Honor the Earth (eBook)

PREFACE

Aki: The Spirit of the Land is in Our Language

Maaganiit Noodin

Shkaakaamikwe / Mazikaamikwe Ezhi-ni’gikenimaanaan

Miigwetch kina gwaya gii bi dagoshinoyeg miinwa bizindawiyeg.

Biindigeg,

Come in

Enji-Anishinaabemong

Where Anishinaabemowin is spoken

Enji-manjimendaming

Where there is remembering

Enji-gikendaasong

A place of knowing

Enji-zaagi'iding

A place of love

Bizandamog,

Listen

Enendamowinan zhaabobideg ode'ng

Ideas run through hearts

Bawaajigewinan waasa izhaamigag

Dreams go far

Anamejig niimiwag dibishkoo mewenzha

Those who pray dance like long ago

Kina bimaadizijig miinwaa wesiiyag owaabandaanaawaa bidaasigemigog

All the people and animals see it, the light coming

Bimaadizig

Live

Nisawayi'iing misko-biidaabang idash ni misko-pangishimag

Between the red dawn and the red sunset

Nisawayi'iing giizis idash ni niibaadibikad'giizis

Between the sun (or the month) and the full moon (time passing)

Nisawayi'iing manidoog idash wiindigoog

Between the spirits we love and the ones who devour

Nisawayi'iing awanong idash ankwadong mii ji-mikaman gdo'ojichaakam

Between the fog and the clouds you can find your soul

Biindigeg, weweni bizindamog, minobimaadizig

Come in, carefully listen, live well.

“Biindigeg, weweni bizindamog, minobimaadizig,”

I write these words as an invitation to understand our relationship with “aki / land.” She is the center of existence; the source of life, to know her is to understand the universe. To know her requires the quiet acts of listening, dreaming and believing. To know her also requires that we walk, we move across her surface, through days and nights, springs and winters, witnessing and protecting all that she is. Our relationship with her is one of science, politics, art, ecology, health, and in my case, language, especially as it rearranges itself in songs and poetry.

It is imperative that we preserve the language that allows us to better understand the Anishinaabe relationship with aki. It is equally as important that we celebrate aki by using that language, keeping that way of knowing flowing like the rivers to the oceans, because that rhythm of motion between the land and the language is one of the things that keeps us alive.

Although there are undoubtedly innumerable examples I have yet to discover, there are a few that appear most striking to me: the word “aki” and some of its relatives; the names used to talk about the life-giver Aki; and the way we talk about what we do with her gift of life.

Aki is such a small word and yet, many language teachers believe that the smallest, simplest pieces of meaning are possibly the oldest. Aki is certainly one of the first terms Anishinaabeg must have needed to begin speaking of who, where and why we are. The aadisokaanag / stories are long and beautifully complex, but many begin with the belief that Gizhemanido had a vision which led to the creation of the universe including the rock, water, fire and wind that become Aki who in these old stories she is often called by one of two names, Shkaakaamikwe or Mazikaamikwe.

Although I can only make intelligent guesses about the roots of these words it is important to note that neither of them are as simply as “Gashwan Aki.” To call her by her name in Anishinaabemowin implies much more than the ground personified. Both Shkaakaamikwe and Mazikaamikwe end with “ikwe,” the term for woman, so she must be considered a representation of that force we know as one half of human construction, but used in this way, that little word-part is used more for balance and identity, not the creation of a stereotype.

One of the beautiful aspects of the old ways is that, like the language itself, there is no constant designation of he or she, but rather a mention of inini (man) or (ikwe) woman, male or female, only as needed, most often in names, and always after the action has been described. In fact, it is in akiwenzii, the word for old man that we find aki, perhaps to remind us that he too, is our partner in protecting and producing life with our mother.

The two names, Shkaakaamikwe and Mazikaamikwe, differ significantly and may simply be names without assigned meanings, but Anishinaa-bemowin words are often poems unto themselves, strings of meaning that create a mosaic of understanding. In these words I hear what I know she does, “mazi” is a piece of language often used to speak about something made into an image: “mazinaadin” is to make an image, “mazinibii” to draw, “mazinaabidoo’an” to bead on a loom, “mazina’igan” a page or book.

Speakers must consciously or unconsciously think of these creative images when they hear or say Mazikaamikwe. Shkaakaamikwe is less obvious, but in it, I hear “zhakaa” which is a piece of meaning added to indicate something is soft and damp, like snow or a bog. One could also consider the phrase “oshki ogimaa kwe,” which roughly translates to the “new leading woman.” And when we think of where old stories (and now science) tell us life began, I think both may be related to the concept.

These are the names for aki, the earth, the one we know as a mother. I think of them when we sing our song for her, and her daughters of the four directions who rise each morning and walk in the four directions across her landscape, her body, and our souls.

Shkaakaamikwe,

Mazikaamikwe,

G’daanisag bmosewag

Giiwedinong

Waabanong

Zhowaanong

Epangishimag

I added Anishinaabe lyrics to a song by Brenda MacIntyre who says “this song came to help heal the people.” I could think of no better way to honor our connection to Aki than to sing of her and her daughters, the four sisters, who protect the processes of birth and death, the cycle of seasons and journey of our souls.

We call this journey, “minobimaadiziwin.” This is significant in thinking about our mother, the earth, when we recognize the rhythm of bmode, bmose, bmpato, bmise, bgizo. Akina goya (all of us) living on earth crawl, or walk, or run, or fly, or swim. These words are like a song sung in our hearts as we move and live with Aki. It is she who allows us to do these things and it is our language that allows us to connect them in our minds with life, movement, well-being. We are the “aki” in “akina goya.”

We are part of this waawii’ok bimaadiziwin (this circle of life). G’gii niigimin miidash ombigiying miidash ininiwiying maage ikwewiying. (We are born and then grow up as men and women.) What we must remember is: Gego banaajtooken ezhi-bimaadziying neyaab g’daa biidoomin Anishinaabe-bimaadiziying. (Don’t break the way of life, we need to bring back the Anishinaabe way of living.) We need to honor the old ways of knowing and understanding our world and ourselves.

As we strive to blend ancient philosophy, theology and ecological beliefs with a modern world, I am inspired by those who have gone before me and those who lead me know. In particular, I think of the women who began the Mother Earth Waterwalk in 2007 to raise awareness about our water. These women continue to remind us, "water is precious and sacred… it is one of the basic elements needed for all life to exist."

They have circled, Superior, Michigan, Huron, Ontario and Erie, all of which we call Chigaming. These gentle women are some of the daughters of the Earth I admire most. They are not presidents of countries or companies, they are not rock stars or billionaires, but they are living vessels of water and spirit and I am certain that as Gizhemanido looks down upon the earth, they shine more brightly than anything that has been made by humanity. I know Nokomis Nibaagiizis will be with them night and day, as will many of us in spirit.

Another Mother that I must mention when speaking of those who artfully balanced the demands of motherhood, bimaadiziwin, and rapidly changing times on this earth, is Jane Johnston Schoolcraft. Although she lived over 100 years ago, her concerns and beliefs are still a useful mirror for our times. She knew many worlds and lived successfully in several. And she should be recognized as the mother of modern Anishinaabe poetry. Although she could write like Poe or Longfellow in elegant and flowing English, it is her simple works in Anishinaabemowin that I like the most.

Robert Dale Parker published a book that carves for her a rightful place in the literature of American letters. In cooperation and response to these efforts, John Nichols gave readers a treasure when he re-transcribed one of her poems making it clear it was most likely written as a song sung to her children when she made the difficult choice to leave them at school.

The title she chose was simply, “Nindinendam (I am thinking)” and the most frequent word used is, not surprisingly, “endanakiiyaan” (my homeland), a combination of endayaan and akii that reflects what this land can and should mean to all of us, kina goya. Her verses are simple and clear.

Nyaa nindinendam         Oh I am thinking

Mekawiyaanin        I am...