If you look on the satellite image of Google Maps and check out Six Nations Reserve №40, you’ll see a green space marked off by a grid. That’s where I was born. The green space was much larger then. We were surrounded by farmland up and down the Grand River back when when Toronto was still in Toronto and if anyone heard of a developer he owned a drive up photo shop or at least an Irish pub. When you travel through the area today the Reserve is surrounded by ugly cracker box developments or overpriced and overbuilt houses…

And Stories Told to A Mohawk Child (A Poem)

Photo by Vanessa Bucceri on Unsplash

The bones of this house smell like whiskey and sweat that dripped down the white skin of my grandfather. Lingering smells still waft through the attic, felled and fallen tamarack and pine enlisted for duty, with my mother’s twin brother who drove the team of horses that pulled the newly chiseled and nailed timber frames.

Thick bridles and reins were oiled and warm in my mother’s eighteen-year-old hands as she murmured a sing song string of words over snorts and stamps, telling the Clydesdale couple that raising rafters was easier than…

Allowing Nature to Nurture

Photo by Author

I once had a conversation with a tree

I had fallen asleep wondering if trees have perception and how they might see us. That night I slumbered in deep dreaming and there I walked up to a tree and very slowly looked up the trunk until my eyes rested on a face. Similar to a human face it was the colour of buckskin and the eyes were dark and large.
I said, “Oh, it’s you.”
A wave of thought enveloped me and inside my head, I recognized the words, “Yes, it’s me.”
“What are we doing?” I asked.
“We’re talking. You asked a question. I’m answering,” the…

And dreams of earth changes

Photo By the Author

I’ve always dreamed. In my Mohawk world, dreams are extremely important.
Sometimes the dreams are stark and frightening, and some are in such a kaleidoscope of color I wake feeling like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Or perhaps the Scarecrow since I may spend a while humming “If I Only Had A Brain” as I figure out what message my dream has presented.

Prophetic dreams are neither good nor bad they just are

These dreams can be terrifying or encouraging and I believe are given to us to strengthen our minds. As I relate to the following dream, I can still feel a bit of the anxiety that drove…

While struggling with loss

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash

There are times it seems like an exercise in futility to hold a pen to paper or sit at a keyboard with your fingers poised to write anything when there are no words to express what is sitting heavily in your heart, mind, and body.

Regardless of our age, the manner of writing we are expected to do, and the pressure we put on ourselves to do it, comprehensible sentences do not form. Words enter our minds and flit out again to hide away in the heavy mist of confusing sensations and emotions.

The writer within us often becomes mute…

Why I pay attention

Photo by James Wainscoat on Unsplash

First, birds began to fly down in front of my vehicle as if to tell me to slow down and pay attention. Then sleep started to become more elusive through nights of floating in half awake dreams with sound and colour. I would wake attempting to hold on to dream consciousness, but could not remember them.

A niggling piece of worry bored holes into my days leaving me with an unsettled feeling that percolated into a disturbing sense of calamity as weeks went by. Whenever I tried to pinpoint a feeling or a fact everything floated away dissolving into invisibility…

And Keeping Your Happy Place

Photo by Greg Rakozy on Unsplash

I was recently asked what it is I do to stay positive? What is it I do to remain happy, especially over the past year and a half of pandemic stress and constraints? I thought about this putting personal and professional activities aside. What exactly is it that might allow one to remain happy and content amid a global pandemic? Or even when we’re not in a pandemic?

As a child I was scared of my own shadow. It’s very possible I experienced some kind of trauma that embedded itself in my body and erased itself from my consciousness. …

A Poem About Life

Photo by Kyle Goetsch on Unsplash

Gasping one breath

of Creation

we are born

in anticipation

stretching our brilliant minds

out over

and around

Earth our mother.

Suckling and learning

walking and

talking, our

days of childhood

ways as playful

shining stars.

Gasping one breath,

we live with thieves

and jugglers of time

Ambition tasted

and wasted upon

the tongues of

the very young

divining life,

and reality

What will really matter?

Photo by MontyLov on Unsplash

In response to Tree Langdon’s writing challenge, Ask Yourself Empowering Questions, I decided to start with this one. It’s fun and I pass the challenge along to you to inspire your flow of creative energy.

A hundred years from now will anyone care?

We will all be shadows, characters in family stories and strangers in old photographs if anyone bothered to print them. Our lives will be images floating in the quantum field of past moments to be accessed only by those have learned how to travel through timelines and dimensions. …

We’ve already agreed to be coerced

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

If no one reminds me, I will forget calendar holidays and events even though they are written right on the calendar for that purpose. Perhaps it’s not in me to recognize much beyond sunrise and sunset, heat and cold, chocolate or vanilla. I once forgot my own birthday so, there’s a clue.

The advertising that works best is to imply the threat of losing love, status, jobs, and any manner of situations and things. When it comes to Hallmark card-type events my response has always been the same as my response to a pushy salesman. …

ElizaBeth Hill

I am a multi-disciplinary artist and writer from a large Mohawk family. I write from love, experience and my cultural perspectives.

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