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Most Internet communications are rubbish, shallow, vacuous, superficial chatter aimed primarily at finding out the state of the weather at another locale or if some other mindless fool is "ok." Her messages are bright, witty and charming - precious little jewels out of the blue. Her boyfriend is in a snit because I correspond with her. Jealous lout. Doesn't understand that my love is from afar and threatens no one - least of all an insecure, immature white boy. In the old days I would be there now and his scalp would be hanging - reeking, red and raw - from my lodge poles. Should consider himself lucky that the fiery passions of youth are down to the dull embers of old age. She has just discovered that the blood of the Cherokee runs in her veins. A grandfather from out of the past spoke fluent Cherokee and had told an older brother to "never forget your Indian blood." I hope this revelation opens up whole new worlds for her...in her music...in her writings...in her clothing and jewellery...and in how she perceives the world and all it's wonder. There is so much for her to discover and she is all ours, one of the beautiful First People. She has so much to learn about the First Nations. She has to walk the Cherokee Trail of Tears and I so wish I could be there to help guide her through that bitter tribal memory. She has to come to understand that the modern Cherokee are not museum pieces, frozen in time in some cold glass display. They are a proud people, alive and vibrant, strong. She has to attend a powwow and listen to the drum - the heartbeat of the universe. She has to hear the timeless throbbing of the drum in her feet, in her heart and in her soul. She has to learn the ways of the sacred drum and pipe and sweetgrass. She has to come to know the story of the First Peoples, their rich vibrant heritage, their trials and tribulations, their incredible strengths and perseverance. She has to walk in our moccasins for awhile and come to know her own people. She has to learn to speak with eagles and learn to hear the voice of the Creator in the wind. She hears that already, intuitively. The whole Indian world lies at her feet, waiting to be discovered. She is a new creature, born-again anew under the Great Mystery. She writes inspirational literature and sings inspirational songs. Has a voice like an angel. Whenever I get a few bucks ahead I'm going to send for all her CD's. I really don't want to (heheheh) but I will share her address. Her name is Jennifer Avalon and she can be found at: http://www.AviatorRecords.com Go there, welcome her to the Brother and Sisterhood of First Nations. Offer her a cup of virtual tea, sit awhile and visit. Bask in the warmth of who she is....
Gilbert Oskaboose, a retired Ojibway journalist from the Serpent River First Nation in Northern Ontario wrote a weekly column here on FirstNations.com. With the permission of his family, we are privileged to continue to present Gib's words and stories, many of which are still relevant today. Gib is a residential school survivor. During his retirement, Gib was engaged in a class action law suit against the Society of Jesus (Jesuits) and the federal Department of Indian Affairs for their respective contributions to a residential school lost childhood. In 2000, Gib suffered a stroke and he was no longer able to continue writing.. He his mind and spirit are still strong though his body is now weak. Gib is currently living in an nursing home in Ontario. Thanks and well wishes go out to him and his family. As Gib would say, "Write on, young native writer, write on...." His hope is that young writers will pick up their pens and use their voice to comment and describe the world we live in. The pen has been now been passed to you, the next generation.
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The
Lovely Cherokee Rose 