Touching the Circle

Page 5

The Search for self often found in solitude

There's a rather special hill just inside the boundaries of the Sarcee reserve. Looking at it you wouldn't think that this small weather beaten rise with its sparse grove of trees held any significance to anyone. Yet, it will always occupy a very warm spot in my heart and mind. It was here, not all that long ago, that this hill helped introduce me to a stranger ? myself.

At 32 years of age, the trail of my life had led through the countless broken friendships, a shattered marriage, the twilight zone of drugs and booze, jails, and all too many one-room mansions in less than quality neighbourhoods. Searching. There always had to be something more. So I became different people at different times. I have been the militant Indian, the struggling poet, the workaholic, the bigot, the philosopher and the drunkard. The truth, it seemed, was something outside of myself. It existed in a philosophy or an attitude which I could adopt in order to solve all the problems of my life. I searched painfully.

You see, all my life I've had a problem. I was a brown body floating through a whiteman's world. Having been taken from my family at an early age, I became one of the "disappeared ones" ? lost in a system, didn't understand. Through non-Native foster homes and schools, all I knew of my Indianness was the little I got from textbooks and Hollywood. I spent all my life posing rather than being. It's pretty hard to discover yourself when you're never really sure what that self is. And so I searched.

Fitting in. That's pretty much what it was all about. Looking for that one place that I could enter and feel like I belonged. The one circle where I wouldn't have to act. The pain arising from all of this could be easily pushed aside through a drink or a fix. It was a lesson I learned all too well.

Finally, about a year ago, following an aborted suicide attempt, the road to this hill and the truth began. I'd drank and rugged my way to a position in my life of ultimate loneliness. There were no people left in my world. I'd pushed them all away. And there was no God. I was convinced that he wouldn't have me, even if there was one. I was alone and afraid. I wanted to die.

The funny thing about truth is, once you discover it, you always seem to discover a whole lot more. Truth, you see, isn't an all encompassing thing. The first truth I discovered was that I am an alcoholic and an addict. I used these tools all my life in order to avoid pain. All that I managed to accomplish was to create even more pain.

The second truth I discovered was that I needed help. This truth led me to Sunrise Residence and the Sarcee Old Agency Lodge. Treatment centres. I had to learn to face my pain and this meant having to learn to face myself. With the help of counsellors and my fellow addicts and alcoholics, I came to yet another truth ? that I was not alone and that I was not unique.

There is literally an entire generation of our people who have become displaced. An entire generation who have struggled with their identity and with themselves. My story is actually pretty boring in comparison with others I've heard.

Anyway, these centres gave me the opportunity to meet with Elders and the people who practice an everyday communication with the Creator. Soon I was talking about my identity problem. Soon I was sitting in the sacred Sweat Lodge and using sweetgrass in prayer. Soon I learned yet another truth. That I am and always have been an Indian and that this cannot be stolen from me. Through them I was able to sit on that hill which is the basis of all of this.

The hill sits behind the Old Agency Lodge. In the quiet summer evenings, I climbed that hill and sat in the silence of closing day. As I watched the sun setting behind those purple mountains, I gave thanks for the trail of my life. I gave thanks for that day and for the earth beneath my feet. I began to s that I could use all the pain and weakness as tools of strength. And I began to realize that my Indianness was not simply something I could wear on my sleeve. That it was so much more than just my long hair and turquoise. That it was something much more concrete, yet far more intangible, than that. It was a song of the heart. A belief and a truth.

And that my friends, is the basis for this column. Because there are so many of us who have become a generation of the disappeared and because I've learned that mine is a common story, I've chosen to share it. Every week or two I'll fill you in on episodes in the search. Things I've learned from people I've talked to and maybe someone out there won't have to go through all of that solitary searching. Maybe we can lead each other to other truths.

So until next time, may you walk tall. Meegwetch . . .