I am sustained by nature. The forest- my forest. The smell of earth and of the flowers in bloom, the sun breaking through the canopy, the croak of the frogs under the bridge, the birds talking to each other… in ancient Egypt it was believed birds chirping were the souls of the dead communicating with each other. These are the things that keep me at peace. I have countless memories spent in nature. My friend Kerri and I doing tarot readings until the bugs drove us out; walks with Cally and Dakota- “my girls”- where we would sit on fallen trees and work out any problems we had, but never problems with each other. These girls are also my saving grace. Cally and I met in 5th grade at summer camp. At first she was shy and quiet but also caring and unbelievably kind. Two years later I met Dakota through volleyball… I remember being intimidated by her confidence and skill. One year later we found each other, and we have been inseparable ever since. These lovely ladies both have beautiful souls and we have grown so much- intertwining our roots and growing towards the sun, together. As individuals we have our difficulties and struggles, but the bond we share and the many strengths we possess make us invincible. We are one, and I am forever grateful to have them in my life.
I am sustained by music. One of my earliest memories was receiving my piano. It was Christmas and my parents were still together, making me about 4 years old. My aunt taught me "Heart and Soul". I would later play that, along with "Canon in D" and "Nocturne op.9 No.2" at my cousin's wedding. Song and dance will always be a part of me. My coworker Celia is from Jamaica... she dances as we blast music from the radio at work. Celia, in her thick accent, says that dancing "cures everything" and if you ever need a boost, it is your best medicine. Moments at work sustain me; smelling the budding roses, late-night shifts spent watering the plants at dusk; getting misted by the hose as rainbows form from the reflection of the sunlight. The coolness of the rain after a thick blanket of humidity. I love the rain! My favourite spot is in my girlfriend’s arms- us sprawled on my bed amidst neglected homework and pillows that I bought for her because she complained ‘mine weren’t squishy enough’. We lay without words listening to music of my choice, or to the rain, or the birds-sky spirits, my head on her chest as I feel her heartbeat. I have infinite tenderness for her and those moments. One of my favourite times of day is the light that remains after the sun has set. It fills my room, touching every leaf on all of my plants- my collection has only grown since working at a garden centre. I currently have seventeen houseplants that I share my room with. I have a fondness for my room that you can only appreciate if you visit. Although I do not label myself as being apart of certain religion, I practice the values of Christianity and also Wicca, Shamanism, Empowerism, and Buddhism. These all fulfill certain parts of me- my connection with nature, other people, myself, and the world. I consider myself ‘spiritual’ and it is represented throughout my room. Books on religions, poetry, horticulture, history, nature, and art fill the spaces my plants do not. A stack of cd’s lies on a shelf that touches the ceiling- from all years and genres. My favourite is El Condor Pasa- the Condor Passes… this song originates from Peru but was later given words by Simon and Garfunkel- I have both versions in my possession. On homemade wooden shelves lies singing bowls, rabbit skins from the aboriginals in Arizona, braids of dried sage and lemongrass, and crystals- my favourite is a chunk of Yellow Jasper, meant for attuning with Earth, its spirits, and wildlife. Incense is always burning, making my room and clothes forever smell like sweet, earthy smoke. The sticks fill a glass milk jug and a neat line of essential oils lies beside them. Tarot and angel cards are piled atop one another, and gifts from my people- painting's, crafts, art, books, intermingle between more plants. Tibetan prayer flags line my windows; each flag has a different colour representing an element and direction. They should never be still, for they carry our prayers into the wind. Dreamcatchers and art line my walls along with an analog clock that I painted green- the colour of the forest- whose ticking is annoyingly heard by everyone but me. My room represents me. Pieces of the world and what I hold dear to me, you don’t have to look hard to see my essence. I am sustained by love and tenderness. By good and bad memories, by the Earth and the people on it; the spirits of mother nature and the souls I am blessed to have encountered in my lifetime. By family- the unbreakable bond that has been stretched but will never be broken, and by the idea of what my future holds, because life can only get better... What does your soul look like?
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Wagamese’s choice of Saul as first person narrator was impactful and crucial to the novel. This novel is an account from Saul, showcasing his separation from family, his hardships at a residential school, the salvation he finds on the ice, and the grip his past has on his future. In order to explain the extent of the brutality his experiences it was necessary to have Saul narrate. This way, readers feel his pain, confusion, hurting, and struggles. Conversely, having Saul as the sole narrator gives no insight into the thoughts or motives of other characters. It would be interesting to know why the staff treated the students with such cruelty, or the reasoning of stripping them of their identity- destroying their indigenous background. Despite the missing viewpoints, Saul retelling his story gives readers insight into the horrible conditions of residential schools. This way, we experience the suffering with him. Sexual, psychological, physical, and verbal abuse was common in these institutions and sadly, Saul was subjected to them all. By Saul’s narration, readers have a sense of what these children went through. These discriminatory events still happen today, and the effects linger...Some of the native children that went back home were disowned because they were no longer seen as part of the family. Additionally, many believe that a sense worthlessness has been passed on from the generations. This has resulted in alcoholism, high suicide rates, and drug abuse- like those we see through Saul- experienced in Aboriginal families all throughout the country. Hopefully, with time, we will be able to heal the deepest wounds we left in the generations of the past and make better lives for the present and future.
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