Shannon Thunderbird and her 95-year old Mom,
Tsimshian Elder, Gandoox
(copyrighted)

tHE WAVES, THE SHADOWS AND ME

I travelled a long way to the edge of my existence
And looked down into a vast dark sea
It was peaceful, calm and I was serene
With the waves, the shadows and Me

 To be alone in that tranquility
I yearned for that perfect peace
No future, no past, no anything
Just the waves, the shadows and Me

I wondered as I wandered in this dreamlike state
If the Ancestors were calling me home
Should I go now or wait and see
With the waves, the shadows and Me

What is that I hear? A child calls
Her sweet voice asks to be with me
And so I know I must wait for her
Beyond the waves, the shadows and Me

And so I walk back into the light
Women’s voices accompany me
Their brave song of healing dances atop
The waves, the shadows and Me

 And when I decide that it is time
My eyes will be straight and hands clean
I’ll walk to my day of quiet in joy
On the waves, the shadows and Me

-Thunderbird-
(Written in honour of a young woman who fought back from life-threatening despair
by deciding to leave the end of her days in the hands of Great Mystery. All My Relations)

...Thunderbird...

INDIGENOUS WOMAN

The Creator made me an Indigenous Woman

I am mystical, strong and free

My path follows on the wings of the Eagle

I seek my truth in spiritual places

I fly with the Raven and sing with the Thunder

In my heart I live where the salmon run

I do not seek power, my power is within

I give freely those gifts that the Creator has given me

The Creator made me an Indigenous woman

...Thunderbird...

ESCAPE 

I love my Kiowa pony. He runs with the wind;

Tail streaming, mane blazing a-flame as he runs to the sun

He and I, we are one; we sail without effort across the valley,

across the valley of the lonesome ones

I see them scatter before us, those long ago 
shadow figures

They ride their ponies in joyous freedom

How long ago, How long ago

I love my Kiowa pony; he feels as I do,

as I do, as I do, as we run with the wind to

the sun of our desire

...Gandoox...

INDIAN

If it looks like an Indian, talks like an Indian, it must be an Indian

Give me wide berth...for surely I am not human
But hear me...for I can hear you...see me...for I can see you

You can run, but you cannot hide behind your Christian platitudes.
You can turn your face away and lie smugly in the arms of the dominant race

But I am here, I am strong, and I am The People

See me...for I am real

My skin may be red, but my blood is red, like yours
My tradition says we are born of one Mother

If this is true then you are my Brothers and my Sisters
We are born of one family and Mother Earth is our parent

Do not speak to me loudly, for I hear you and I feel your fear

Come close to me and feel my love

Walk softly with me on our Mother the Earth and together

we will sing with the spirits

...Thunderbird...

HIDDEN PLACES

A Night Bird calls. Brush of wings stir the warm dark air about my face
Along the eastern horizon a thread of silver

I watch from the patch of warm grass where I sit each night

The thread grows, expands, stretches, pulling the moon from her hidden places

I, too, feel such pulling; a gentle urge taking me out of my hidden places
I am able to look with love upon who I am. I know I am

Ah, the moon! She rises with magic swiftness, all silver, all round, all perfect

She makes me feel as one with all ages past when human eyes watched 
what I am watching now

Did they, too, sense such beauty from without, meeting such beauty from within?

It’s the feeling of knowing who I am that is my beauty

I covet it, I care about it. I settle it snugly into my hidden places

The rich and silver moon knows her worth. And I know mine –

Which is not for telling, only feeling when I am alone

As now with Sister Moon sailing the night sky....

...Gandoox...

DEAD REDS WALKING

When you are grounded in the world, you know who you are
You can walk the path of knowing with heads held proud
Well I’m an Indigenous woman alive on Mother Earth
Not just a token Indian but moving in this world

We’re not dead ‘RED’s’ walking but live ones living 
Not sitting on the fringes in a world of your making
We strive to ground our spirits but we want to let you know
That you cannot buy our culture, then seek to let us go

We’ve been tied to each other since 1492
Swimmin’ that same river often counter points of view
We were taught to make you welcome, save your Ancestors sons
In thanks you took our freedom at the point of a gun

You come to our fires to hear the pulsing drums
Yet you dance with abandon upon the hearts of some
You want what we have, drifting in your Holy See
But you don’t want us, you just 'wanna-be'

We’re not dead ‘RED’s’ walking but live ones living
Not sitting on the fringes in a world of your making
We strive to ground our spirits but we want to let you know
That you can't buy our culture, then seek to let us go

We cannot disappear to meet your comfort zone
If you walk in our world, it’s on our terms and not your own
Don’t turn your face away for we are here and we are real
Don’t turn your hearts away out of hate and out of fear

We don't expect that you should live with the sins of your dads
We do expect that you should know what happened in the past
It’s always good to be aware of a culture’s history
For if we don’t, as time goes on, we are doomed to repeat

We’re not dead ‘RED’s’ walking but live ones living
Not sitting on the fringes in a world of your making
We strive to ground our spirits but we want to let you know
That you can't buy our culture, then seek to let us go

IN THE MIST

The Universe...The pulsating blue serene

Lies like an ocean of emptiness on my heart
as I rest in the mists of the old ways

Stars like living sapphires pepper the sky
and glow softly on the blue planet

I look to the iridescent moon for answers
as my mind orbits with celestial wakening

Can my people go home again?

My heart constricts as I gaze aloft,
Orion's Sword pierces my soul

NO.  The Star People weep

What was an no longer be
Except in dream time

when I rest in the mists of the old ways

Should I fall into insouciance?
Soul-less and out of step with The Great Mystery?

NO.  The Thunder Beings pound their message...

What was can no longer be

What is,  Can be

And I rest in the mists of the old ways

...Thunderbird...

ONCE MORE

My home is in the morning mist
I have wandered far away and often

Too often...

Yet wherever I went, wherever I go now,
The morning mist will rise over hilltops,
Over tall buildings, sweetening the air.
Before the waves of morning traffic surge insistent cresting 
and falling with crashes upon the beaches of my heart

I  must find the morning mist of my childhood
Only in my mind do I find it

Yet one day, some day, I will see it,

Smell it, feel it on my upturned face;

and I will be home once more

...Gandoox...

BURDEN OF PROOF

We live in a time of science and technology
Yet Raven continues to sing about the time he burst from the mountains to organize the world...bringing water,
arranging tides, making clams stop gossiping, and on, and on
Burden of Proof rests with Raven, I guess

We humans are empirical beings and demand
that there be evidence that Eagle is king
We know he is the Principle Messenger of Great Mystery 
He speaks for all who choose to hear
Burden of Proof rests with Eagle, I guess

We like to think it was humans who ordered the world
Arrogant beings that we are
that somehow we were elevated to the right hand of God......
But who is Jesus....really....who is Jesus?
We have to know to make him real
Burden of proof rests with Jesus, I guess

Science says thunder is a sudden heating and expansion of air by electrical discharge
The Elders says it is a huge black bird with red eyes
rolling across the sky...thunderbird blinks...lightening snakes flash under its wings
The burden of proof rests with Thunderbird, I guess

Does the world have to be so acutely visible?
Why must we see and touch the extraordinary beauty of dreams to make them real?
Perhaps we should let the dreamers dream
Allow their imaginations to bring fond hopes for a peaceful world
The burden of proof rests with the dreamer, I guess

There was once only a thin veil that separated the seen from the unseen world
Illusion is not just fantasy but visions from the Elders
in the quiet moments just before sunrise when
the world is silent so humans can pray and be heard
The burden of proof rests with Great Mystery....I guess

....Thunderbird...

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