
Spirit Coming Through
— astam astam astam nidocta nidocta nidocta I need to share, I need you to see me, feel me, astam astam astam all around you I am here for you nidocta I will help you I will help you astam astam astam listen to me I will help you, my niwâhkômâkan, my family.
He wandered down the hard concrete streets, the heat of the city rising on rivulets of steam coming to meet him. To soak him in the moist breath of a place unclean. His mind was wrapped in a fog he couldn’t seem to get free of, no matter how hard he shook himself, sweat himself, smoked himself. He was lost in the maze of buildings so high they cradled the sky. He couldn’t smell the waters anymore, the trees, the dirt. He could only smell the reek of piss splashed up walls and the stink from his own body. But he wandered, day after day, looking for a way out, praying for his people to see him, to understand him, to listen to him.
— astam astam astam
He would chant, come here, come here, come here. He would sit in the park and try to feel light. He would sit beside his brothers and sisters as they wobbled beside him on benches. He would eat from shiny metal packages, feel the food lump in his stomach before rotting. He felt himself get weaker; he felt himself lose his way.
— In the name of the father son and the holy ghost, astam astam astam
On a loop he fought to remember why he had come to the city. There had been a great migration from the land, he remembered that, like animals rushing to a new hunting ground; his people had all but left the places where he used to live with them. There was blood in the water. There were too little prayers to sustain him. People thought of him less. He needed to go to them. He needed them to listen again. He remembered through the fog. He needed them to listen!
— nidocta!
There was blood in the water. There were too little prayers to sustain him.
He cut through the alley. Ignored the plastic bits at his feet. Ignored the reek. Ignored the way the buildings leaned against the air. He wove through garbage bins piled high with concentrated material, too lacking in life to decompose as was natural. He stumbled on a jutting metal bar, fell face first into the asphalt. A puddle of grey water sprayed droplets of dirty mess all over his face. He held his head in pain. The throbbing drove from him his purpose; he was again lost. Focused on the blood in his hair.
—you must not go, you must not, there was water at one time so clear you could see heaven or the great plain or Jesus suffering on the cross, you could see into the mirror and know what you were.
He crawled through the filth, chanting over and over, falling ever closer to the earth until he heard a familiar sound. The grating voice of his bother not seen for so long. He peeked around in the shadows, a familiar bulk towered over the bodies of broken people, leeching happiness from every pore, replacing it with sorrow.
—help me, my brother.
He held out his hand, crusted in blood and dirt. He pleaded in a voice strained and cracking. He whispered. He felt his body sway as a gust of wind wound its way through the cracks and spaces in his ribs. He felt himself strain to lift off the ground, to fly as he once had, he was sure he had used to.
— wichihin, help me.
He pleaded with the back of his brother, who stiffened at the sound of his voice. Who tightened up fists of rage until veins popped though his skin. With a snarl his brother whipped around to face him. His brother was tall here, he noticed, he was big, flexing arms and muscles, he had grown strong here, because in this city it was his brother who, for once, was in control, who prospered.
— you do not belong here.
And his brother was right.
— what am I to do? niwâhkômâkan, I need you to help them listen.
— they can no longer hear, and why would I want them to?
— this is not how it should be.
He felt the pain in his knees; his bones were too old, too filled with dust and memories. He put his hands on the pavement. Tried to pull life up to help him sit back up. But he only got weaker as he strained with the effort.
— awus, go back now, to the trees where you belong, go live on the land, hey, get out of the city, you don’t belong here, this is my place, hey, awus.
— Witiko, wichihin, we’re brothers.
Witiko snarled again, his lips curling back over sharpened teeth, for in truth he had prospered in this place. The people were glued to his darkness here, trusted it and fell into his arms willingly. He stepped forward and kicked at his brother, felt the toe of his boot crack flesh and brittle bone.
— i said, go now.
And then Witiko walked away, swirled into the shadows of buildings, never looking back at the body of his broken brother.
After time had passed and he felt like he could move, he dragged himself up on elbows. Coughed into this sleeve and saw the rusted remains. His mind moved like a clogged river as he looked around. Everywhere were people rushing, moving around him and over him, never looking at him. He reached out and they recoiled. He sought the sky. But could only see blue cut up into squares with black lines of wire.
— you don’t see and you don’t know but you need to remember, you need to remember, you need to remember and sit down and look forward and don’t speak that filthy tongue you animal and don’t don’t don’t.
He lost himself in his memories then. Dragged himself up and stumbled forward in lurching steps.
—in the name of the father, son, and holy ghost we pray for your forgiveness and for your blessing and don’t speak that way and look forward now and go you drunk, you go and live good lives and get out of here.
His left foot dragged behind him as he sought an open space, his mind reeling as forgotten memory restored itself and caused pain anew.
— you do not deserve life, you do not exist, you are forgotten, you are asleep.
He took himself to the shoreline where the tankers leeched oil in the precious water, dirty and not fit for swimming anymore. He looked up and saw clouds. Formed into shapes like animals running through long summer grasses and he was calmed. But he knew he was not where he was supposed to be and so he remembered. He needed to get his people, his family to listen.
— astam astam astam nidocta nidocta nidocta I need to share, I need you to see me, feel me, astam astam astam all around you I am here for you nidocta I will help you I will help you astam astam astam listen to me I will help you, my niwâhkômâkan, my family.
He sat back against the rocks, listening to the thunder from the waves. The sun’s glare stung his eyes and hurt his head. He could still feel the place where this scalp was opened. Filled with tiny pebbles that buried deeper and deeper. The dried blood cracked as he squinted his eyes. Against the sun there was a shadow. Something dark, and quick. The sound of the wind was like relief. As a gust of life spirit pinned him back, tussled his hair, filled his mind with clarity. The shadow had edges, like the wings of the thunderbird, he remembered.
Against the sun there was a shadow. Something dark, and quick. The sound of the wind was like relief.
— Kihew, is that you?
— Yes, brother
The sun flashed bright as the shadow moved. And before him a woman, long black hair and white teeth. She knelt beside him. Took his hand, held it to her face.
— astum, astum, astum.
He whispered. And she leaned closer.
— I don’t know how to leave.
— I know, niwâhkômâkan.
— they don’t listen anymore.
— not true, brother.
—where are their spirits then?
—being found.
He looked up into her eyes, saw the flame in them, it swirled into him and awoke the sputtering spark in his own chest, but only a little, but enough.
— truly?
— come with me, Weesageechak, I’ll show you.
And so, she lifted him up and not with just her arms but her wings too and all the power she held in her. For she was greatness. She was living. She was restoring.
—astum.
He repeated into her ear as she held his weight, as she took him again into the city, as she fought to remember how he had been. Before. The power he had once held inside of him. The fierceness in which he fought. The laughter in his cackle.
— see.
She pointed him the direction of a gathering of the people.
— feel.
She laid him down on the grass. Held his hands to the dead spirit earth. And then he heard it. Through the soil and up the shaft of blades of grass that began to hum with life as drums began to thunder through the air, and he felt in that deep place inside, the spark that Kihew had granted him flare up, and he felt his bones knit back together as the women sang a song too beautiful for ears and spirit, and he felt himself grow light as they spoke in the tongues their spirits were born with, and again they pounded the ground with feet and held hands with love instead of fear, and the waters they drank came from up high in mountains where there was no blood clotting in the pipes, and they filled the air with smoke that cleaned and he breathed in the purified smell, and he knew he could fly like he used to be able to do, and so he looked at his sister and she smiled because she knew and had felt what he felt and they both rose up together because they were coming back to life these two, and with the people they circled and felt their spirits fill up with everything that was stolen from them, and Weesageechak again cawed as he went higher and higher and broke free of the dead places that had held him for too long, and as he did receded the memories of hateful places designed to kill him, of people forced to forget him, and on the wings of song and dance he twirled in life as was ever his way.