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Sunday, December 21, 2014

It doesn't interest me...




Tale of The Boy Who Married A Mountain-Lion




Chief Mountain




THUNDER MOUNTAIN (Potawatomi Legend)




Did you know?




Did you know? People: The Micmac First Nations are...





The cultural behavior of the Mi'kmaq which shows that they were extremely...






How do you pronounce "Mi'kmaq?" What does it mean?





What is the right way to spell "Mi'kmaq"?




Where do the Micmacs live?




How is the Micmac Indian nation organized?



What language do Micmac Indian people speak?




Mi`kmaq Honor Song in memory of Spotted Eagle (Tom Paul).




Saturday, December 20, 2014

Did you know? Edna Moscelyne Larkin Jasinski (January 14, 1925 – April 25, 2012) was one of...




Did you know? NAYA, In Portland Oregon...



Did you know? The first Native American woman to earn...





Did you know? Chad Denny is a full blood Mi`kmaq and plays...





This is for my followers





HOW MUIN BECAME KEEPER OF THE MEDICINES





Wednesday, December 17, 2014

Coyote Shows How He Can Lie




Why the North Star Stands Still





How Daylight Came To Be






Thursday, March 20, 2014

The most difficult place to live is in the middle.




The family I know, the people who raised me, the people who spent countless hours and dollars educating me, investing in the young girl that became me, this is the only family I know.  They do not want to hear about my feelings of being tormented.  This family gets angry at me at any mention of this torment.  No matter how small the mention is, it never goes unpunished.  Harsh words and the customary accusations of playing the victim, and a lifetime of shutting off this voice hardened me. 
There is more…
The family that I am related to by blood, the people who look like me, the people who threw me away in 1967 because I am female and half white, my tribe, they reject me with silence.  One half of me is Lake Cowichan First Nation, the other half is white.  So this post is about where I live inside.  The place I call the no so soft center.  The center I decided to expose a small piece at a time.  It hurts.  
I am older now and maturity has assisted me in many ways.  I am calmer.  I am quieter.  I am less aggressive.  I have stopped attempting to be Indian to my white family, and I have stopped trying to be Indian to my Native family.  So what am I?  Good question. 
I am the result of a government experiment conducted in 1967.  I am quite sure this program started long before and ended sometime after, however, I am unable to verify the actual dates/numbers.  Why?  Because no one has ever written about it.  Especially the survivors, people like me. 
At the risk of pissing off my adopted family, my white family, I am beginning to speak of this experience I have lived and am still living.  At the risk breaking some tradition or custom or embarrassing my tribe, I am speaking of this experience I have lived and am still living.  Not to purposely anger or offend anyone.  I speak of it only so it will not be lost in the silence of my pain and anger of powerful and intimate and unknown people.  It is time to introduce myself to me and to you.  I am…
½ White
½ Lake Cowichan First Nation
I am going to find my voice, and I will do it publicly. 
BigMamaBlaze


Thursday, February 27, 2014

Decided to expose the center

Decided to expose the center


Decided to expose the center. The part that is crucified between two identities, two worlds, two cultures, two families, two races, and two sets of standards. The center that is not so quiet. The place that offends the onlooker, offends the listener.

Decided to expose to the world. The not so soft perception of my modern duality. Decided to no longer live in silence. An attempt to explain how I feel, ultimately how I see.

The campaign for ending violence against women is to break the silence. Shall there be a slogan, a campaign for society to begin to acknowledge and account for the stolen generation?
It is a moral dilemma for society to assign accountability for something not necessarily committed by this generation, but, the victims/survivors are still here. Who is accountable to them? Can we break the silence for them?


She is gone.  She is a ghost.  She was my mother's sister.  This is all I have of this generation, of my mother.  I never met her.  But then again, I am pretty sure I have never really met myself.




Maybe I will be able to show you what I see.  Just a little bit at a time.  I dare not release too much silence at once.  The world would not understand.



Saturday, February 1, 2014

Take action...Matt Damon



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