Toad Medicine

And so, Grandfather, Ayiki stayed long after they had gone. He blinked at me when the sunlight broke through and the blankets were gone from Nokomis. He cleansed and stayed to cleanse again and no one noticed. Why have they forgotten, Grandfather? They talk about saving Mother Earth and they do not know her very children. Ayiki tells me of a time when man could speak Ayiki words and in those days the world could clean itself. Tell me Grandfather, how can I remind them?

Apistay Moosa gave life, Grandfather. She bore her small one in the early morning and left the new one to find its legs while she filled her belly to fill her teats. In the moments of her goneness, there was the fear and the tears and the humaness of imagining that no one would return.
How can I remind them, Grandfather, that from birth the four-legged teach their young abandonment so that they can know the voices of all beingness? I ask them to listen hard, but they cannot hear me.

I can bearly hear myself.

Do not forget us, Grandfather.
Keechay Manitiou, Kataa petchea kea. Kanee wapameconan kape mate sey ya.

Leaves and The Moon

Grandmother, the plants came alive fast this year. The trees are thick with leaves, and the leaves are thin and soft. It all came so fast this year. What does that mean Grandmother?
Why are some years slow and some years fast?

Granddaughter, that is just the way. Listen to that and watch the young men and women. Listen to that and know the way of it all. Our brothers and sisters the plants tell us about ourselves in a way that we cannot otherwise know. There are signs and they are clear.
I often think when I sit in my lodge that the people have forgotten this, but it is right there for all to see.

Grandmother, today I think I will open my eyes. Today the sun is shining so brightly, how can I miss the signs?

Granddaughter, you can only miss them if you are looking too hard at the sun. The daze of days.
Look at the moon and she will talk to you.