Tracks

I wasn’t going to post this. It was a deeply personal experience. But then I realized that very few people read this and perhaps it may change someone’s perspective... if ever so slightly.

As fate would have it, I was in Kenora to do a presentation 50 years to the day after Chanie Wenjak ran away from Cecilia Jeffrey Residential School. I spent the morning talking to various folks around town in attempts to get a feel for what it means to be from the area. It was lovely. However, no one mentioned what was foremost on my mind. The day was overcast, windy and cold. As the time approached for my presentation I made my way up a hill and over a bridge to a former Catholic school that now serves as the Northwestern Health Unit. The bridge was getting some work done and there were a crew of workers laying tar. At the apex of the bridge I stopped to take in the view. Then I looked down. And there were the train tracks. My breath caught in my chest and without a moment’s thought I was scrambling over the barrier at the end of the bridge and working my way down the ragged slope to the tracks. I plopped myself down on the rough stones and put a hand on the tracks. Across from me a raven hopped through the bush, browsing, seemingly unaware. I can make no attempt to describe how totally overwhelmed I felt. I looked down the tracks as they disappeared on the horizon and tears flowed freely down my face. Yes, I wept for Gord, but more succinctly, for what he was doing with his limited time. I wept for the blind indifference that allows us to dehumanize people that we see as other. I wept for the extraordinary act of simply trying to go home... where we can be the most authentic version of ourselves despite all the forces that will try and mold us otherwise. I wept for a man who would have been about my age and is now forever a boy just wanting to get home. I wept for a deeply beautiful, indomitable culture that I believe in my heart is all that can save us from the unsustainable path we are all on. I took off my scarf and down vest to let the cold wind cut through me and create the space I needed for all that I wept for... and feel, if just for an instant, the depth of a journey that started 50 years ago on these tracks. A journey we all need to make. It is a path that will need us all to weep together and feel the truth of that wind and yes, reconcile our place in it. Then, and only then, will we be able to move forward together.

There was a rustle and a croak across the tracks and the raven flew up into the sky. I watched him ascend and realized the reason for his exit was to harass two eagles that were circling overhead. The raven swooped and weaved around the two giants to make this amazing living circle there against the low, grey sky. I watched them and their dance for as long I could see them. Then, putting my vest and scarf back on, I made my way back up the hill toward where I would be presenting. As I approached the building, someone else was on their way in, walking through the parking lot and asked me; “Hey, did you see the eagles?”

Yes, I saw the eagles.

#IndigenousEducation #Mindfulness #Loss #TruthandReconciliation