Momma Can You Hear Me?

This week and weekend was founder's day. I love this time of the year, it is the perfect reason to get out of our locked away-ness and socialize. Being able to wacipi is definitely helpful too!
I only went on friday and sunday. But both days were amazing. I saw so many people I love and on both days I met two different women who knew my mom. Personally, closely.
One told me that she was really good friends with her, and she knew her because she hung out wiht her in winner. The other one knew her because she is related to us via marriage.
Tehy both told me they loved her. The lady I spoke with today said mom was a champion jingle dress dancer. I knew she was a champion dancer, but I didnt know in what catagory. The lady today said that she danced the old style. For the first time in a long time, hearing about her didn't make me burst into tears, it didnt make that hole inside me twinge with sorrow and pain. The lady today asked about me, I told her that I miss my mom very much, but I know that everything I do, is to make her proud; it's what guides me.

As the days and hours have worn on, I feel it, the longing, it's the same longing to belong to someone. It's not as strong these days, but I still see mothers and daughters together, and it hurts a bit. I'll never have that. I don't feel like I have that. I have lots of women who love me, but none that I feel are like a motherly love, none that I can feel secure in, to rest my head on. It's the same feeling/thought I'd get when I'd watch my friends with their moms growing up. Knowing that you can be loved by a "replacement" mom, but knowing too that it isn't secure, because you aren't "really" theirs.
I said that to the woman I met on friday. The thing about being ripped away from your mother and not getting to see her again, alive, is that you can't trust others to care for you. You can't settle in, knowing that someone will be there, if you need them. I dont know. Maybe its just me. I have spent years crying myself to sleep, or alone in the dark crying, knowing that there is no woman out there who I could call up; not without feeling awkward, or justifying my call. Writing this now, makes me cry. It's my bruised soul that never fully goes away. I spent years trying to find a replacement, for that hole that she occupied, even in her absence; the closest I came was Auntie. She loved me unconditionally, mothered me, looked out and cared for me better than any other woman from the time I was taken from my mother. She loved and cared for me from the time I got back to South Dakota until the day she died. Her death about tore me apart. It was after her death that the hole returned, the feeling of being an orphan, the feeling that I was alone in this big world. Oh I've had lots of women who see the orphan in me, want to take care of me, but I'm not sure I let them. Some of them have told me, they have not let themselves.

It's a harsh thing to be torn from your mother too soon. My mother wasn't perfect, but she loved me, she loved me completely and I knew she loved me. I was 18 months when I was taken, we were together long enough to form that cruical bond and knowing I was loved by my mother is what I know got me through the hell I lived through when I was adopted. Even at that young age, it allowed me to know, the pain being inflicted on me was only temporary; I had a real mother out there who loved and wanted me. Bad thing was, she left before I could get back.
The quickest way to kill a woman or a child, is to separate them.

But as each sun rises, I'm still motherless. You can't raise the dead, and spirits only get you so far. Some days are harder than others. On those days I turn to my art, I work it out in painting or sculpture or writing. As a result, I have a ton of "mother" poems. And I focus on the fact that I have a wonderful husband and a beautiful perfect daughter who know she is loved, knows she is safe and thinks the world is perfect. I pray to God everyday, nothing mars her world. I know that my daughter and I have, and will have what I didn't; each other for as long as we are allowed. It makes me desperate to find her others who will love and support her god forbid anything happen. I dont want her to EVER feel lonely or orphaned in this world, because that makes for long, cold, lonely nights.

As far as my mom goes, I don't know if the pain will ever go away. It is a hole, I don't think will ever close. But I live every day knowing that what I can do, is make her proud. Do everything to make her know that those few months we had together, made me the amazing person I am. And she still gets credit for it, she was my beginning. I will always love her.

NOW HEAR THIS....

I now have an "offical" webiste...so move with me will you?
I'm going to www.maryblackbonnet.com

As soon as we figure it out.. i will import everything here.
thanks! MBB

the scars that remain

I am recovering slowly. At least to me slowly. The wreck really affected my heart and head in a way that ibuprophen cant' help.

I drove two places yesterday and the first time my body locked up and I got the worst migraine. The second time, my body locked up, I had the worst pressure behind my eyes. The second time i was driving us, the family, to the waterfall for an evening hike. mihigna said it was body memory. I hadn't even thought of that. I am well familiar with body memory, with my history. I guess I just never thought it would show up in something like this. I find myself wanting to edit my emotions regarding this experience, but stop myself, for myself.

The hike was a laborious effort for me. Mihigna said i was crazy for doing it. I thought the more I moved, the better I'd be. okay, the faster I'd be better. Mihigna said, "you have to deal with your pain the first 48 hours, then start returning to normal activity."

I need something, but I can't identify what that is.
Maybe it's too early, maybe I've ingested too much ibuprofen and not enough wakalyapi. maybe a walk will shake it off.....

SO EFFING AMAZING!!!

So, I decided I was going to enter the juried art show this year; and went with my gut as to what photos to enter. I chose five, and two of them won awards!!!

WOO EFFING HOOO!!!!!

I'm sooo proud of myself!!!!!!!!

I entered fog and landscape, which I retitled, "Hanhepi waste" (good morning) and that won the Dooug Ballard memorial award!!

Then I entered Jump!

It was the pic of turtle I took at Merritt of her jumping; the sun is shining on her hair (very angel-esque) and her shadow is below her.



Seriously, I cannot stop smiling!! I'm soo freaking proud of myself.

Again, believe in yourself and amazing things will happen!!!!

I have more to say, but i'm going to go back to bed.


I'm sohappy sohappysohappy!!!!!

Rich saw them and said: "Now you can say you are an award winning photographer.

It just keep getting better!!!

a million miles an hour

I have that feeling again.
The butterfly on acid feeling.
Ick.

I feel extremely driven to generate some work. Paying work, work that makes my morning commute on a plane and me living out of a suitcase and sleeping in hotel.
Now, more than ever I am keenly aware that I have the talent and the ability to support myself with my art.
I have always been able to do that,(thank god) but pre-child, I just took a lackadaisical approach; I'd get a few jobs here and there, no rush, no worry.

Perhaps it feels different now, because I have a child and so I feel as if I have been removed from the art world for the last two years; and it's time for me to emerge from that black hole.
Maybe its because I'm in this art no mans land, and I'm desperate to be back among my own kind. I just know it's an uncomfortable feeling and one I either need to fix, (hence, get the hell out of dodge as soon as possible) or find a way to make peace with, hence get gigs all over and travel again, which is really what I LOVE.
No matter what, I need to get on the ball and
*get my poetry book published,
*finish the book on wakaneja
*find a publisher for my lakota children's' stories
*find a publisher for my coffee table photo book.

*get some contacts who will be all over my ass in NY; for either my writing or my photography, or ideally, BOTH.


The one thing I have seen these last two years is, there is a lot of stuff out there, some of it good and some of it, not so good. But I know how amazing my work is, and I have just got to figure out how to get it into the hands of the people who will see and push it. I can't afford to be lackadaisical anymore.


It feels good to still have this many irons in the fire, but I would like a bit more fluidity to it as well.

I am not making any sense right now, because my brain wont' stop firing.

Writers retreat

The WAN writers retreat was amazing. We started out with locals and then and by Sunday, we had two ladies join us from North Platte and one lady from Ainsworth! It was a great eclectic mix with everyone bringing their various levels of writing experience and life experiences to the table and that is what made the difference I think.

My workshop was a hit and the energy is the room was at a vibrant level, this stayed with us for much of the weekend.

I was so proud of all the participants, they absolutely trusted me and each other with their hearts, their vulnerabilities, and their writing. (Which I feel, are often all rolled in one.) There were a few who were in various stages of processing some grief and I'm glad they came, because they are now equipped with a tool to make that process easier.

There were really two things that came out at the retreat, and they were both things that tie humans together, no matter the gender. The one was grief and the other was realizing we dont take time for ourselves to nourish our souls enough. Granted the women talked of this mostly, as the men listened intently, thinking; "Oh crap, does that mean I have to do my own laundry and my own cooking?" (Ha Ha Bob and Dan!)

Speaking of men,there were only two in attendance for the whole workshop, old cowboys. But no need to worry about them, they were totally in their element, flanked on all sides by beautiful women!
It was so amazing because at the beginning, I don't think anyone had any intention of sharing their writing, but EVERYONE did. And that was the glue that bonded everyone together... even the words were spoken: "I thought I was the only one who felt this way."
And THAT is why I love writing, writing retreats and groups. Because you find out how UN alone you really are.
By Sunday we were all exhausted, because we had processed so much through our writing, that we were a bit draggy; but very happy.

I kept hearing people talking of how the retreat was healing, and that really touched me. That is not necessarily what I went in to do, but process took over what needed to happen, did.

The women and men I met as strangers at the start of the retreat walked away as friends and all now reside in my heart.

We have formed a writing group and we met for the first time yesterday.
But more on that, later.

My new post!!

My new post is up at Life As A Human... AND I'm in the Author spotlight for the website! So, go read it!!!!!


www.lifeasahuman.com/2010/humor/the-boobie-prize

notes to self

Wow, wow, wow.
I am so refreshed and rejuvinated and so much clearer, following this weekend.
That writing workshop, (it was really a retreat)was so incredible! My workshop went fabulously, my readings were amazing, and the whole experience was healing and inspirational for everyone there. I should have had my books to sell, but I didn't, so I know now, that needs to be remedied.

There is so much to say about it, but I'm not sure I can right now, I have returned home, put the turtle to bed, cleaned my kitchen and been talking with Mihigna about our 7 directions wellness business. I need to just stop and breathe and organize my thoughts.

WAN

So, the WAN writer's conference starts tonight. I'm excited! I've got all the material I'm going to read ready and I've got my notes jotted down for my workshop presentation.
This is such a good thing for me right now, I really need this.
I hope I can separate Ina-ness from proffessional author much better this time around than when I gave my reading at the Staying Alive conference. That is the problem that I have laid my writing by the wayside for Inahood and without it, I'm spiritually, artistically drowning.
But, I'm working on it. Turtle is getting older and that gives me more time to write, if I am responsible about it anyway.
Okay, I want to go get more writing done while she is sleeping.

A new canon, baby

So, things in my family are slowly returning to normal, post visit from an old friend.. in years, not so much in age.


One of the things her visit did do,(and there were so many others) was make me realize that there needs to be a wasicu reading list. For real, I'm serious. Having her here for a week, I felt like I was literally living out a Kent Nerburn book.

It would be ideal for people like her, who: A) never shut up, which makes learning anything impossible! and B) a quick reference guide for the completely ignorant or misinformed person this would also include the ones who only have the over romanticized and way off base ideas about our culture.

See, these would provide a look into some of the history, some of the important historical events, (from the REAL historians) many issues we have come up against, come from, and why some things are the way they are.
This will be a growing list, as I think of them, and there are sooo many.
But I realized this needed to be done, because she was here for a week, and she could have easily learned something and gotten more information and a quick education at the same time.

So here they are: In NO particular order other than when they came into my head.

*Birthed From Scorched Hearts,
Genocide of the Mind,
Eating Fire, Tasting Blood: all edited by Marijo Moore.
I have included these, not because my work is in them, but because they have some amazing, knowledgeable writers in them and they cover really important issues in Indian History that let the reader learn about our history without wanting to fall asleep

Custer Died For Your Sins: Vine Deloria Jr.
If you have read it, you understand why I'm including this, if you have not, then read it and you will understand.

Dammed Indians: The Pick-Sloan Plan and the Missouri River Sioux1944-1980: Michael Lawson
This issue is dear to my heart; I have done extensive research on this, and presented it various places.

Salt Camp: Ollie Napesni: a dear, sweet woman who taught at Sinte Gleska, (my tribal alma mater) This is a really great book if you want history laced with a true story.

The Dakota Way of Life: Ella Cara Deloria

And because they provide such an accurate (and hilarious) other side aspect, I have to include Kent Nerburn's
Neither Wolf Nor Dog
and
The Wolf at Twilight

There are so many others, which I will include, but it's about 12:30 a.m and I'm exhausted, so that is all for now.
And yes, I'm fully aware that they are pretty much Lakota based,(save the anthologies) but as a Lakota, that is the place I naturally come from first. (Plus, you know it, we are just plain kick ass!)

Lakotas in the house, Lakotas in the house, Lakotas in the house so wat ya gonna do?

Song:Lakotas by Lakota Empire) Turtle LOVES to sing this song!!

my new post

My new post is up at Life As A Human

www.lifeasahuman.com/2010/pets/the-pig-whisperer

Workshop

I will be giving a writing workshop at a writing conference in Valentine July 16-18, 2010. I will also be giving two public readings. More details to come. So please sign up and come spend some time with me and let's scribble, scribble, scribble!!

Hope you are all well,

More than just letters

Tiwahe Wica Yu Wita Win

I've been thinking lately of my Lakota name. I always want to put it on things, i.e my phone(s); but never can, because the character allowance, is not long enough. it stops at Wit. If I type it in with no spaces, it will stop at: tiwahewichayuwitawi. Which, I guess might be OK. But I know better. It could be seen as acceptable as the shortened version of Win, or properly, Winyan.

I say I know better, because I do. I was taught the proper way to use my Language and why we need to use it that way. Even though, as the days go by, this concept seems to be slipping away with the ozone.
An elder of mine and I have had many discussions on how our culture has become what I call the 7-11 culture. Easy, fast, instant gratification. (I could post once a day everyday for the next year on THAT alone.) This isn't right. Our culture has always had its very own language and rules for the language, reasons for WHY words are the way they are. As an alumni of Sinte Gleska University, I will ALWAYS, ALWAYS, be for, use first, and defend (adamantly, if need be), our "true" language. The language that was put into print because of Albert White Hat.
Back to my name. Now, the proper word for Woman, is Winyan. Over time it has been acceptable to use Win. However, to use Wi, is shortening it for mere convenience, the word Wi has it's own meaning namely, the sun.

Knowing that, I refuse to perpetuate the convenience of my culture; I will not allow my name to be bastardized and shortened to Wi. First of all, my name is sacred, in the sense that it was given to me by my father, it was picked especially for me, and(to my foremost knowledge,) it is directly and correctly translated as is, without any adjustments needing to be made. Meaning, he did not have to come up with a Lakota translation for an English word.
I am VERY proud of my name. It envelops completely, my journey home and all the stepping stones that were put in place on that journey. It gave me goosebumps when I received it, because I knew what it meant, and flashed on a few specific times in my life when these events had happened. In a life so far away, and so foreign from the people whose blood flowed through my veins. It was another confirmation that the spirits had kept their hands in my life, and I had not been tossed carelessly to the greater world beyond.

I, by no means, am a fluent speaker, but I'm a constant student, as are most people,even in the English language. But this is what I know. I AM a Lakota Winyan, I am an Ina, a member of the Sicangu Nation, and therefore, it is my duty to not let our language, (or our ways) get bastardized by the wasicu "scholars" who want to make money off of it, and who, by the way DO NOT send one penny of that money back here to our tribe, our university OR our reservation. Nor can I allow it to drift away on the morning mist. I know that once it's gone, it's gone for good. And then we will be no better than, common mainstream Americans who once had a culture, but don't know much about it now.
Had I not returned home, I'd have been a Indian with no tribe, no language, no pride. But I have returned, I have taken my place in the hoop, and now I have this gorgeous daughter who speaks the language, knows her culture. She will grow up with the ceremonies, the traditions, the everyday, the this-is-what-we-do-because- this-is-who-we-are. She, will not know any different. As it should be. You cannot live your culture when it's "cool", "fun" or easy. If you are living as you should be, it will rarely be easy.
We have had far too many generations of soul-wounded, displaced, lost children who gravitate and latch onto any form of connection... (I.E, gangs). The time for that is over. We must do our parts to re instill the culture in ourselves, our lives, our children, our tribe. Do we have the answers to EVERYTHING? No. But that is what our tiwahe, tiyospaye and oyate, is for.

PS: I purposely did not translate my name. Maybe on a another day.

Surrender?

Surrender?
Mary Black Bonnet

(For:"Inala" SBC)

I want to engulf you,
in bubble wrap.

Carry you gently.

Not because you are fragile or weak.
Anything but.

Rather Immense in your sacredness, wisdom
spirit and kindness.

All we need to be.

Some strive for it,
others look on.
Their insecurities flashing, blinding their vision;
sunbeams on a car bumper.

As they cruise into the sunset
too young to care for this moment.

They don't see what lies ahead.

Acculturation.
Assimilation.
In its worst form.

Strong Proud warriors,
now common sheep.
The hard fought battle
can't be over!
Not yet. Not like this.

This war has been too long,
claimed victims too many, brought victories too few.

For a flip of the hair,
the boom-boom of bass
in a hot rez rod.

As they leave their
Proud, mutilated, Beautiful, culture
in the rear view mirror.

When the dust clears,
a raw, gaping hole left in its wake.

As they wave to us,
from the other side of the glass.

Dribble drather

I've been away from my blog, but not away from writing, or arting by any means.
I've just finished an essay for Florida Review and wrapped up a photo show.
Things are good. I realized, finally, that walking away from art, especially writing, just wasn't going to happen. It wasn't meant to. It stalked me like a hunter, it came to me in dreams, it tugged at my heart, my mind, my hands.
I'm glad.

There have been other things going on as well, but I've not sorted through them. I'm a pretty private person. I don't really allow my "rawness" be shown, until I'm good and ready. You all may find this shocking considering how raw I write in publications. But it all comes out only after much mulling, healing, and editing. So, when the time is right, I will talk about what is going on here, the pull is there so it won't be long.

Turtle came to my show today, which was a huge relief, or we'd have been apart for 4 hours, the longest in our whole time together. It would probably have been harder on me, I'm sure. We're so connected, so enmeshed. I love being with her, she is hilarious and funny, and smart. I love talking to her, listening to her. Life with her continues to be mind blowingly amazing.

At the show i saw a woman with a 3 month old..my uterus started throbbing, and my arms started tingling. I remember turtle that tiny, that young, that new. i reminded myself that there will be another one soon...but I still wanted to snatch that baby up, hold her, smell her, kiss her and snuggle her. It was sad, because the mother of the baby, was a teen mother and couldn't care less about that baby, that special time she has right now. A mother who hadn't "meant to" get pregnant,(UM HELLO, that's what CONDOMS are FOR!! GRR) and now sees her beautiful gift as a hindrance to her fun. It was heartbreaking.

I walked out and there was turtle, running up to me, jumping into my arms, her little arms wrapped around me as she nuzzled into my neck. She smelled like fresh air. I held her as I spoke with people, and she helped, telling them where we took our photos, complete with hand signals. ohhh, she's sooo cute!

Ok, i gotta go, a turtle is rustling around in bed... she'll be calling soon.

The sweat lodge deaths, my Lakota perspective

I'm very upset over the deaths and injuries in the Sedona, Az situation.

There are so many things wrong in that situation, I don't even know where to begin.

First of all, people were doing something they had no business doing.
The sweat lodge is a sacred ceremony that wasicu's have no right trying to replicate. Oh wait, they have tried, it's called a sauna.


The man, or people, (because I'm sure this Ray guy was not the ONLY one who runs these)who was running this, was collecting money for it. First of all, to replicate something that isn't even YOUR culture, and a SACRED ceremony no less, but then to take an asinine amount of money, is unbelievably wrong, unethical and heinous. Personally, I hope this man is charged with manslaughter. Because if this were a native running things where people had died, you'd better believe they'd be slapped with a law suit so fast, their heads would spin.

Now, also, I'm so sick of people thinking if they get a little "Native spirituality" their lives will be better. Stop guru-ing us. New Ager's piss me off. They are so busy trying on other people's beliefs that if they'd just stop running from themselves, explore their own culture, or belief system; they might find the answers. If you can't fix your own problems and your own lives, don't look to us to do it. We can't wave a magic buffalo horn and say a few special words and make YOUR life better. Everyone is responsible for their own happiness, no matter HOW much money you have, or WHO you pay to play "Indian medicine man."

The bottom line I see is this, a wasicu was playing with things he had NO RIGHT to be playing with, and people (sheep) were more than willing to follow along blindly. And now, bad choices ALL AROUND have cost people a dear price.

Hopefully the sweat lodge at that resort, will be shut down, and people will start thinking twice about blindly following something they don't know the real story behind.

As I write that last line, I realize I better clarify. When i say follow blindly, I mean, thinking you can go to some white "medicine Man" who you think is going to fix your life. No one can fix your life, except you. If you didn't have the tools you need to succeed in life before you went into that sweat lodge, you're not going to suddenly gain them when you walk out. Lakota( Native) spirituality is not something you can dabble in, something you can see, something you can touch. It is something you are born with, or into, it's a way of life. Many people try to "Show" their spirituality, but it's something that must be lived, must come from within. If someone is "wearing" their spirituality on them, (or showing it, in whatever form) that to me, says a lot more about that person than what they believe (or don't) in.

Back

It's been dormant so long, yearning, longing, scratching at the back of my skull...among the other rubble, waiting, calculating, knowing time was on its side.
I should have known, even though I doubted it at times, really, doubting myself.
But it's all good, it's back, like the scratch, scratch of pen on paper, it is unavoidable.

It's back.
I'm back.

Its good. It's right. I open, take it in and accept it back where it belongs.
It rings the memories of how I got here, who helped me, who believed in me, who pushed me, who gave me "permission". The way I doggedly pursued it,swearing never to leave it. Remembering the way I breathed it everyday,and other days when it "breathed" me, how I obsessed over it, how I carried it with me wherever I went, wearing it like a favorite shirt.

You can never truly leave, or lose, what is a part of you.

It still gives me goosebumps

Mi Cunksila

Kici Niye le Wacin ksto.
Wapostan Sapa

Maske ki Heyaka, zintkala, wabluska,
gnaska, zuzecha, cehan, wanbli, sunka oyate ksto.

Tate ankal ha etkiya oyutan
el niye wi slolyaye ksto.
Wicape el nata ni wacin,
maka el si ni, na isto ni apeksto.

Hoksica Lakota niye ksto.
Yati ohinni niye ksto.

The Dark Side of December

The Dark Side of December
Mary Black Bonnet

A huge chasm flows
for Lakota between Christmas and the New Year.
The date burned into our hearts, our minds, our memories;
even if we weren't there.

December 29, 1890.

When the snow was stained
with the blood of the helpless.

If you're quiet, you can hear the screams of terror,
the terrified cries of innocent babies, the trampling feet.
The horrific deafening Gun shots;
the thud of bodies.
The bitter snow underneath, as souls left bodies;
only to be bound to earth.

If you're not sickend,
you're not paying attention.

Celebrate your holidays,
ring in your new year.
But send a prayer, a song,
a whisper up, for lives lost.
Heinously, wrongly,
and forever.