Yeah sure, I could’ve done it differently, but I didn't...Accepting 'mid-life' on its terms ain't easy.

Being present in this new stage of my life requires diligence.    It is me being diligent of not looking at my past with longing and trying to hold on.  It is me being diligent about not looking into my future with foreboding.  I may not be where I thought I was going to be, but I am where I need to be.  I listen to my Elders with anticipation.  I listen to the younger generation with awe.  For my contemporaries, I am witnessing a struggle.  I realize this may be my projecting my internal discourse.  I am witnessing people holding onto a time in their past when they were bold, confident, and inspiring with a desperate-ness.  They hold onto anger as a salve to cool fresh wounds from their past.  They struggle to forgive because letting go is likened to falling into an abyss.  Their unwillingness to accept life as it is may mean that they’ve given up.  I’m discovering my middle place (Middle Age) is exciting and continues to be filled with passion.  The changes my body is going through reminds me of my connection to creation.  Season change, so do I, and time will move along without any effort.                 

I Believe HE Exists -

 Kind, decent, committed man who enjoys family, spiritually orientated, recognizes love by demonstrating it, is thoughtful, never allows insecurity destroy, is vigilant to not allow someone to enter our relationship, finds new ways to be thoughtful and show love, doesn’t tear away at dignity, appreciates the crevices of my body, finds joy in getting old with me, and is the last face I wanna see when my time here is done.  I wanna be able to watch him.  Recognize his grace.  Understand his dignity.  Be proud.  Feel the gentle touch of his hand when he senses I’m suddenly afraid and I need him.  Holds me as I weep.  Reminds me that the darkness of the night is not terrifying.  Makes that time of day magical and not be dreaded.  Is strong enough to know that my pain is not bound to him, but from a life filled with lessons.  Understands my flashbacks then waits for me to return or helps guide me back to myself.  Whispering lovingly.  Calling my name.  Reminding me that love does exist.  And, I am enough.  Is a reminder that not all Men are violent, nor rape, nor take without consent, nor demand my behavior be in accordance with what he deems appropriate.  I wanna be in awe of him.  Majestic.  A love that has been waiting for me.  God made just for me.  Simply, breathtaking.  Beautiful.  I believe he exists.  

I'm back....

Writing is very personal.  Becoming a writer is not something I set out to do.  It’s been a love affair that started out long ago, but I’ve kept it for myself.  I’ve taken this time off to spend time with friends on Facebook to write with them.  I had to figure out who am I writing for and why?  What do I have to say that is important? Why me?  I spent the time developing my voice.  My literary voice. 

moments of clarity and comfort

Have you ever experienced moments of clarity and comfort?  I have.  I’d be struggling with some issue.  I’d be worried.  I’d cry.  I’d be afraid.  Suddenly, a feeling would wash over me, I knew everything was gonna be all right.  The urgency of my fear and worry were gone.  I’d feel every hair on my body stand in attention.  It felt like someone gently brushed up against my skin sending shivers run down my back.  I’d just smile and say, “Thanks”. 

I Become Vigilant

When I write about the ugliness of what has happened to me, then please know and understand: Without those experiences I WOULD NOT know Joy, Happiness, Contentment, and Love.

It is when I look into my minds dark places, where secrets reside and untold truths are bound by shame, I am able dismantle them. I pay my respects to that part of my journey. I keep what is necessary in those experiences. I let go of the rest. 

Ultimately, my telling these stories is a part of my healing journey. By writing about them enables me to release the heaviness and burden.  I am no longer shackled by the shame, fear, and silence.  I let go of them back into the Universe.   I pray never to harm another...

It is my hope that I will never have to experience those life lessons again. They become a part of my past.  They become a foundation to who I am.  By understanding this process then I ensure they do not rob me of my humanity, kindness, and spirit. 

 

I write those stories to inspire those who need it.  I write to give hope to those who need it.  Especially, when the darkness descends...

What I know is this - I am responsible for my own healing and the affect of those lessons on my life.  I need to remain attuned to them so I become vigilant to never repeat them.  So I write!

Games Men Play: A Prayer Answered

I flung my prayers to heaven and it rained love.

I ran into Elvis* last night and he poured out his unyielding love for me. He described his attempts at getting my attention. He was angry that I turned him down. I heard his angst. I stood there and took it. He jabbed, to the left - to the right. I tried apologizing but he didn't want to hear it. I tried to say let's give it another try but he wasn't going to have it.

When I realized he was aiming to hurt me and make me feel bad. I checked myself out. His partner in this effort was my neighbor – Angela. I stopped. I realized the madness that was standing before me. So...I encouraged them to get together. Get to know each other. I didn't want any part of it. I walked away.

Elvis ran after me. I gently nudged him aside and told him it was ok. He could leave with her. No harm, no foul. He wanted me to feel bad. It made me wonder if he heard my prayer earlier.

Earlier in the evening, at Peavy Plaza, I stood listening to a band sing a song about love does live here and it will come along. It blarred through the speakers. A sign, meant for me. An ah-ha moment. I heard it God. LOL I giggled. I knew everything was ok. My prayer was officially heard.

Needless to say, I gave Elvis my number but he threw it down as he stomped out. It was his last act of hurt. He was going to hurt me regardless. I wasn't engaging with him. I just picked up the paper then threw it away. Whatever, loser.

I imagine what would have happened if I engaged with Elvis but I knew. I know, I don't want to meet someone at a bar. I want someone to take me to dinner. Let's do grown up things. Let's get to know each other. Let's not pretend. I lived in my truth.

After his outburst, I went to the Saloon and danced. I danced alone. I danced with strangers. I danced. I didn't need someone to define me. I wanted to dance. I danced.

At the end of the night I said a prayer of thanksgiving. I hear you god. Thank you for the strength to keep my life in order. Truthfully...

*Note:  Seriously, his name is Elvis.  An African American man from New Orleans, LA.  

2012 - A Year of Reflection, Reconciliation, and Honoring

Yes.  I know.  I know.  I know.  It's been nearly a year since I've posted a blog. 

What's been going on? Well. My biggest supporter and champion died on November 3, 2011 – RIP "Mommy" Darlene Rose Kills In Water Metcalf.

My Mother is and will continue to be core to who I am.

Amongst the many things I've learned over this last year is, I relied heavily on my Mother's strength, wisdom, and her uncanny ability to help me keep things in perspective. Hence, during this emotional upheaval I needed to find my footing once again so I took a break. I needed private space.  I wanted private time to reconcile my thoughts, feel lost, be confused, and be sad.  Ultimately, I had to learn how to honor my Mother - her life, her lessons, and her legacy. 

Don't worry throughout the year I've continued to write. Not with the same fervor or dedication as before, but I wrote cause I needed it. Some days my writing sessions included lots of crying.  Some sessions included me being fucking mad, begging for reconciliation and asking why, but I wrote regardless. I allowed emotions to ooze out of me.

Interestingly, I narrowed my “Friends” list on Facebook.  I removed people that I felt were detrimental to me or whom I felt did not have my best interest at heart. I deleted those who didn't know me. I felt enormously vulnerable and raw.

In this past year, I did not want strangers or unfamiliar people around me.  I yearned to be around people that I felt 'safe' with.  They included individuals who at some point in my life; protected me, guided me, or provided me with support.  They were the ones who I felt most comfortable with knowing what was emotionally going on with me.

In 2012, I only did a couple of public speaking engagements. Thank goodness. I honored those engagements that I made before my Mother died.  I didn't add any public presentations until after her 1 year anniversary. Traditionally, we are allowed a year of mourning.  I took mine and needed it.

Throughout this year, this song is something that I played a lot.

This song reminds me of the tender moments I had with my mother.  I recall struggling to understand what was going on to me, learning to be in my young body, and dreaming of a time when I wouldn't know pain.  It was during those intimate moments that my Mother would remind me that 'I was Special' and 'Nothing was wrong with me'.

In my mind, my mother was a giant and could do anything.  She could scare away the boogie man.  From my perspective, my mom was an ominous being that the boogie man wouldn't reckon with.  They wouldn't dare.

As I grew older and when I would stumble into this place again, she would remind me to dream big and that the world was a big place.  She shared her excitement to discover it.  She urged me to move so she could come visit me and get away.  It took me until after her death to understand these urgings were her desire and wanting her children to experience the world. 

In her urgings for me to leave the reservation, she told me that there were people out in the world that were 'like me'.  She assured me that being different wasn't bad.  I held unto those words until I met them.  When I heard this song it brought me back to these moments.    

Today, these are the reflections of my time with my Mother.  Oh, there are so many more memories that I have of our time together and I can't wait to tell you them.  She loved it when I wrote about her and she enjoyed reading about my life, my adventures, and my journey.   

What I know is:  My mother is an incredible human being who dared to be a frail.  It was her recognition of her frailty that she found commonality with people.  She connected with them in deep and meaningful ways.

I'm glad I got a chance to tell her,  "Thank you for being my Mom".   

What I've come to know and understand is that I can honor my Mother by continuing to follow her advice:

• Live my life.
• Be happy.
• Do only things that bring me joy.
• Pray.
• Pray, again.  
• Find love and be in love.
• Dance like no one is watching.
• Life is short so I gotta live it.  
• Family is everything.
• Caring for community is essential.
• Helping the People is who we are. 

It is with her courage, determination, and inspiration that I will continue to live my life...

I'm looking forward to 2013.

You've won...

"You've won because you have the audacity to be who you are.  You've won because you tell the truth on yourself.  You've won because you demonstrate kindness and love then have it reflected back to you.  You've won with each step forward you have the gumption to straighten your back and hold your head high then step out into the universe to heed its calling.  You've won because you don't let life lessons slump your shoulders, break your spirit, and you look boldly at it with as much courage as you have in that moment.  You've won when you look down at those who want to take your joy and love them in spite of.  You've won with every breathe you take.  You've won just because you are..."

I am Sicangu Oyate: Yes, I am

Measuring our Indian-ness has become a past time that I choose not to participate in. It's steeped in internalized racism and we create different class systems to assign people to. It's done socially and has manifested itself in the political arena. If you are not familiar with it then you must not be Indian.

We separate ourselves according to who practices our traditional ways. Yes, there are those who are living this way.

We separate ourselves according to enrollment. If you are an enrolled member then you are Indian.

We separate ourselves according to blood quantum. This practice of taking 50% from both your biological parents lineage to determine yours gives you a sense of your Native-ness. If you are more then you are better. If you are full blood then you are given a free pass to discriminate against everyone else and look down upon them.

We separate ourselves according to language. If you sound too white then you've given up your right to claim being Indian. You've left the pack. You've turned your back on your culture. Traditional speakers are highly valued and look down upon those who don't.

We separate ourselves according to where we live. If you live in the city then you are an Urban Indian. If you live the reservation then your just, Indian. We don't talk about those who move back and forth cause we're still trying to sort out where they belong. Until then, you claim where you're from and we'll honor that. My goodness, if you are an Urban Indian then you are not Indian enough. Give your enrollment card back.

We separate ourselves according to education. If you left the reservation to get an education. You've essential become one of them. I'm not sure yet, who “them” is but from the sounds of it, it's not very good.

We separate ourselves according to the pain we've experienced as a result of being an Indian. If you've lived a traditional life and experienced the depths of poverty as a result of it then your more Indian. If you've grown up poor then your just poor.

We separate ourselves according to how we dress and look. If you've got long hair and braid them accordingly then that's it....Your Indian. If you wear a ribbon shirt on a daily basis, your a wanna be. If you were traditional clothing, your weird. Those clothes are only brought out for a special occasion, funerals, usually.

We separate ourselves according to our attendance to Pow-wow's. If you go to pow-wows regularly then you must be Indian. If you know the songs you've gone up in your rankings.

We separate ourselves according to your work in the community. If you work in the Indian community and for the community then you're Indian. You are living out one of our values.

We separate ourselves according to our political philosophy and ideology. You've got to believe in the sovereignty of Native communities to be Indian. You better not talk outside of it nor understand that reservations survive because of Government hand outs. You better play stupid when you talk about working collaboratively or in coalition to alleviate poverty. Don't talk about Tribal governments don't work because they are not how leadership was traditionally determined cause you will be chased out of town. You heathen wanna be...

There are many other ways that we separate ourselves as being Indian. I use Native American and Indian interchangeable because they are used commonly as such. What I know is this...I'm an enrolled member of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe. I'm Sicangu Oyate (Burnt Thigh People). I'll let you figure out where I fit cause I know where I belong and who I am. Do you cause I'm gonna do me everyday! ...XOXO, Nick

She's No Different Than Me: The Whore and I

You know her. She walks the streets glancing at cars. She looks haggard. She looks like she needs to rest awhile. She has an air of desperation about her. She's dressed in clothes that are too tight, hair pulled back, way to much make-up on for an early morning walk, and heels. There is a hardness to her. Life hasn't been good to her.

You know if she doesn't make her money there are consequences. Her pimp will beat her. Will threaten her. Force her to have sex for money. Ultimately, humiliate her. Another day in the seedy parts of America.

I think about her journey and mine. How are they related? How with different decisions and choices, I could be her. How when sex has no value because it was taken so often without your consent you learn- it's just another person. You hope for it to pass.  You want it to be over, quickly.

I know the desperation of having someone to connect with. Someone to ease the pain. Someone to shield you from your guilt. Someone who understands the confusion.  Someone to show you salvation. Someone to save you when you don't know how to save yourself.

Sex for a survivor of sexual abuse and sexual assault is different. Sex has a different meaning. Sex is complicated.  

In the trauma of sexual abuse - You learn to disconnect from your body. You let your mind wander into a sacred space as your body is being taken. You turn off the pleasurable notions of it. You wait for it to pass.

You have to relearn the beauty of sex.

Trust and value is something that has to be regained. Trust in people you are intimate with. Value for yourself. It's an arduous process of reclamation. You falter at times. You pray for guidance. You know there is someone who will not violate you in those ways. You believe.  Believe when there isn't anything to believe in.

When your intimate partner gets to close, you reel. You push them away. Physically and emotionally, you need distance from them. It's a smell, a movement, a touch that has you flashing back to those darker moments and times. Unless you know what is going on, you run away from them as quickly as possible. I know, I've destroyed relationships when I didn't know what was happening.

I'm grateful for the people who helped me.  They supported me with love and affirmations when I was coming to terms with these experiences in my life.  They loved me unconditionally.  I'm grateful they supported me along this journey. They were kind to me. They treated me special when I was so broken. They believed in me when I was confused.

They treated me like I had value when I gave myself willingly because years of abuse.  Through discovery I figured out you only know how to re-victimize yourself.  It's familiar.  You know it.  You have to find your way out of the darkness.  You can hear those affirming voices and they lead you out of the depths of your own despair. 

Healing is a life long process. I know this. Memories come and go, unexpectedly. I'm learning to manage them, all the time. I can't say they've all gone away. They are still there. I've let go. I've forgiven myself. I've forgiven them.

What's the difference between me and her. Nothing. I could have been her.  It is because of the people who surrounded me and loved me. The countless hours in therapy. The tears from pain.  The hurt from trying to sort things out.  Ultimately, it was these people who taught me to love myself.

Sex had value. Love doesn't always equal pain. The innate knowing, I am somebody.

We both know of the sacred place in our minds. The place we commune with God. The place we knew to escape to because a human being was reaching in to take our soul. We knew God was there to save us.  We knew God was there with us.  

When I see her, I say a prayer. I wish her well. I hope she finds her way.

With all this said, I know the whore and my life is no different from one another. We made different choices. I could be her. She could be me. I'm thoughtful about this.

I treat people how I'd like to be treated. Kindness. Respect. Value. Integrity. Honestly. I expect the same in return....XOXO, Nick