Rattling the Bones

Our community circle expands all over the planet. Recently lots of our community members voiced out that they were feeling “isolated” and wished they could be with us to celebrate the Solstice. Since everyone seemed to be craving for physical connections, I suggested a ritual where we could manifest some material link between us. Sending Christmas cards is a Western tradition that everyone is familiar with. I believe that adopting shamanic ways often means transforming our western habits into new perspectives and attitudes, which consider natural and cosmological law. So, I asked everyone to choose four people from the community. Individuals they felt called to commit to for the rest of the year and send them a Solstice wish. According to tradition the Winter Solstice was a time of year where people wished for better and brighter days. Our ancestors didn’t have the comfortable commodities that we all live with today. The autumn season, which was the walk towards “longer nights”

I’ve never been a fan of cats. I’m more of a dog person. Since I have Wolf as my face totem (in the east) it makes sense. The only time cats have been nice to me is when they are sick or old. Actually, it’s the case for most animals even birds and stray dogs. Many years ago we were giving a workshop in Quebec city and we were staying at ML’s house. She had a cat who took a liking to me almost immediately. He would lie on my lap when I talked and would sleep at the end of my bed when I visited. I was told that the cat wasn’t feeling well and was having trouble eating. The family worried about him. One night I dreamt that I was in Egypt. There were cat statues everywhere and one actually came to life. Poussière (cat’s name) told me that it wanted me to give ML a message. “I had a great life,” P said “I don’t want them to worry about me. I plan to disappear in April. Tell them they are a wonderful family and I was blessed to be with them for so long.” When I woke up I share

Last year Sacred Sexuality was the topic of choice at the International Conference on Shamanism. I was pretty impressed with the fact that it made topic of the year for people in the field. Once a year I too try to explore sacred touch on my blog. I attempt to bring up different perspectives because touch is crucial on so many different levels. For starters, I’m one of those people who believe that we can’t journey towards wellness without expanding our consciousness of touch. Sensuality, sexuality and affection is usually how we define touch in our lives; but what if I told you that touch is crucial in the development of self-esteem; helps in alleviating depression; and can prolong the life of a terminally ill patients etc… In our Western society we’ve regulated touch through indoctrination. We’ve promoted monogamy and we’ve punished promiscuity through social judgments and persecution. Still, both adult men and women have difficulty staying faithful or being content in a long-te

My husband and I often shop in First Nation stores on and off reserves. We often find treasures usually hidden behind the counter or in the back room. In a store in Wendake we were told that certain moccasins, drums, pipes, medicine bags, dream catchers or jewellery are only bought by First Nation people while tourists always gravitate towards the fake stuff made in Indonesia. The man said that he could tell that I was knowledgeable in First Nation crafts, culture and tradition just by some of my comments and my questions. Plus, I had left on the counter a few items which were impressively all originals, made from local artists. I’ve noticed through my journey that there’s what the eye and mind expects as authentic and then, there’s the actual reality of authenticity. There’s no such thing as proof of authenticity no matter the laws we put into place or the little stub hanging from a piece of clothing or mattress. I have found that the best way to know what you’re getting is to

It’s amazing how we define life as fertility, vitality, beauty and abundance when really most of us experience life as tragic, heart breaking, upsetting and real. I meet people every day who share with me personal stories that are filled with profound sadness, desperation and hopelessness. As much as I’ve written before that “we spend too much time complaining” I still tend to believe that a story is always most interesting when it reveals shadow; and the potential of heroism, change and success, which hides in the darkest corners of Creation. Conflict, fears and insecurities trigger creativity, courage and self-esteem – at least in most Hollywood movies. EC (elder, teacher, friend) once said to me “I refuse to claim I’m Shaman and I refuse to be called Shaman because in today’s society it would mean to be ready for all of our World’s lost causes.” Of course, EC was part of a generation of First Nation Medicine People who understood her destiny as wrong, against the law, and unreco

Yesterday’s blog entry was triggered by a visit to the doctor’s office. As many of you know I struggle with chronic illness and hospital stays are often unfortunately, a normal occurrence. I highly dislike (not to use the word hate) anything that has to do with western medicine. Even as an infant I was extremely anxious when it came to going to the paediatrician. As a child it only got worst. I remember crying and having bowel symptoms before any kind of doctor’s appointment. By the time, I could choose whether to consult a physician or not, the choice was taken away from me because of juvenile diabetes. Depending on doctors for drug prescriptions made it impossible for me to follow my father’s route and see a physician only once in a blue moon. To be honest if it would have been left to me I wouldn’t be standing here semi-lecturing you about the value of healthy attitudes. I’d be roaming the realm of the ancestors and bugging you from the after-life. Almost ten years ago I

I have noticed through the years that when people get sick they always seem to panic and over dramatize their ailments. Everyone does it at some point in time. During the summer of 2009 SD got bitten by a wasp in the park where we stopped for lunch on our way back from our Great Gathering workshop. Her reaction was so in proportionate to the actual situation that it attracted everyone’s attention. She must have swore at the wasp for a good 5 minutes. The next day she went to a community fair where she walked all day. By Monday her toe was swollen with yellow pus. Rather than showing us her foot and getting our opinion SD rushed to the nearest medical clinic. She didn’t go into work and waited five hours to be told by the doctor “that she couldn’t diagnose the issue because she had no idea what she was looking at; but antibiotics would most definitely do the trick.” When SD finally came back home and showed us her foot I couldn’t help but shake my head with disbelief. How could