Differences we share completely... Uganda. my short time in mama Africa

Short Story

Hello everyone who is reading this...

i want you to know you are many, from all parts of the world and life moments right now, and i just ask you to take a moment and acknowledge that- you are also all connected, through me... and through our ancestors, through our earth- its creatures... through our breathe and its cycles.

Thank you.

Now, i will give you all the EXTREMELY short version of what i just did- for all you non-readers out there- who cannot bring themselves to read the beautiful details... i get it- we all do things differently.

Basically... I put a short time- 16 baby days in the scheme of life- in faith`s hands on my little journey to mama Africa, to Uganda, and it was absolutely beautiful.

I was picked up and stayed with a kind and caring family in Kampala- my friend Moses Bukenya’s family -feeding me my first traditional meals- taking me to their traditional doctor to welcome me to their land.
We then went to see an AMAZING traditional dance performance- Ndere Dance Troupe (I put names here so you can google!)... goin straight to the ROOTS of tradition right from the moment i stepped down...

Then went off to Jinja for a few days- where i white water rafted on the Nile River- in level 5 rapids!... And my big toe-nail was ripped off that day- FULL POWA! i also went to the source of the river... in Jinja i got a beautiful dress made in traditional styles there- i look SO `smart` in it as the lovely Ugandan`s say! It is so beautiful- i feel like my soul, and thus my physical being as well fits this culture and so its dress displays this.

I continued on via slow bus transportation down towards Kabale – it is always extremely lovely in being with the human beings who LIVE that life- in that slow intense movement process. the next day i headed towards the Mgahinga National Park-craaazzzy! I was on the back of a motorcycle- aka Boda-Boda- no helmet OBVIOUSLY- bouncing around going uphill overtop of mostly potholed black solid volcanic rocked `roads’! There i trekked and saw some of the last remaining Mountain Gorillas in their mama earth NATURAL habitat- this was bordering on Congo and Rwanda- surrounded by mostly inactive volcanoes- and that was really something special- there are approximately 9 million people for every ONE gorilla in this world right now- so i saw some beautiful and very unique creatures- that i also believe are part of our ancestral family. Scratching their asses, lying on their backs chillin’....eatin’ some berries...

From there headed to Lake Bunyonyi- where i fell in love (yet again!) with Mama earth... lakes, mountains, travelling via dugout canoes (from 30 year old non-indigenous eucalyptus trees),
birds galore- the sounds of the creatures singing all day long, changing in symphony from night to day, and day to night- full moon, full sun, sorta cloudy during the days, with the sun peeking through... cool at night... swimming in such beautiful clean safe waters... and the voice of the drums calling out- talking to all the people of the villages that inhabit this lake filled with islands of families and ancestors and history, fish, crayfish, lands and waters of farming, and story.

Here i stayed in another one of the highlights of `sanctuaries` now in my memory of perfect places to connect with Mama earth- Byoona Amagara.

i spent 4 nights here - half in my own special dome- sleeping open to the sounds, air, elements of mama nature, looking out to the lake...During this time i also became a really trusted friend with my junior- Isaac- a 21 year old university student (rare for a villager-islander in Uganda) - who also took me to his home where some community divas drummed and danced for me,
and i hula hooped back, and Tibetan singing bowl-ed with them. Such joy we felt together. I shared so many beautiful stories with Isaac while there in Bunyonyi- and he introduced me to some very special parts of his culture that can only be seen as blessings. His aunt died a couple days before i met him- and i went with him to the `burial`- taking place in the church- that overflowed with comforting supporters in faith... carrying over to the Aunt`s house, where it had been full of family for the past 4 days as a fire burned to keep them warm as many people travelled, sleeping outside to hold space for the family...The day of the burial that home on the side of a mountain was a flowing mass of people- with a preacher leading songs of faith that became the centre of attention... not the recently buried aunty just feet over to the side. I then spent a couple days of conscious solitude in my little dome on the lake... and before i knew it- it was time to leave. Isaac was going back to school in Kampala- the main city- so we voyaged together, and he spent time shopping and carrying my bags for me- ha ha... and then i left.

It took me 4 planes, including an airport change in Washington to get home... yikes, and the next day was Pedestrian Sunday in my beloved Kensington Market Community i live in here at home in Toronto, and i totally rocked the hula hulas- 2 now- all day-dancing to my communities music, and consciously sharing all that i had just felt and learned and loved in mama Africa- back here- with as many open souls as my soul could touch.

Done.

I love you.

Sunni Elise Rochelle


Longer Story

Nice huh?

Now i feel like i have free reign.... anyone who is reading from this point forward is likely in it for the full blah blah... good, i like you! I want to share with you an exercise i re-wrote from the Thanadoula/ `End-of-Life Care` program at the Institute of Traditional Medicine that i am doing. And i will be graduating from on November 20... and will continue on to do my placement in a Hospice, humbly working with and for living/dying Children and their families. I will add that that the only ‘tasks’ or hobbies i brought with me on this voyage related back to this program, a few pieces of motivational writings that were handed out in my program, and i also brought a blank journal so that i simply had a space to process- via visual, or written.

The following i glanced at many times throughout my trip to reflect on, but formally wrote my responses on my flights home, from Uganda to Ethiopia....

Life is... simple at its root. And so beautiful. The Maya (illusion) changes it- but i Know the truth- it is simple and beautiful.

The thing i want to do most during my life is... just be happy and peaceful.

The most important thing in my life is... done. I went to Mama Africa. Next is kids. And Family.

My life up to now... has been one big fat blessing and lesson. Really good, really privileged with so many beautiful experiences that i sort of cannot even comprehend consciously- honestly.

In the future... i dunno... that makes me a combination of nervous and excited.

At the Moment I feel... present. Not exactly the physically healthiest- but mentally,
spiritually so calm, peaceful and thankful.

I`m happiest when... I am adventuring with my soul. And when i am connected to those true pure places- where i cannot even process attention and intention... but beyond.

When I am alone... I get a lot of good thinking and processing and pondering done. And... I am more open to different possibilities happening.

I believe strongly that... we are not moving in good directions in the `developed’ world. And so i search for answers `OUT’ of there. And i believe strongly in being
thankful and grounded, and humble.

What really turns me on... is a hot man- to be frank. And on my own... the mystery and minute-interconnectedness on an AMAZING grand nature of mama earth nature. And lots of energy too.

Right now i am feeling like... thankful. Ready to be at home revelling in its beauty-but yet also a bit sad i am not there, and a bit uncertain of the future.

Death is... how it’s goin’ down. Inevitable. A place to blossom from, to live from... and with too.

What frightens me about death is... also what is beautiful- its mystery. And the process of how it feels afterwards. For the living. I am not really scared personally about ‘death’... maybe physical pain.

A Corpse makes me feel... unsure- it depends... more scared/uncomfortable, then comfy. Because its face invokes the memory and reality that it once did house a spirit and function as a moving human being. WOW. What changed?

Our methods of burial are... not right. Independent from our lives, our communities- our lands and our roots... but that is society as a whole. Not focused on natural- where i believe they should be.

Cemeteries... are quite peaceful- they hold ‘emotion’- and space to BE emotional- in prayer- in reflection. Sort of bizarre for what they truly are- holding spaces for the physical bodies- that do not truly decompose anymore because of caskets and’ grave liners’.

Mourning about the dead is... good and healthy... WITH SUPPORT. It is also important to process the reality of one’s death. It should not be done alone- ever.

What really depresses me... Modern Developed Capitalistic Consumerist Mentality Money Oriented Society. The wealthy and the privileged- and how they don’t second
guess/question exploiting others with their power. What really depresses me is when i see it- and feel it.

I could accept death when... it happens... processing it is another story. But quite simply- I always accept Death.

Right now i feel... good about getting to explore these feelings. Excited about exploring these ideas and feelings with others- and supporting them to feel healthier- and to make positive growths out of the deaths they’re
processing.

Life after Death... Over. In our conscious realm- as in- we cannot understand/or comprehend what comes after- we will only know then. But i think we can feel good about it, because it sets up nice feelings for whatever is to come.

Reincarnation is... really nice. Maybe sometimes it happens... maybe, sometimes not. I do not believe there are a finite number of souls but infinite life energy... that is recycled and grown and depleted too.

The Soul is... what i say when i am describing my purest, happiest, most charged, yet also most calm place. It is a feeling, and it also is energy. It is consciousness, but also not physical or see-able. It feels so alive. Maybe it does continue after life?

Heaven is... a story, a narrative... to believe in after death- but i am not sure of its ‘reality’.

First breathes in Mama Africa...

To start the story up again... let me bring you and i back to those first moments i was there in Mama Africa... a place and feeling i had imagined for so long...

I cried as we were landing. Deeply cried. It felt so nice... wow. It was NOW. I got off the plane- second footstep brought me down to my knees in prayer- then i did kiss that tarmac.

I grounded here- in Mama Africa- wow...

Right now I AM in Ethiopia.
I am in Africa Mama Africa.
I went to the airport- so little it is. Once i found out the essentials- I was so happy to find a prayer room attached to the bathroom.
The bathroom has a squatting toilet- it was so nice to go back to my beloved squat toilet like in India and clean up a bit. There was even a special sink set-up to wash feet.
I washed up... then went into the women’s prayer room.
And i cried- my forehead touching the ground as i spoke to myself- ‘I am in Africa. I am humbled.’
I started saying what i was praying for... but then i just stopped.

I pray.

I pray for it all... and i am humble in prayer.

This was how I landed in this land... how i arrived in Ethiopia. Then continued onwards to Uganda... spending my first 24 hours with my brother Moses’ extremely kind and gracious family. They hosted me in their home, and took me to that beautiful dance show... fed me traditional food and gave me a chance to adjust to the massive differences that are prevalent between Canadian and Ugandan cultures... wow. His sister, Sanyu, left for the night so i could sleep in her bed... her newborn baby and baby’s ‘sitter’ beside me on a mattress on the floor... So kind they were, caring for me- fetching and heating water for me to bathe in that next morning... and then they let me go, helped me on my way to carry on with my journey, as I only had a couple weeks to explore their country’s beauty.

...

Some hours later, I arrived in Jinja, and decided to walk a distance into town... it was late afternoon, and the sun was ABSOLUTELY beautiful... this is how I came across the war cemetery... the first place and moment where I could sit, in fact lay on mama earth... Mama Africa Earth... and just Be.

It just so happened that a saint-like woman in my program, Susan, now a dear friend and role model to me, well You see, her father dreamed of being in the army, being a war vet... and in preparing for our programs retreat into the woods one weekend back home, we were working together to create a memorial for him... So in these moments, my thoughts and prayers moved towards him... my beliefs on war are left out of this story, out of respect for all these lives who were involved in wars, and for those who lived righteous lives while dreaming of fulfilling this dream... Susan’s father did... and I brought with my notes on him... to consciously keep him with me for her memorial.

Who would have thought that here in little Jinja, Uganda, they had sent some of their beloved family members to fight in WWII as well...

So here I was on this beautiful sunset evening, sun beating down right into my SOUL... paying to tribute to all these unforgotten souls... lost in the heart of war... and i was able to just TOTALLY connect with them all and the beautiful Mama earth.... in this cemetery- a place where prayer and acknowledgement of the beauty of life and death fits.

The River Nile.

The next step in the story was beautiful, and honestly, in hindsight- an honour to have been on those waters. Historically- in the 1970’s time that President Idi Amin ‘ruled’- he would get his army of human beings to throw their fellow human beings into that same beautiful river... where the crocodiles would kill and eat them... an unnatural genocide he forced even upon the natural balance and harmony between species. Eventually in resistance people slaughtered the crocodiles so as to save their own lives. What a bizarre and extremely sad method of resistance... when we have to fight against mother earths creatures.

The river Nile truly is a history in itself of many people of different faith and religious traditions and this water flows throughout Africa. And here in Jinja- the Nile begins...

I took a boat tour one afternoon to a point where you can see two different currents moving- one the source of the Nile, and the second Lake Victoria.

I went to a fishing village on a little where i allowed myself to be SWARMED by all these amazing curious children who inhabit this magical flowing intersection. All poking, looking, laughing... and me RIGHT back at em...

They even fed us some of their food, made with all these little teeny fishes they caught and lived on, sold, along with matoke, one of the other carb-y staple... boiled green bananas/plantains... either kept in the same banana shape, or mashed (my preference!)... these strong-tasting little silver fishies i ate sustained this community.
Some of the women just sat with us as we ate... and they genuinely would not accept any money for it... you see... it is not about the money... it never truly is... we in the western world say ‘money makes the world go round’. IT DOESN’T. It’s us, it’s how we are when we are together... telling stories, inter-generationally, of our lives... laughing together, with our curiosity... i left one of those little ladies with the bindhi that was on my face... like, i cannot explain the joy i feel, when these connections are made... from india, my soul and faith... to me... to these lovely human beings who fed me and shared their joy with me... just because...

On my white water rafting adventure, there was a huge dam being built that we approached as moving peacefully down a gap between the rapids. All i have to say is my heart hurt for a moment.

These things we do in the grand name of ‘development’ and modern reality. Water should flow- it naturally does- and this was the beginning of the Nile. It needs its power to move itself all the way through the continent to support all the human beings living, cleaning, washing, drinking from the waters. There are homes, and ancestral lands and lives taken never to be given back again- this is ‘moving forward’ into ‘developed’.

I often wonder what exactly this 'development' is growing into....

Mmm hmmm...

From Jinja I had a big journey to go Southwest towards the border of Congo and Rwanda...


Let Yourself be Grounded. The lesson of the Mountain Gorillas.

A really important lesson came to me the morning while preparing myself for going to see the gorillas... i once heard someone say something like ‘Before action, one must practice their spirituality’. I have heard it in many different realms now.

Before doing something that will be full energy... exciting, scary, full power of any kind.... take moments with yourself, to be conscious... check in- where are you right now? How are you feeling... where are those feelings coming from? Be honest, because it only makes sense to be completely honest and REAL with yourself... when this world is not exactly always honest and real with you... ya GOTS to be able to be that way within yourself huh?

SO, in Uganda... i am going to see gorillas... WOW... what came to me... was LET YOURSELF BE GROUNDED. That is to be understood in every way you can think of... and more...

Feel your feet and your physical body physically ground itself... feel the mama earth beneath your feet... and let her hold you.

Let your mind, your wandering excitable mind be calm, be grounded...brought back down to a balanced place... connected to its roots... in the earth. The ground...

Let your ego be humbled... bring it back to reality... these gorillas... REAL. This is THEIR habitat, their home... they are still living with the land that sustains them... here, and now. WOW, what an honour...

Let yourself be grounded...

And your spirit... Let it be completely within the earth... and when you are there, in the same physical space with those creatures... who are so close to us in so many ways... yet now seem so foreign and distant to us... feel them with your spirit, your soul... we share that... and in that moment, when you are there with them... you are connected... ground yourself in that moment... now...

And i did... just that. I sat on the ground and just breathed in the same air they did. What a special opportunity.

I had some ethical issues with the fact that every single day there is one hour of human staring presence in their environment, and to be honest... that’s a lot. Like stalking them... BUT, at the same time, this FUNDS the protection of them, and their habitat being kept safe for them. So i do feel it evens itself out. It feels like an acceptable balance of give and take. I would encourage all of you to explore your ethics in this situation... and in EVERY other moment you make a decision.

After the gorilla hour was up... i along with the guides walked back through the villages to go back to the park entry- where i was staying- in a simple hut and a simple manager named Saturday. ‘Why did he have that name?’ you may ask. Well simply because he was born on a Saturday. :)

We walked though fields and rolling ploughed lands...

Farming and the Physical Earth

‘7 up 7 down’ a family once said to me...

'We are farmers’.... the 7 is the shape of the hoe that they use to turn the soil... to prepare for planting... to prepare for the rains that come... to prepare for the food that sustains them.

‘We are farmers’... this is how we are meant to connect with the land...

The land had little paths nooked in and around and between fields and patches of beautifully ribbed earth- ready to sprout with life... surrounded by the possibility of bloom. My fellow brothers and sisters scattered on this land digging, cultivating... preparing... working their land.. sustaining their families. Being WITH the earth... living through it.

I got to walk with the children of the hood, and the Mamas- with the babies on their backs and water on their heads and in their hands.

I smiled and laughed with them. I was with my fellow brothers and sisters who still live with gorillas in the same habitat. Naturally.

'Mzungu’- they laughed and yelled. White- it means.

‘Mudugavu’- i responded with a sly loving smirk. It means
Black.

Yin-Yang.

...

As we walked... some people offered us freshly-picked-and-cooked... once nurtured-and-planted-right-from-that-LAND-we-were-standing-on POTATOES- a staple of this land and these beautiful people. That is nourishment- that is medicine. And it is local, and organic. The fruits of their labour... and given with love.

All over Uganda, and i saw a fraction of it... that land is fertile. This area where i was- in the southwest- also is the land where many inactive volcanoes sit- with black porous volcanic rocks still covering the earth.

Imagine riding in a motorcycle- a ‘boda-boda’- on uneven roads covered in those hard-yet-light chunks of volcanic rock... layered so that you bounce up and around, your bags too, gulp. Yep, did that... without a helmet... (Sorry all the ‘parentals’ in my life... blushing!)... it was one of the scariest rides i've been on, and lemme teeeelll you, my thighs were in pain the next day from my grip on that bike, eeek!

One day i commented in my journal... ‘Even the mud puddle is rich... creamy red earth’. And it was... the earth was red in this way that truly touches my heart. When i think of it and remember those first days beaming into an ‘oh-my-god’ smile... noticing my toenails and feet were temporarily-permanently red from walking on the earth... what a beautiful grounded calm soothing shade of earth red it was... Is.

I moved from these villages of seeing the gorillas, and simply existing in these lands... and I moved towards the water... moving towards Lake Bunyonyi... that i saw photos of, and knew this was where i would spend time in peaceful meditation...


Yoga. ‘Union’. Sunrise, and sunset...

Yoga actually means Union. The asanas are the postures we practice. But yoga is inclusive of all these moments of connection.

Those were beautiful times being able to put my head straight down into mama Africa earth... and do a headstand.

Be upside down Totally connected... releasing... breathing into and through myself- looking at the world in reverse... looking at a tree- helping to ground me... at the sun- to give me energy to hold my focus...

I spent many really beautiful moments in Union... in asanas, the yogic poses... and most definitely being conscious... feeling one-ness.

I learned to do this in India- a time in my life that also taught me and gave me a chance to connect with my Prayer... to connect with and explore my faith.

And here i was in such a beautiful peaceful place...

Somewhere that touches me so deep... it brought tears to my eyes. It took my breath away- without taking ANYTHING away... but adding. I cannot believe still that i was there.

I remember one beautiful evening at sunset where i felt mama earth’s power so strong... I went to the ‘flats’- this flat quiet space... where the lake surrounds it 270 degrees. You can watch the sunrise from this little finger of land- the 'flats', and also the sunset...

This one evening... i was there, doing some sunset yoga... it was getting cool, but i set my gear up... lit a candle, burning incense... my beads and my little bag of stones and special prayer bits... its like my transportable alter.

And the wind was STRONG... it was so strong... wow... I’d never felt something like this... It progressed quite suddenly... and it was so powerful... It is as though the mama earth creator was speaking to us somehow... making us pay attention... made ME pay attention.

I sat down... to listen.

I wanted to feel these beautiful winds... let them whooooosh over me... take them in with all my senses.

I felt so little, so insignificant... in the most humbling way.

When i was in India- a friend bought me a CD of Tibetan Buddhist Monks chanting ‘Om Mane Padme Om’. Its like an hour long, and to be honest... I LOVE IT. I listen at home now often when I just wanna be peaceful... relaxed.. it is deeply connected as a prayer of compassion.

This was the first time I even felt compelled to just start chanting it... it fit you know? To be sitting here in Uganda, Mama Africa- surrounded by such immense beautiful beauty... and this wind just swirling all around me and the trees and the water...

A breath of remembering...

It was beautiful. Chanting felt like I was thanking her... mama earth- for sharing. It felt like a secret message... like she was showing me her sneaky strength... as if I didn’t know.

And as I chanted... the winds picked up... ‘all of a sudden it was like I said the perfect utterance... and I had awoken the Mama.’

I had a moment wondering... ‘Eeeek, should I go into shelter?’ I was actually scared. It was evening and almost completely dark... and with the wind and the cool and the intensity... it was beyond words... But I flowed with it for a long time... I sat through that extreme feeling of minuteness, of awe... of the power in the beauty of the elements showing their fullest capacities... wow.

Shortly after, the drops slowly started coming... ‘and I was peaceful. How Blessed to have felt the rains here... I have smelled the raindrops...’

And that smell of rain, that feeling of build-up and then release- straight out of, and In nature... it is a sensation that is a pleasure to be in.

...

I now want to change the feeling for a moment... to share another written piece that I wrote...

I FEEL MY PRIVILEGE.
I feel my privilege.
As i sit here in a dugout canoe.
From a 25-30 year Old eucalyptus tree canoe.
A probably 12 year old boy behind me is paddling
me to a beautiful island home in Lake Bunyonyi.
I feel my privilege.

I recognize my privilege when i start saying ‘I need’.
I don’t NEED anything, i have all i need to live. Healthily- in such luxury.
Whenever i say ‘i need’... then I recognize my privilege.

I know i am privileged when a young shaven-head beautiful, insightful and intelligent-Eyed girl asks me quite pointedly...
‘What are you doing here to support the people...?
And i have nothing to respond with.
Then, i know i am privileged.

I see my privilege when i say from my heart and soul-
‘I love the mystery...’
Of not knowing exactly where i am going.
Of not knowing exactly how the wonder of travelling this beautiful Mama Africa will turn out.
I see my privilege here because not everyone has the luxury to know it is a
mystery that will turn out-
That will turn out okay.
That they never have the freedom to explore those mysteries because they are working right now and all the time to truly survive-
to stay healthy.
The fact that i can be here in Uganda- on something I’ve been calling a spiritual
journey...
Then here i see my privilege.

I feel my privilege when I’m surrounded by thirty young-in-age-and-maturity noisy british Mzungus on a tour... all of us with so much money- me included... and we are able to order whatever we want from the menu... while our brothers and sisters- their peers in age- have been in the kitchen since the time they have been awake, till the time they are done playing their drinking games... catering to them...
All i want is to be humble... HUMBLE HUMBLE HUMBLE...
I want to be in the earth.
I’m going to the earth.

I know i am privileged when i feel sick by my own privilege...
And honestly-
I should.

Truth. All of it.

I carried all of these feelings with me throughout those moments- those moments that stretched out to my whole trip.

It is not surprising that I met Isaac.

I met Isaac, my wonderful friend, at Byoona Amagara- the little hostel I was staying in on the lake. He was born on the lands of those waters. He grew up with his understanding of life and heath being shaped by the people, and the beliefs of these islands and this lake...

The ways of moving he knows are by boat... and by water.

He now lives throughout much of the year in Kampala, the capital city for University- an extremely rare and privileged opportunity for a villager/islander like himself... extremely. His grandfather bought the first boat with a motor... that is used like a Taxi- picking up and carrying big amounts of people to the mainland.

He was at home for the summer, back with his family... all his sisters and mom and dad and Aunts and Uncles and Neighbours and Community... his Roots. His Land. His Upbringing... his Core.

I met him sitting in the ‘flats’ I mentioned earlier. He had come to visit all the young ones who worked there. He grew up with them... and that night came specifically to have some beers with an old friend. I went out to do my sunset connection in solitude and came across him instead. Blessing in disguise... After getting my yogi-ness out... they drew me in offering me a beer, and we were friends ever since.

He took me around the next day on a boat and introduced me to his family, people who truly live here, on these waters. I had a ‘dance-share’ with some of his sisters... we laughed and played and shared photos of special moments and people in our lives. I brought photos as I had learned from a friend how nice it is for those families you are visiting to share photos of your ‘family’ as well.

So we checked each other out over some ‘porridge’- a homemade fermented beverage made from sorghum. This one was only a couple days old, so not too strong yet... but give it a couple more days, and that one glass of porridge coulda me me tiiiiipppsssy. Ha ha!

It was so lovely...

On our boat journey, we went by a teeny little island called ‘Punishment Island’. This was a place where for years, unmarried pregnant women were dropped off and left... to fend for themselves... but really to die. There was and still is only one tree living there. Reality is... men would come by in their boats and pick up a young woman if they so felt inclined. The women really didn’t have a say, or a choice... it probably would have been some sort of a blessing to them... imagine...

Can you imagine?...

Many women would have died there. There was a lot of suffering- of hardship... of violation and just absolute fuckin sadness and pain. This island has a history that is so awful.

I was thankful to have been able to go by this place... so I could take moment to acknowledge these women’s lives and sufferings. So I could share with you. SO we can all simply acknowledge that they did exist. And the Injustice and Inhumanity that their lives teach us, and remind us that women all around the world, including in our own homes and communities- women are bearing the load of pain, of caring, of life... I wrote one day, while noticing the women carrying the babies on their backs, the water in their arms and their heads, wacthing them work the land, and clean the house... care for the children, cook for their man, do the laundry... sell their wares... and their bodies...

Often our breasts are full.

and our hands, and our bodies.

always working, and carrying and caring.

slowly, patiently with silent strength.

and we smile... and offer our breasts.

... And so we can vow within our own hearts and consciousness... to never inflict harm unto others... and when we are conscious that we are harming others... directly or indirectly... that we consciously make a different choice... a better choice... for ourselves, and for our brothers and sisters and earth and her creatures that we are absolutely connected to and part of.

I took moments of those women into my heart.

And I will not forget them.

Burial

That night I met Isaac, he also told me of his Aunt. She had died 2 days before that night I met him. And this just seemed to fit in with the universe setting my path- and showing me that I am on the right one.

He invited me to join him at her burial. So the day after hanging out with his family, with his land.... with the memory of those unforgotten sisters and their babies left on that island...

I joined him in comfort in the ceremonies done to commemorate the life of his Aunt.

He so kindly picked me up from the island I was staying on, and voyaged via boat and ‘boda-boda’ (motorcycle) to the church that was on the mainland. It looked over the lake.

The church was COMPLETELY full with people... the grounds also full... in fact we sat outside the church looking in... I heard the voices, but instead was staring at the structure, and the hundreds of people who were surrounding it... such energy, such comfort and community...

I was the only Mzungu... and I cannot say how much of an honour it was.

I breathed in any sense of suffering there was- a Buddhist technique that I learned called Tonglen... but there wasn’t such a sense of suffering. There were just so many people around ‘carrying’ each other... comforting. It felt like a gathering... not so much sadness or suffering.

It was such an honour.

After the church ceremony of speakers and singing, we followed the coffin and its procession of love towards the Aunties old house, where she lived her whole life, then died. And would now be buried. Community and Family had gathered for the last 4 days... ever since her death, sleeping and breathing and comforting around the sacred fire. It feels nice knowing they held that space for her... kept it warm for her to enter that same earth...

We walked from the church up and down- side to side of the mountains that surround this lake. All of us in our nice clothes, under the hot daytime sun... voyaging to the house.

When we arrived there were HUNDREDS of people.. ha ha... oh my gosh... the site of this cliff was absolutely full of visitors. The preacher was preaching. There was so much energy. So much ALIVE Life.

Isaac asked if I wanted to go in... enter that flowing crowd of people... Of COURSE I want to go right in... if he was okay with that...

So... deep breath... and we moved in.

Remember... it was his aunt. He was so good about taking me around and explaining what was going on... that I had to catch myself... to remember that I also had to support his experience of this... It was much different then mine. I mean, I was totally humbled and honoured in being there, but I most definitely had my heart-full -child-like-Being open with love and curiosity... so at moments I was totally caught up with questions and queries about this and that...BUT, it was his Aunt... so I would just breathe instead. Breathe it all in. And out.

By the time we arrived, she had already been put in the ground and covered over in cement. We missed that part as we walked the distance to the house. I wanted to kneel down for some moments- be in prayer- grounded to ‘pay my respects’ to this woman... but no one else was. And everyone was more caught up with the preacher and eachother. She was in the ground now... now they just comfort each other. The fire was put out.

‘But what do you think happens when someone dies?” I asked.

‘Nothing... the story ends.’ Isaac said and repeated...

The story ends.

Simple explanation... What a beautiful story... what an Absolutely beautiful story. This Life we have.

What an absolutely beautiful life we are living. Every Day. Every Moment. Every Breath.

One where we can ‘choose-our-own-adventure’.

One with so many freedoms, and so many possibilities.

Not for all of us...

Not for those sisters once left on ‘Punishment Island’...

Not for those mothers and sisters and brothers and fathers once thrown to the crocodiles in the Nile...

Not for Indigenous First Nations people of the land in Canada whose Earth is being absolutely violated and destroyed by the Tar Sands that we are digging up and exploiting the Earth for... to feed our addiction to fuels like oil... to power our ‘Modern’ ‘Developed’ Cultures.

Do what is Right... Choose how you live.

Because eventually the story ends... and it will end for ALL of us. So choose righteously.

Choose to live honourably and humbly. Taking care of and comforting each other just because it is RIGHT.

This is what Isaac’s family and community does. Their faith brings them together... they care for each other... support them.

It’s not even thought about, analyzed, theorized, quantified, statistic-alized... it is JUST WHAT YOU DO!

His Aunt died... people gather. I was there. He is honoured to show me his home, his family, his homeland. To take me into his family... into what his family is living... and dying.


In closing...

Before I left Uganda, I voyaged on an overnight bus and morning adventure to get to Kampala, the main city where Isaac goes to school, and to where I arrived in my first breathe into Uganda, and also where I would be flying out of!
I ended up buying a drum... my First drum... (eeeek!) and I am so happy it is from Mama Africa... The drum I bought had a shaky bit in it... its Heart.

‘Every Drum has a Heart.’ Isaac explained.

Isaac taught me about the drum... what the drum means from his perspective. And we all have different perspectives- ‘nobody right, nobody wrong’ as one of my personal favourite musicians Michael Franti says...

The last morning on the island, while really breathing in those final precious moments that will forever sit in my soul... I suddenly heard a drum being beat... somewhere on the lake... and it sounded like a heart beat.

Boom boom... boom boom... boom boom.

For Isaac, on the lake... people truly communicate through the drum. For real... they pass messages along... the waves carry the rhythms, and carry their messages.

There is a rhythm reminding everyone it’s time for church, and a rhythm signalling and warning all of an emergency, and for a burial... a death...

It talks... The drum talks...

It talks to the people of the land, and they understand... because they listen. We need to listen to the sounds of the drum... of our land, and our people too...

I do not know exactly what that heartbeat rhythm was symbolic of to them... but it most definitely carried the sound of my heart outwards... it collided with the rhythm of my heart... it felt so nice...

You see, it has a heart, and it talks... like us... we are all connected... and that rhythm can connect us... if we let it, and let us... be.... connected...through our heart.

And now, in true closing... i want you to leave you with the thoughts of my last morning, waking up in such beautiful peaceful nature... reaching a connection that i yearn for... have for a long time, and will forever yearn for until death... to BE in nature... to hear, see, and feel and touch and taste and smell all that is real...

The rhythms of their sounds.

I have watched the cycles... come and go... ebb and flow... and i have heard the birds play together and cause a ruckus in the bushes.

Last night- falling asleep- i put my consciousness on all the different sounds- and it was like a symphony. Different crickets, buzzing... frogs- deep sounds... there were so many that i cannot even label...
but together they were beautiful and soothing... together a symphony. I could
see it in my head- visually- without visuals.

Now- in the morning- i notice... its a different symphony- roosters, goats, cows- so many different bird noises... so peaceful- but more energized. Plus i can see with my eyes- the water rippling slightly... it has more movement in the air today... and the mountains... the clouds above changing colour as the sun rises...

Beauty
in mama nature...

I am humble before you...

Namaste brothers and sisters...

Sunni Elise Rochelle



P.S. I am going to just slip in a brief story that I just want you all to be able to mull over on top of this... it is regarding something that has happened since my return. On October 4, my extremely GOOD friend... my Sister, Andrea, Hippy Mama I call her... Her 20 year old son Sultan was shot and killed here in Toronto. I am so thankful that I was here, and able to support her, and give her and her community and family my sincerest energy and love... but I am absolutely SO sorry for what has happened, and the progression and circumstances that brought Sultan to his death. I am telling you this because I at one point in time did invite you to her home where we have thrown parties together... in celebration of fun and play and life... this time around we gathered again, but not in the same sort of celebration. I ask all of you reading this, and I am so happy you have made it this far... congratulations, ha ha.... But I want to ask all of you to take a moment... reflect... think of all those in your life... all those you love... and then know that all other people on this EARTH are connected to you, and to your loved ones. We CANNOT separate ourselves from each other any longer... we NEED to take care of each other... I mean it. SO in thinking of your love... I would like you to take a moment and say a prayer... for Sultan, and for Andrea, and for his younger sister Amber, and her new baby Alayah... whatever kind of prayer you feel inclined to utter and FEEL... do it. And then do it for yourself... and for your family, and your loved ones and for the Earth. Please... and do it every day...

Honestly, death WILL happen for all of you... you will ALL die... so live completely right now... not just for you, but for each other...

I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The messages we receive... (Written October 10, 2010)

Something happened today that was indescribable.

My friends son was shot in the head and killed 6 days ago... I have spent the bulk of my waking hours at her home and community ever since then...

I’m not even going to attempt to describe what this has been like...

I am at a loss for words clearly... not because i do not have any, but that none of them can adequately describe the feelings... what has been felt is so deep in sorrow... in rage and sadness and shock...


I saw a pigeon today... lying face down... bowing in prayer it looked like... in the direction towards Sultan... or towards his ‘shrine’ as we’ve been calling it... that has grown with flowers and candles... it is where he died... where his head fell to the mama earth... and the blood flowed back to her...

I saw it and i thought ‘how beautiful’... the bird so grounded, almost in prayer offering itself to him... me too, i as well... i die and bow before you...

I thought how beautiful...

It was on the path... between the main gathering area, and the shrine... right in the middle... for all to see...

A kind healing man picked her up, this little bird... i guess to move her away.... seems a bit silly now... was it the death, was it too much of people to face? I dunno... but he picked it up with his bare hands to move it... when we noticed the stick in it...there was a stick in it’s mouth... it was a stick held by the beak... when i looked at it i saw a picture that was right out of an image in my head from the bible... from Noah’s ark... a dove with an olive branch... symbolic of peace... and so many other inspiring feelings....

How did this happen? I cannot believe it...i held it too... i felt it, held it softly... its soft comfortable body... curled into itself, holding a stick in its beak... how did this happen?


I waited for the right moment to sneak my sister Mama away to share with her this little being.

After some talking, i realise she did not see it like me... ‘this was evidence- someone has planted it here’... with a message... not the kind of message i thought.
That was hard to imagine... but i guess i was convinced of otherwise... it’s hard to imagine because i have a really hard time still actually wrapping my head around the fact that someone can consciously kill Sultan... that one can consciously shoot, and end another LIFE... this place was the place Sultan transitioned from the living into the dying....

So maybe this bird was left here on purpose, as some sort of message... a woman said she heard screaming the night before... someone screaming into the night ‘I’m sorry sultan’... it could have been the human who killed him... because there was someone who did that... another fellow human living soul... what happened to them...

What brought them to that point... how do they feel now... how are they sleeping, eating...speaking.... breathing, waking up and dressing themselves... looking in the mirror... after they shot someone in the head... killing him... looking, aiming, pulling the trigger to BANG.....and he fell.... there. In that spot he died. I am so sorry.... Sultan... why’d u end up there.... you shouldn’t have made those choices... you didn’t need to... for real....

We carried on the rest of the evening there at the parkette... some people brought drums.... some extremely righteous folk... and another one whom i have a hard time just accepting his presence... because although a really good drummer, who was probably mourning a loss too, also a human being... he had bought off of Sultan too likely... maybe even that day... he was part of it...

But... that’s another story.... about morals and ethics and hypocrisy and honesty and practicing what you PREACH.... on acting on your words and speaking and also BEING truths... about walking differently and choosing different paths... about ownership over your actions, about being REAL.

We drummed and came together... i danced and i dedicated to Sultan... we all did... to each other and community and life... and i think death too... because it is a reality that was right there.

Once at home again, at my sister Mamas house, a home that has been shared with so many of us... for so many years... sitting around, talking, smoking, drinking, eating, breathing, being, crying, chillin'... the bird came up...

First one person then a second person said they saw it die... WHAT?

The pigeon bird fell out of the tree, just like that... it fell... it fell out, landed on the ground with a thump.

It seemed to still be alive... as minutes later, it was still moving its head... but sort of groggy like they said... looking around a bit... but grounded.
It died there.

But when it died... it had its wings tucked in... and it curled its head under, into itself.

And when we picked it up later, it had a stick in its beak.

It must have picked it up into its beak as it curled.


I don’t know what this means... i don’t know what the message is.

I do not know how to explain this... and maybe you think it’s nothing.

Maybe it’s just a ‘fluke’; a coincidence... birds, just like humans die. Sometime they die because something happens and they fall out of a tree and die.

Sometimes.

But it all happened when we gathered...

It fell out; it died... it died facing Sultan, bowing its head curled right under in prayer...

It lay down between us, and Sultan... so we were supposed to see...

We were supposed to see...

And we picked it up...if we didn’t pick it up, we wouldn’t have seen...

The symbol of peace...

The bird with a stick in its mouth...

Normally flying, but this one died in peace.

Just like Sultan...

Here, held by the mama earth...

I am not exactly sure what message we received... but we did.

And i have faith in things that we cannot understand... the beautiful mysteries in life...


I guess death teaches us that.

Rest in peace Sultan...

this feeling....

i have this feeling, from my chest... this desire or yearning... its intense...

it's this yearning we feel when being a human..being a woman... yearning for more... for more of i don't knw what...

more of something... i am missing something... and i yearn for it...

and i try to feed it... but i am not feeding it with the right things...

what do i need? what do i desire? what do i want?

what am i yearning for?



it is that feeling of one-ness... of connectredness... when it is all flowing togeher... when i and the flow are one...

i and i...

and i and i...

and i am you, and you are i... the earth is i, my brothers and sisters are i...

the music and my soul and breathing and dying and sexual satisfaction and joy and that calm peaceful place...

where it is all still...

and empty...

And so it ends.

You know... ive been a lot of places around the world...

I have seen so many fuckin absolutely beautiful things... in nature, in people, in spiders and snakes and babies and sparkles and water and love and humanity and death and trees and earth and soil and lying down being held by mama earth... there’s nothing like this life...

The mystery of it all... its absolutely amazing.
And i have no idea whats really going on?

And i have no idea how we are not all on our hands and knees all the time in prayer being absolutely thankful for all that we are truly blessed with.

What are we doing to eachother? What are we doing to the earth? To the mama that has birthed us, and nurtures us in every possible way that sustains our lives... until death.

And then what happens? When we look at someone in their face and they are now dead... but we can remember them when they were alive, and their eyes were opened and they were alive... what changed?

Where did they go?

And who took that from them?

Truly...

My good friend’s son just died, his span that he was alive as we know it is 20 years, plus just under 2 months. Another human being shot him in the head. I do not know why exactly, or who did it. I still cannot believe, even though i understand.... how one person can consciously KILL another person.

Sometimes i look at people, and in looking at them, i can see myself in them really... like, we are so connected we are... how can you do that?

All i have to say is i’m pretty zapped... not so much energy to move on right now... i can only imagine how my sister feels...

Please my fellow human beings, i pray for you... take care of each other. Love one another just because it is right... honestly.

And be patient, and be honest, and help where you can help... especially when it’s difficult times... that is when we turn to each other and to faith...

Peace.

in the heart it is always white... in the city.

i guess i mean that in many ways... but right now i am talking about nuit blanche...

in the heart of the city, the most 'central' place- yonge-dundas square... it never gets dark... there are bright light shining bright so that you can never see the true darkness of the nightsky...

you know how all around the world... people- our brothers and sisters gather around the fire... they come together and be... all looking into the fire, allowing it to warm them one side... then the other side... keeping the heat in... and truly also touching us inside in a non-verbal and non-conscious way... it is powerful... this fire... and so we sit around, thankful for it... and we share in that...

we did that this morning... in yonge dundas square in toronto... for the end of nuit blanche- white night- the 'all night contemporary art thang'... i thought we were meeting to see music- but instead found ourselves at a beautiful big HOT campfire in the Centre of the crazy yonge dundas square, probably a place that is the FURTHEST from nature in the city, where water fountains and billboards replace waterfalls and trees, and exhaust from cars replace oxygen... where bright neon lights replace the calming full darkness of the night...

here we were... coming together around a camp fire... there were young boys talking about wanting to stick their penis's into an 'american pie', a young girl named 'jolly rancher witch' because of her colourful socks looking 'wizard-of-oz'- like... named by a flamboyantly diva-fied comedic man, with long brown perfectly straightened hair and a pink sequined shirt... there was george jesse, or jesse george.... older man missing teeth and all 'social norms'- singing, and moaning his heart out into the fire... and then when we all laugh and applause him says- 'oh, did you hear that?;... we laugh again... he must live in that square... most definitely on the street... he comes up to me early on in my arrival and welcomes me with his comments and questions about my afro-wig i've got goin' on... i take it off and show him what's TRULY goin on under there... he smiles and laughs his toothless joy out... and complimented me with and without that added decoration... and he was lovely- brought all of us around that huge fire together in laughter at his kind REAL humour....

there was something really beauiful about ending off the morning like that...

my friend, well truly, my sister and i had many conversations throughtout the 'all-night'... sort of questioning whats going on in our society... she was really concerned for the well being of our humanity... we are walking around 'asleep'... caught up in lives that are very far from that which is natural... we are immersed in this concrete jungle... day-to-day... this night was fun, but scary... because there was this confirmed realization that most people do not ever let themselves off the patterned hook to simply play... to flow with the night, with the people... having such freedom and space to play and explore...

but these seemingly spacious freeedoms are only there for one night... nuit blanche... and then the rules are imposed to the maximum again... and that maximum is becoming increasingly more strict... the 'police state' a reality now... but one that is manipulatively and strategically created... like a story...

and these white nights... brought to you by the predominantly white capitalist government and their pawns- the police force... give us this idea that we still have these freedoms... to play... freely... so we do... because it feels really good...

for that one night...

and we sit... around that fire... like we always have...

as humans, as a collective of beings... coming together in consciousness... in spirit...

but look around... where are we now?

peacefully... i say FUCK the g20.

What just happened...

I was in jail. I was on queen street, just northeast of spadina, near lulalemon... I came across the burned down car, from the G20 rubble, all that was left of the police car was burned rubble...

Closer to spadina there was a small crowd of ROOTS-ORIENTED scroungers like myself who discovered some boxes of uneaten food- we assumed it was left and forgotten in the midst of the chaos that obviously had ensued earlier on in the evening.
They were filled with a range of sandwiches, apples and oranges, juice, granola bars, brownies. As I stood around on my bicycle, snacking on some two-bite brownies, and an apple, and collecting some oranges and bar and juice and placing them in my bicycle basket, I and my fellow simple new companions were surrounded by a team of officers on bicycles, who were VERY quick to tell us we were being charged with theft, of their food, that we had stolen their food from them...

HOW were we to know? These white boxes were unlabelled, and there was NO one around to ask, NO labels stating any sort of POLICE ownership, in fact someone mentioned that maybe they were even meant for protestors... I learned later that there are MANY protest support groups so this would NOT surprise me if this was something they would do!

I was asked in a really discreet way if I did agree that I ate the food, and thus, really, if I understood that I was guilty. I am honest, I did not lie, make up any fibs... I was honest, I DID eat brownies and an apple, I DID put some fruit in my basket. YES this was my bike... I said all this with handcuffs holding my hands behind my back, sitting on the curb side- like a criminal. Can you believe it? I had just eaten food out of unlabelled boxes on the ground, and all of a sudden I was handcuffed on the ground- and I had become a criminal... a thief... of police possessions.

‘My’ police officer, an older white woman, was really kind to me, all the while she was TAKING down my information, FORMULTING a story that tied together this plotline they had created about what exactly had happened. She was so kind to help me call a few friends to see who could come to collect my bicycle, as it could not STAY on that point in queen street, because this was only Saturday, and tomorrow was the last day of the G20, so my bike could not stay parked there, in case of more riots. I got in touch with Asia, who confirmed she would be down to pick it up when she was done work, and the police officer would meet her.

Shortly after I was placed into the sealed police van, a metal box, with windows that were also covered by screens. We could hardly see out to see where we were going, and we weren’t told... we were told we were being taken in though, I was put in with 2 other girls, and there were I think 4 men on the male side, I am still unsure at this point, everything happened so fast, one moment we, my fellow human beings, brothers and sister, were just hanging out on the side of a street having a little chat n snack... the next thing, I am in a van, in handcuffs, going to JAIL. HOW on earth was I a criminal at this point?

We drive a while, we talk... we arrive at our location, we wait... we are almost excited to be there, nervous, as to what was to come, to see and be with others in similar situations... to get out of this metal BOX.

What happened over the next 16 hours, was an experience that really really really hurt me. It really hurt a part of me that I guess I never wanted to be hurt, to be challenged, but this is G20, this is what capitalism and patriarchy and fear and violence and paranoia of our safety does... it harms us all. It scares us all. It makes us all angry AND sad and fearful and COMPLETELY disconnects us from all that truly does connect us. Our humanness, our compassion and peacefulness, our joy and belief and faith...

Here in these cells, we were criminals, and enemies and dangerous, and specimens to be watched, and guarded, and secured. Captive and contained in our cages. We were in cages, like animals. We had no control to get out, we had no choice. We were not able to control our lives, our desires or expressions, we were under police control, whether we liked it or not. And we were not told for how long, and we WERE NOT given a phone call, or access to a lawyer. We were not given any warmth or cushioning, and we were cold, and the floors were dirty concrete. It turns out we were in a movie-studio-turned-police-holding-cell for the G20 protestors. Their vision with this warehouse jail, filled with cages was to lock away the savage protestors, keep them controlled, and just barely covering the basic standards, just to shut us the FUCK up.

Who paid for this? Who controlled this? G20, Toronto and fellow Canadian Security and Police and OPP and RCMP. We were the enemies. We still are, I still feel I am, and I left it over 2 hours ago. And it still hurts, it still hurts my soul. A lot.
The bathrooms were porta-potties with no doors, luckily, the initial 2 cells I was in there were many women, so we were able to form a ‘wall’ as we called it, to give some privacy to the lucky lady who was using the toilet, although it was quite difficult because we also had our hands tied via plastic twist ties that really limited the amount of movement that we got with our hands to properly maintain the hygiene of our most precious parts, especially for the women who were menstruating. Thank god we are WOMEN I think, that we can come together in these positions and support each other through our ranges of emotions and experiences, keeping each other strong, yet also vulnerable... supporting each other through our feelings and visions for how to approach it next.

And when I walked out of there, and I took my first steps, into the pouring rain, and I walked into the fresh freedom, which I had never even experienced before... I saw a crowd of people across the street... cheering. And I started to cry. I cried with the POURING rain. Let my socks and clothes and face and hands be completely cleansed and washed away by mama. I cannot believe that just happened. How did it just happen?

One day later.

I just got home from a protest march today. I saw and heard from and shared with many people what my experience was... what theirs was. It was a beautiful evening, perfect weather, there were moments when I was shouting into the warm sunshine of the evening sun on my face... one of my favourite times, and feelings pre-jail... now taking on a different meaning altogether, ESPECIALLY in this context.
Screaming at the top of my longs in defence of our rights, our land, our streets. THE PEOPLE UNITED WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED. And I screamed, and I shouted, and I danced, and I did it COMPLETELY, and FREELY. I said ‘shaaaaaame’ to the police officers, I looked them in the faces, in the eyes... I spoke to them... and I said ‘shame on what you for what you did to us, shame on how you for how you made us feel, shame on you for choosing to do this. You could have chosen differently’... I asked them to choose better next time... I hope they do.

It hurt me, it hurt me a lot. They held me captive and stole my faith, they purposely and CONSCIOUSLY set me up in an environment MEANT to beat me down, to take away my strength, to take away my faith... it was all a strategic plan... why did they do that? Why are there people like that, who do that? Why do we support that?

Torture, discomfort, violation.

I cannot believe it happened.

It felt so good today to be able to BE and DO... however I desired.

I said that I have stepped into my power today- for the betterment of others.

I did step in there, but I remember... I did yesterday too.

I did... but they also demanded much more of my own, since they exploited their own power capabilities. I do not agree with that, and do not support it.

So today I have faith in ME again... I will work on my faith in humanity.

I will work on my compassion for those I have a hard time having tolerance for, sometimes it’s difficult to love everyone.

They all deserve it.... but...


2 days later.

What they did was wrong. It was, and you all knew it. They all knew it.

The police officers whose eyes I looked in, they knew it, they consciously followed orders and did it... don’t you see?

I just realized a parallel, like Hitler- in Nazi-land...

These mostly men followed orders that went against what they did know was right.
But they did it, because this was what was happening- ‘it’s part of their job’.

Well we all have choices to make... don’t we?

And we can all choose how we want to approach our lives... we can all choose how to approach LIFE, and EACHOTHER, we fuckin know how to treat each other.

How can you look someone in the eye and PURPOSEFULLY hurt them. Why did you do that????

The last 2 days I have spent telling my story... the TRUTH.

WHAT THEY DID WAS WRONG.

We need to pay attention world... my fellow brothers and sisters... we need to really re-evaluate... recognize what is happening to us...

Where are our values and ideals... what are we TRULY living for, dying for...

From what ideals... and intentions.

Why are we REALLY doing what WE ARE doing?
Because we are... and we may sometimes lose control,
Or have our control TAKEN from us...

But we can choose how WE approach it, how we process it,
How we let it come THROUGH us.

We can always choose how it affects us... and thus our actions.

Why did they do that? Why are we allowing gatherings to happen that make us criminals... gatherings that in their NATURE are so controversial. Do you not recognize THERE MUST BE A PROBLEM HERE!!!!

PEOPLE are not happy! They are ANGRY... why are they angry???

Those tree-huggers are hugging trees for REASONS! We are protesting for REASONS...
When you are targeted as a criminal... for standing up for reasons...

Reasons such as mother earth- she who has given us life, and is nourishing us and keeping us alive daily.

Reasons like each other- there are people losing their homes, being kicked off their land, their homes destroyed, slave labour, exploitation of NUMEROUS human beings all around the world in the name of MONEY. In the name of CAPITALISM. Where the end to ALL means equates to MONEY.

Reasons such as freedom. Freedom to be... to be me... to be free.

Reasons such as justice- as all of us are equal, and are to be treated fairly. In this culture- cross class, race, language, colour, ability, sexuality, queer-ity...we are ALL equal... around the world, in every nook and cranny of the earth- that which keeps us alive keeps us equal, in the eyes of nature- of mama earth- we are ALL equal.

I believe that.

And there are a few select human beings and people in power who can control entire cities, to suit them... and they do not care who gets hurt, or how much money they are spending... as long as THEY don’t get hurt.

It’s a problem, do you see?

I will not be silent, and I will not pretend like what happened did not happen.

I am 26 years old, and for the rest of my life I SWEAR I will never forget how it feels.

And so I will live until I die practicing what I believe in.

And I DO NOT believe in what just happened here for the gathering of the G20 family...

What the FUCK kind of a family is that?


This next bit is Something written on the side of the road via bicycling- it needed to be expressed with the tears that were forming at the time.

I’m defensive because you VIOLATED me.
You violated my soul CONSCIOUSLY.
You watched me suffer, you had that power... that control over ME.
Over MY well-being.
And you watched me suffer.
You put me through that.
You CHOSE to treat me like an animal.
And you did.
You chose that.
And I am left with my faith in humanity as an open wound.
And now I must do the healing.
And it will take time.

I hate that you made me feel hate.


Expansion Exercise

Cage- I was trapped in this cage, maybe 20 x 8 feet. They were cages, for real. Like the same as when I had a dog, and she had a cage, and we would shut her in there. We wined to get out, we SCREAMED to get out and we FUCKIN SHOOK THE CAGE to get out.
And they didn’t.

They didn’t let us out.

They walked by and smirked... they knew we were in a cage, but they let us be.

They designed this temporary detention centre, in an old film studio, how fuckin ironic... except for it was real.

We kept saying it was completely surreal... yet is was REAL.

It actually happened.

I’ve been seeing people around since then... common society is talking and discussing what happened, it’s as if it never happened as it did, well I am here to tell you IT DID!
I WAS THERE, AND I WAS INSIDE, AND I KNOW IT IS FUCKIN TRUE AND REAL!

SO to all of my brothers and sisters who were in those cages, I say to them, its REAL, it HAPPENED, THAT WAS TRUE.

So, those cages- when this centre was designed- they covered the backs of the cages with sheet metal and the walls that were beside others with sheet metal, so we could not see each other, so we could only communicate with our fellow prisoners via voice, via yelling. And there were many discussions that happened via our voices- sometimes it got aggressive- we were all caged up, and it was FRUSTRATING, and it was a shame when WE the captive started getting aggressive with each other, but it makes sense too... we were all open, we were all expressive, we were all cut off from our FREEDOMS...

We got angry!

And since the stupid smirking officers were ignoring us, or pretending too- not even acknowledging our humanity- recognizing our equalness, our LIFE ENERGY... we had to reach out to each other... and sometimes it was our frustrations that came out onto each other. That was sad, but I understand, and I do not judge us- the CAPTIVE.

But sometimes there were such beautiful moments that we all shared, via words that someone shouted with their voice. I was graced to have a strong woman in the cell next to mine constantly expressing, vocalizing, inspiring, DEMANDING taking care of others in any way she could- with her strength and soul...

There was one moment, when it was quite quiet in that fucked up film studio/detention centre- where this woman raised her voice- asked us all to listen... and she said ‘listen everyone- can you hear that helicopter- can you hear the sound of that helicopter?? That helicopter means there are protestors’ outside- they are outside and they are here for US... they are here fighting for us.’

In those moments I was able to give thanks again, I was able to reconnect with my faith- I was recharged by my brothers and sisters that I had somehow forgotten were out there- standing up for me... like I was here for my brothers and sisters of the world- those who are captive EVERY DAY because this world puts them in those positions. My brothers and sisters who are degraded and exploited and violated and harmed and KILLED AND BEATEN AND RAPED.... all over the world. In the Name OF WAR, and MONEY, and RELIGIOUS TENSIONS, in greed, and pride.

And here I was in a cage. Like an animal. Cold. The air conditioning was on. I was cold.

I was hurt, I was tired. I was dirty. I wanted some kind of rights, why was I in here like this. Why were they not looking at me. Why were they looking at me but not REALLY looking at me. Looking INTO me. Like I was trying to do with them.

How can we disconnect ourselves from what is REAL?

That is wrong, this is a problem.

Those cages. They took away our power, they took away our freedom, they caged us in... and after a while... it was past the acceptable mark, and I was able to remain peaceful and strong for many of us, for a long time... but it passed that point, when we needed to be HEARD!!!!!!!!!!!!

So that sheet metal, that they used as one of their many tactics to SEPARATE us, to ISOLATE us from each other...

We re-claimed that tactic, to REVOLT, to EXPRESS.... TO MAKE OURSELVES HEARD!!!!!

We RAMMED Ourselves against those sheet metal covered cages minutes after minutes after minutes...

Causing the whole building to vibrate off of our vibrations... it brought me somehow to that state of vibration... I felt this extreme power bouncing off and through us and our cages and each other... there was a really beautiful feeling of power and one-ness that allowed this amazing release and yet reconnection of power. All via shaking of these cages.

The bolts were coming lose... this too was not permanent, and we were shaking these cages loose.

I hated those cages... I hated holding onto the side of those cages, pleading with those police officers, pleading to their deepest humanity- to those deep places that connect us as humans... looking at them in the eyes and them not looking back. Like a whimpering dog looking out at her owner... BUT THEY DIDN’T OWN ME...

Those cages kept us separated, it gave them the power and took ours away.

I hated those cages.

And I hate the people who designed those, who designed that film centre like it was a fuckin set, like it was a fuckin play.

Well I am here to say, it was NOT, it was real. And I was there.

How dare you do that to fellow human beings... shame on you who do not acknowledge that which is truly done...
IT IS...
OPEN UP YOUR EYES.

WHAT IS HAPPENING IN THIS WORLD IS REAL.

Those people who are experiencing it KNOW...

and I do not want to live a life that ignores them, who ignores the cages that we have put up in so many different areas of our lives- cages we have CHOSEN to box ourselves and other people into.

This is my plea, from my cage that is no longer... my plea to my fellow human beings-police officers, and EVERYONE else... my loved ones, my family and friends, my acquaintances, the strangers who know me, the strangers I know... to the people on the street... to the people on the bodies of land, to the people in the water, and in space... to the people who have existed, to the people who are to come...

I plea to you to open up... open up and see... and act upon this HONEST REAL acceptance of what is happening RIGHT NOW... in this world. SEE the connections from one place, to one situation, to one person, to one criminal to one police officer, in one city to another country, from one job and class, to another class and job. From one person who looks like this to another brother or sister who looks like this or that... who lives like this or that, who loves like this or that...or this or that, or this or that...

And when something WRONG is happening- check in with yourself... when you KNOW it is wrong... don’t stand for it... don’t do it just because someone tells you to... because if you just LET things happen that hurt, and harm and WOUND others... this also means you are accepting of that... and you are part of that, you have made that choice to ACCEPT this... or that...

My plea to you is to be REAL.


Woman on her period.

When I was in my second cell- the cell where there were 37 women. Most only able to sit cross legged, with no additional room. A few able to stretch out, or curl up, some with each other- they were cold. They could hardly sleep. Those moments of sleep in there were somehow satisfying, those moments lying down on the cold dirt concrete floor, or cross legged, head and back leaning against the fucking cage... or those moments with my head cradled in my arms on the bench... those moments when you could completely shut off, zone out... they were so intense, they could have been 30 seconds, maybe 10 minutes, I have a feeling they weren’t any longer, but we had no idea... my sister who I went through the whole process with would wake up EVERY time and say, ‘how much time has passed?’... I would never know, but was always thankful that we were able to completely lose that track of time... our minds were able to go back into that freedom...

Here I am now, 4 days later, in my home, ‘Canada day’, that’s bullshit, I have no sense of pride whatsoever right now...in fact I will likely be at a campfire this weekend, I think I will burn the canadian flag patch that I once took with me travelling, on my backpack... I do not need to travel as a CANADIAN, I will only and forever now travel as HUMAN... I hear fireworks going off.... 4 days ago, we would have assumed bomb, weapons, riot cops, police, capture, violence, anger, restriction... where is our freedom? Our home and native land, glorious and free- that’s fuckin BULLSHIT.

I woke up a couple hours ago- the first day since being released that I was able to wake up FREELY... no work to go to- to sustain my life- this life of being REAL... standing up for what I know is RIGHT, and what I know is WRONG... and it was a beautiful long and free sleep- sleep that allowed me to go back to those places... go back to those experiences, and feel them again, with a sense of power again, without a sense of being captive, of being restricted...

I am on my period now, I am bleeding... I am so thankful for this period right now... I am releasing all that just happened, I am letting go of it now from inside me. Like that first moment out of that torture film studio... let go and cleansed what happened on the outside... those mama earth rains cleansed me- her natural cycles starting that cleansing process from the MOMENT I walked out of there... she is more powerful then ALL OF THEM PUT TOGETHER... and always will be.

So here she is helping me in my flow... helping me through my cycles... this last cycle was a tough one- these experiences were difficult. Here I am at home where I can take care of myself, nurture myself through my flow.

That night in jail- Saturday night, the night of the full moon, days after an earthquake... another young woman was on her cycle, she was bleeding- in the heart of her flow... yet she was captive, she was in a cage, her freedoms and her RIGHTS were TAKEN from her. And she was crying... cross-legged on the floor... surrounded by 36 other women- all young, all beautiful and vulnerable and STRONG... yet captive, yet silenced.... all of our hands crossed and tied behind our FUCKING backs with twist ties.... fuckin zip ties- for humans....like we are pieces of machinery to be tied up- FUCK YOU, WE ARE HUMANS... WE ARE NOT MACHINES.... YOU ARE!!!! YOU WERE THE MACHINES- YOU WERE THE ONES WHO MOVED LIKE MACHINES, WHO LISTENED TO WHAT YOU WERE TOLD AND DID JUST LIKE MACHINES....

But we were not.

We were sitting together, all of us women.

In that cell... and this one young crying woman was on her period... and she did not have a pad... and she did not have toilet paper, and her hands were zip-tied behind her back.... how on earth was this fuckin even remotely humane... FUCK YOU!

And how was she able to experience this beautiful natural cycle... from inside a cage. After hours of requests, via SCREAMING and pleading... and degrading SEXIST comments from asshole cops... she got a pad... she went into the open-non-doored portapottie, where 2 people were sleeping/sitting in, because it was warm...because there was not enough room for 37 of us in that CAGE... she went in... we made a ‘wall’ to protect her, to give her some privacy, fuck... I do not know how she manoeuvred herself to even pee, then wipe... wiping not just pee but blood that had been collecting in her clothes for likely hours... with VERY minimal toilet paper, and dirty twist-tied-behind-back hands... and then get a pad down on her underwear... pull up her underwear, pants, in place... like what the fuck????????

AND NOT EVEN ABLE TO WASH HER HANDS AFTER...

THIS IS WRONG.... this is so wrong.

I am on my period now... I am bleeding right now. And I am bleeding freely and comfortably with her in mind. I am dedicating and including in my free experience of my blood right now- I am including that young woman, and all the woman who were CAGED IN this weekend in my experience... I bleed for them, I release for them...

And I bleed for all my sisters around the world, who are in similar... and in MUCH worse situations right now, and then, and in the future... who cannot bleed freely, who cannot connect to their natural cycle... who cannot experience that which is natural in a healthy, peaceful, free, connecting way.

I bleed for those women who are so harmed, and so restricted, and so violated and hurt every day... who bleed from their bodies, on their cycles and off of their cycles... they bleed... they are wounded...

Under the harm of others.... consciously... they are harmed by others... others who do it CONSCIOUSLY.

We know when we are harming others... WE KNOW.

You know what you are doing, and you know what you are part of.

It is your choice to do that, it is your choice to support that.


Bhindi.

That day I wore my bhindi.

I wore a blood red teardrop shaped bhindi- with a little diamond at its upper teardrop tip.

Purchased in India- on a long journey of faith, and curiosity, and life, and death.

When I was first arrested they took my personal belongings.

When I was first ‘processed’, they took my earrings, my rainbow glass spiral, my earth grown wooden spiral... my long seashell- given to me at a conference from the week before- called ‘Spirit Matters’- listening to the elders, making music with the elders, the youth, the spiritual, the open... the seashell was left on a table, a give-away table.... there was still sand in it, I do not know where it came from, but I know it came from mama earths waters, and her creatures...

It was that that was in me left ear, and it was that that was TAKEN from me.

They took the patches off my dress- those that said LOVE WARRIOR in my chest’s centre, the patch that said SMASH PATRIARCHY on my ass, the leopard animal patches, ‘ANIMAL PEACE’, and the one that I hope got those police officers thinking (although I highly doubt it did...), WHO IS IN CONTROL OF THOSE IN CONTROL...

The kind beautiful woman from brazil, de Souza was her last name, she by mistake, or maybe on purpose left on one of these patches... an image of a bar code, and numbers across the bottom... with hands poking through, holding onto the bars... it looked like a person in jail, their hands sticking out through the bars... yet the bars are not jail cell CAGE bars... but a BARCODE....

Maybe she couldn’t do it any longer- she couldn’t take anymore off- she knew it was true. And REAL.

I was number 0111.

My name was Jacobs.

Her name was de Souza.

I didn’t look at her badge number.

But her eyes, her beautiful lips, and her smile. She looked fresh, she said she just got there. To the detention centre.

She was not to know yet what was really going on.

I hope she is okay, she was me. She knew I was real, and so was she.

She would go home at the end of that shift, and she will cry, and I hope she has someone who loves her there to support her. Because she would have felt it, and taken it on, taken it in. That will forever hurt her.

But I know she will remember me, and she will be okay, she will know that I was not angry with her, but of those in control of those in control... and of those who refused to see my humanness, who chose to not connect with me... those who chose to DISCONNECT. From their humanness, from their conscience. From all that is REAL.

They took my shoes, that were keeping me warm. And then, right before them sending me back into a CAGE, my second cage, the one with 37 women... the man, a senior to de souza... demanded my head scarf... they took away my scarf, that kept me warm... and that kept me comfortable.

They took it.



Hours later, I don’t know how many, but many, maybe 4, maybe 8... after being in that cage with all those lovely strong women... I was called for another part of ‘processing’...

Gottshchalk was the head dudes name... I was there for questioning... but first I was made to say ‘I UNDERSTAND’ that I am being recorded by video... aka I CONSENT... aka if I do not consent, i'm being sent back in until who knows how long and who knows what’s next??????????? Those fuckin assholes... questions such as what happened? What were my motives? And Gottschalk and his 2 sidekicks, a man typing on the computer, and woman listening and being assistant to his demands- I felt pity for her- how sad to be in her position.

I was sent into a room for a ‘level two’ search... not strip searched, patted down- a new woman asked if my bra was one I could easily take off... I pretty much responded with ‘listen, I have big boobs, the ballgames different for us kinda women, ya know?’, and she let me leave it on. Hardly even checked me. She was trying to have conversation like this was just normal... it’s not sister- you are in this position, the search-ER, and I am being searched... WHO HAS THE POWER HERE? WHO HAS THE CONTROL IN THIS SITUATION?? It’s not right that they try to have day-to-day conversation... this is NOT day-to-day.

I was brought back into the little office... they didn’t really tell me anything more except to take off my nose ring. My gold hoop, with 5 different coloured gemstones in it- my gold RAINBOW nose ring- the unity in diversity, and the beauty in difference. I lifted up my hands and showed their colour to him, showed them how dirty they were. ‘ I haven’t washed my hands the whole time I have been in here’. I said if I am going to do this, I am using that big bottle of antibacterial hand gel you have here on your desk... how dare you. And then I took it off.

All my bits and pieces, that help to define me, that I have chosen to let define me, to express my inner beliefs and philosophies... gone. They took them from me.

I was sent to a new cell, back with my original sisters- who I was arrested with... how lovely... how comforting.

I still hadn’t seen a lawyer, I still didn’t get to make a phone call. I still had no idea what was next.... they took as much of me away as they could... and I was feeling it... it was working, all their tactics and techniques were working... and I am strong, and I have a practice of my own to fall back on... I was able to hold on to myself...

But I realized, then, and more so now an interesting little piece that was NEVER brought up, that was NEVER taken from me, asked about, queried on...

My bhindi.

My bhindi... of faith. Of centering, and balance. Of woman. Of true REALness. Of honesty.

They never asked me about it. And they never took it.

They never took it from me.

And they never can.