Laws of Matriarch

I've been thinking a lot about karma this week. It really makes me wonder, what has a child done to deserve abuse? It feels like a cruel belief that some people throw around to scare others into behaving, but honestly, it just feels empty. Where is the justice in all this?  What I see is people in power doing nothing to protect those who are vulnerable. I see men, weak in spirit, taking it out on women and children, and they don’t even try to face their own issues. It’s heartbreaking to see women stuck in abusive relationships because they’re scared of the pain that comes with letting go, yet again.  And then there’s our government, which seems to be more corrupt than ever. They support and encourage criminal acts that keep our nations from fighting for our human rights. They use propaganda and laws to distract us, while money keeps flowing into Indian Affairs to “fix” the so-called Indian problem. Today, I’m feeling a lot of energy after being weighed down by the heav...

We’ve moved five times since September 2018 🤕 I got a new job and was really looking forward to starting a peaceful life up north 😂  But our office wasn’t ready, so we ended up in temporary housing and a hotel in October.  In November, we moved in with my mom, but it was hard for her to have my grandson there with us. Plus, I was missing work, and my little one needed a better daycare that could handle his hours and wouldn’t keep sending him home just because he wasn’t fully potty trained at 3 years old. Then, in December, my girl had a stroke in Vancouver. On top of that, all four of my grandkids were struggling with their own challenges. I made a quick trip to Vancouver to see Kaila at Saint Paul’s Hospital, then came back for family court to sort things out for my grandson. I’ve finally got primary parental responsibilities for him now. In January, we moved to Smithers into a two-bedroom place 🙏🏽. There’s not much housing in Smithers, so I thought maybe this was a sign...

My daughters Eagle fan will be kept at the Parents Legal Center in Smithers BC. Kaila's Eagle Fan In a world where magic intertwines with hardship, there was an eagle fan, a powerful symbol of faith and courage, gifted to Kaila Morrison by her dear friend, Keefer Foote, during the Sun Dance in Montana, led by the wise medicine man, Melvin Graybear. Kaila, a proud member of the Fireweed clan, grew up amidst the vibrant energy of Vancouver and in the embrace of Gitanmaax with her GG, Chief Woo Sim'Lax'Ha. From her earliest days, she carried a spirited heart, effortlessly making connections with friends of all ages and lighting up their lives like the sun breaking through the clouds. At the tender age of seven, Kaila embarked on a remarkable journey, joining a group of Sun Dancers traveling to Montana. With determination etched into her very being, she sought the support of her Mother and the dancers, gathering the strength to participate in the sacred dance—a powerful act of...

Vision of Sasquatch I had a dream where I was heading to my friend’s place for dinner. She told me that eight Sasquatch would be there, and I said I thought I knew them. When I arrived, I saw my niece in her room, tucked away in a corner of a big, open space. Clothes were scattered everywhere, a clear sign of the struggle we all face. Our community is hurting; we are starving and living in poverty. The sadness hangs in the air like a thick fog, weighing down our spirits as we fight against each day. Outside, I saw the Sasquatch, and to my shock, they were preparing to sacrifice one of their own to feed us. It was a horrifying sight; I watched as they pulled meat from the unfortunate creature. My heart sank at the thought of taking part in this meal, knowing how desperate our situation is. Then, a young Sasquatch came into the room to play with the kids, bringing a moment of lightness amid our heaviness. My friend was grateful for the meat and made soup from it. I felt torn about not ...

Sunday Morning Dream ❤️ In my dream, I found myself in a mystical realm that felt like ‘heaven’, a place where the air shimmered with warmth and light, a familiar embrace that wrapped around me like a beloved blanket. Here, I was guiding a group of new ‘angels’ in the art of healing, much like I do in the world I know. I crafted a schedule and gathered workers to share their wisdom with these fresh spirits, teaching them how to nurture and mend the wounds of the heart and soul. The angels were innocent, unaware of their true nature, like babies just learning to walk. It wasn’t about rank or hierarchy; it felt more like stepping into a sacred role where the currency was love, not money, and the responsibilities were boundless. As my time in this radiant place came to a close, a wave of sorrow washed over me, anchored by the turmoil I felt on earth. My heart ached, tears streaming down my cheeks, but I didn’t feel a sense of loss in leaving. It was more like moving to a space just next d...

Content Warning: Potentially Disturbing content  I was just a little kid, still using a bottle and sleeping in a crib. My mom and dad would throw dinners and parties with my aunties and uncles. But as the night went on, things would always take a turn. When the fun was over and the drinks flowed too much, fights would break out.  It got really scary. There was blood everywhere, and my dad just kept going. One time, he hit my mom in the head hard enough to knock her out cold. I didn't know if she was dead or alive, but I remember her being taken to the hospital more than once, where they brought her back. After that, one of my siblings brought me into the room. When my dad drank, he became a different person—angry and violent. He turned into a monster, and nothing seemed to fix it. In Canada, they don’t give enough help to Indigenous people who struggle with PTSD or the effects of what happened in Indian Residential Schools. I have a few blurry memories from that time, but not...

Echoes of Gitxsan Spirit When I was just a little one, between the ages of three and six, I would hear the sweet sounds of the Gitxsan language drifting through the air in the Hall at Gitwangak. But strangely, it always fell silent when the Indian Agent came around. Those moments felt heavy, as if the very walls held our stories, yet we had to hide them like precious treasures. Even after the laws changed, life carried on the same for the Indian Agents. It reminds me of how things are today, when the RCMP still come to charge our people for practicing our traditions and honoring our culture on our unceded lands. During the Christian celebrations, our gatherings would transform into secret Potlatches—what we called Bit’latzch—though outsiders would refer to them as “feasts,” a term more palatable to their ears. I remember winter nights filled with warmth and laughter, where one tribe would serve soup, and a Santa would visit, though gifts were scarce and only given to some. My cou...