I have never known change as intimately as in the cycling of the last four seasons. Central to this tower era is the transition of my path from ecological filmmaking and creekwalking, to now finding myself a few seasons deep into studies of the body through the Doctor of Chinese Medicine program at Pacific Rim College.
Read MoreYou know that first day in the last reaches of winter, upon which sun’s rays cup your cheek in their palms, and you actually, truly, feel the warmth? You feel the warmth soak into tingling skin, and wonder how anything could feel so good. You get lost in the alchemy, as rays reach into chilled bones to loosen the grip of a long winter trance.
Read MoreIf these dreams were a season they would undoubtedly be winter. Creation exists a shapeshifter as great as water in the eternal winter of my mind; freezing and thawing and evaporating in untouchable perfection. I am but a body for this creature.
Read MoreOn the precipice of a great integration, I prepare to carve out time to let all of the wonders and sorrows of these past seasons and decades and bloodlines sink in beyond my skin. There is a burning grief blistering my flesh; ashen palms beating at the doors of me. It’s getting colder out and the sorrows grow hungry for care. I can feel their longing to warm their hands upon the fires of my heart.
Read MoreCome fall, the season asks for its own name and the leaves oblige. Green lets go of life with a faith that astounds me; making space for the brilliant shades of decay. This is a season when the deciduous could be called the generous for the sacrificing of their growth to the ground as a gift to the soil.
Read MoreThis project is being built on Ḵwiḵwa̱sut'inux̱w Ha̱xwa'mis territory in a remote watershed, not far from where I live on this unceded territory. Thank you to the Nawalakw team for trusting me to communicate this vision via this film project, and for everyone who contributed to its creation. I hope this short film we created about the project speaks for itself.
Read MoreThe place I first experienced the dissolving of my own ego was underwater, and since that first liquid merging, the feeling has seeped into all aspects of my life. When I am suspended between the ancient walls of a water-carved canyon, I am not an individual, but a part of the river; the same as the water, the rock, the salmon, the crayfish, the suspended leaves.
Read MoreThe days stretch on and on yet somehow still fly on by. The moon waxes to illuminate what's left of the night. The cat becomes nocturnal. The light infiltrates my dreams. Solstice solar charges June bones but this season there is a part of me that is still pining for the cradle of a winter eve. There is a part of me that is only just waking somehow; a luxury the bears do not know. There is no sleeping in past spring for a bear. Hunger wakes even the deepest dreamer.
Read MoreA grey-black chum salmon spills a few precious eggs from her body; fresh dead on the riverbank. Doe-eyes shine; still carrying the shadow of her spirit. Maroon bars colour her flanks like war stripes earned through her fatal swim home. Bright red flesh was recently torn inside out by the jaws of a bear taking what they need before winter sinks it’s teeth into the river valley.
Read MoreAs it is, I was not born to measure such things and I refuse to leave this body thinking that the years, the slippery years, the hands that tick and tell me I am too late, far too late, that any of these at all have any sway on where it is that I am headed. If I want to know that, which I'm not sure I do, I might ask the wind.
Read MoreSun rays on silky black fur is a better blanket than any woven; the winter is gone for now. The latter half of a winter makes faith in a beast's heart, and that faith for the next season's coming is rewarded by the creations of sun and April rain. The land explodes into a feast of blossoms and greens, while gratitude extinguishes winter's scarcity from memory almost entirely, for the time being.
Read MoreWhen I see you, I see your beauty. I also see this river is empty. It is only early fall and I know there will be no more fish to fill this river, to fill your body before the winter. I wonder if you are braced for such scarcity, or if you are hoping that right now, another pulse of salmon are making their way ‘round the bend towards you.
Read MoreShe died three days ago. The morning sun cups my face with two warm palms; stains my closed eyelids an illuminated red. I grieve the only way I know how. To place myself in the hands of a river valley, to be held in silence. To give myself to the morning. I grieve the death of someone I never knew. Someone I will never know. Someone whose words have shaped the person I have become; the person I am becoming.
Read MoreWe all walk towards it. Some of us swim headlong into its embrace with such purpose it’s almost enviable. That is, seeing such loyalty to the inevitable could seem enviable to us other creatures who try to cheat it, perhaps become lost to the grief of it. Death saturates October.
Read MoreLiving in a culture that promotes an excess of busy isn’t easy; the value placed on doing, as opposed to being, can leave us burnt. Perhaps both have their place – both being and doing fill up parts of ourselves that need to be nourished regularly. Striking a balance is something I am still tripping over. Time itself seems as elusive as the wolves we seek to catch a glimpse of. But if I’m being honest with myself, there is always time for both.
Read MoreMorning rays and keen eyes reach into the deep pools where the wild salmon gather and hold. A single breath accompanies you to explore the river, and your limits. Wilderness continues, and blossoms, below the surface. It always feels like a magic little discovery shared between those who have broken the barrier; there aren’t really words to sum up the depths but when you finally resurface, you both know you’ve just seen something special.
Read MoreThe crisp leaves of fall are now blanketed with snow that crunches beneath your boots. Frozen dew drops replace the plump berries of summer. The lake you knew months ago is barely recognizable as you walk onto its frozen surface. Layers of wool keep you warm while layers of ice keep you from that refreshing plunge of days past. The only things you are stripping off now are your gumboots; replacing them with ice-skates.
Read MoreThis past fall I began crossing paths with a doe-eyed grouse who I quickly realized I was sharing the 'neighbourhood' with. The predatory instincts in me knew her curiosity would be the death of her sooner rather than later. I would nearly stumble on her while walking down the trail in the morning, and with an arrogance that is profoundly human I would roll my eyes and tell her she was lucky I wasn't hungry. A fondness began to grow as she proved me wrong week after week - still alive, still curious.
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