It’s not everyday that something extraordinary happens like a flash, so quick you almost don’t believe it. It’s not even in every life time that you can strike gold, but my gold mines are starting to tally and i’m worried i’m running out whatever the hell luck i’m living on — because i keep living these dreams i never thought could be possible. And i am beholden…. shy of bound, to whatever man makes the god damn rules in this place.
In an afternoon, i was moved. I was changed in some profound and sagacious way that i can’t quite put my finger on what the fuck happened to me in those moments.
My mind a little deeper and much richer than it was last week.
I wanted to write this post the other night but my website is as temperamental as a she-bear. Therefore, tonight is the night now that i have a moment that is all mine. After all — they say that words mean more at night and will send you dreaming.
A few weeks ago an event popped into a feed and a plan was made. Simple as that. No great sign or path.
I’d tried to talk myself out of going just because it was effort and i don’t like interacting with people, but this was a bucket list item — something i’d only dreamed of since i was still young enough to believe in happy endings. And Jack, the golden boy that is — wouldn’t let me back out.
The event was a meet/greet/book signing with Crazy Horse’ Elder, and the author of the families book — Bill Matson. I’ve never attended anything of this kind before, i always thought it was somewhat awkward and not my scene. I figured it was mostly just something that was done in movies or for weird die hard fans like…twilight geeks etc.
Having said that — i was wrong.
I reckon i was just waiting for the right time and it found me, in the dying summer of New England 2019. What are the odds.
I’ve always been very aware that indigenous people in films, books, media and history were “whitewashed” and “europeanised.” Which is a damn shame and unnecessary.
Rarely have they been given the chance to openly portray their truth or even speak it. And that was why i desperately wanted to hear the sore and exposed truth of their culture. Thats what he gave to me, the difference between truth and assumptions. A lot of what is thought to be fact — is an assumption about the Red Nation and many other parts of life. It was beautiful and meaningful to hear it from him — his truths, his stories, all about his blood-tree … rather than from a book that has rolled through editors where stories were changed and translations crapped over like yesterdays newspaper.
So i’m very very excited to read the book of their family.
I’m excited to read Matson’s words and learn more about the true Crazy Horse and their lives since.
The meeting was raw. It was strong. Nerve wracking. But utterly and finally, it was magnificent. Even though the audience members made me kinda embarrassed to be white due to their weird inane questions and stereotypical thought processes. They asked about finding “medicine men on facebook,” were surprised “Indians were so nice” and i could honestly go on. But i choose to remember the experience in a way Bearheart taught me to. Find the positive and learn the lesson.
I realise i haven’t talked about it in too much depth but i fear it would ruin my experience for me, just like pulling your camera out in a beautiful moment and living through the lens instead of being truly present.
So this is all i’ve leave you with.
Speak truth, don’t assume and tell the story how it happened without modern embellishments (fiction writers excluded).
I’m sick at home with the flu. It’s been trying to catch up with me for weeks but i’ve been dodging it like an son of a bitch. But i could only run for so long. And so here we are. I’m investing some well earned time into my blog today and i’ve been digging into my dark pit of old photographs. Boy, it sure is easy to lose yourself in the past.
When i was little i didn’t play all that much with other children. I was busy playing cowboys and Indians at Mormor & Morfars house. Morfar, as long as i can remember, has always been John Wayne to me. I also thought Mormor was secretly a witch because she had a very questionable broom stick in the garage, but Morfar was Big John Wayne with the personality of an angry buffalo. He was the Duke because he folded the ends of his jeans the same way. My jeans were always too long for me because i was so small — so he’d fold mine too because theres no need to ruin the end of your cowboy jeans if it can be avoided. In Denmark thats what we called Jeans “Cowboy trousers.” Morfar is taller than the mast on a rigger — he also has a burly step to his walk.
He still has/does all these things. It’s one of the many things that early on in my life pointed to something bringing me west. I used to have a small belt buckle with three rope rings on it and in the rope rings was a conestoga wagon, a team of 8 horses and two people riding to a new homestead in the west. Jack and i probably. All this time i carried us on my belt. Until it didn’t fit and i grew woman hips. In England i would make bows and arrows out of sticks and string. And that i could fire a crossbow better than the man who owned it. Even in nursery i remember sitting in a random tube in a hole in the ground wearing big black cowboy boots that didn’t fit (sorry mor — i lied so you’d buy them for me). But i wanted them and i wore them, they must have made a difference considering i live my everyday in cowboy boots. There are many little things in my life that seemed to nudge me towards what was going to happen.
I wanted to share some of my photographs from that life on this blog. I don’t know why i didn’t blog back then. I tried a couple of times but life was getting pretty complicated and i could barely keep up. Surprisingly i also don’t have that many photographs from Texas, but that was because i was so busy living. I’d found life so god damn hard up until that point — but now there was a reason to try harder. To be better. To be a new person and a greater version of me — the me i recognise. And i look at her every day in the mirror now. Though somedays i might not like her face i so appreciate her for what she’s done for me and got me through. I can look at her in the eye and tell her she did the work of a woman who could fly. A person who believed she could so she did.
I’m sure some of you question whether i had anything that stopped me wanting to move to Texas. Yes, i had a few small things in the back of my mind that concerned me but i’ve never been one to listen that well. And i went anyway. Before i met Jack i never wanted to go to America, and i felt terrible for everything the First nations were put through. I wanted no part of that which is why i never wanted to step foot on that land. I didn’t want to move further away from my family either and i so wanted to grow old in Denmark. Sometimes i still do. But i know i’m not meant for that life. I’ve lived so long away from home — that home is anywhere now. If i returned home i would never belong again and it would feel like everything was a dream. The absolute hardest part of moving was giving up my sailing life and it’s still a wound that i scratch at once in a while, but i’m also aware enough to know that that part of my life was supposed to bring me to something better than where i’d been. Sailing was the last beautiful gift England gave me after the harsh years i had where i was. And i got my best friend for life, but i had to leave and move on to find where i was supposed to be. So yes these things can still get on my mind and i still have to work to figure them out but for now I bring to you — Texas as seen through my eyes.