By Andrew Scott
Sometimes I wish I could go back to the innocent times of my younger years. Run those woods with screaming friends, exploring until the sun went down. Growing up can be confusing and complicated. Emotions and worries that are not understood. Sometimes I wish that I did not know the thing that I do with the experience of age. The open eyes of wonder are the days I yearn when the world seems like it is closing in. Do wish I could go back there sometimes then I think would that time in my life even know me now?
The Lost Children
The drums are beating with sadness, sorrow now. Crying with the stolen souls of the innocent, lost children. Buried so long ago, never returned home from the abuse provided from captive walls. Healing circles chanting for the children’s spirit. Mourning the loss, the children who were never given a chance. Beautiful children taken from their elders, tortured and abused to forget who they were until they were murdered, placed in a grave, forgotten by the government and the church who put them in the unmarked dirt. Died being forced to assimilate. Little spirits rise in piece to be remembered, given to the ancestors to share in the healing drumming around the fires, tears lined over their hearts, preying for the Lost Children.
Dear Stranger XVI
Dear Stranger, how are you today? Have you seen the embers remaining of the building you took a torch too? The anger is understandable. Everyone is enraged over the discovery of the burial of our Indigenous children however, burning buildings does not take away any pain even if they are symbols of the dark past. People could be inside those dwellings. More death does not solve pain. Most of us will never feel the emotions you are feeling. Please share and educate us, let us know and learn. As long as no one talks and the violent burning continue the history will be a stranger to us all.