to the water on your behalf.