What are we doing?

My peoples are proud, they are strong, they are shamed and they are broken.

Each aspect of my heritage is divided into hemispheres. One side: The proud, the strong, the willing warriors who battle everyday.
The other: the broken, the bullied, the afraid and beaten warrior.

I'm unsure of how we battle out of it. But, I was asked the other day to donate to a charity for a sports organization. I never do. Not because I am a gigantic asshole. But, I want a charity that helps the 3rd world conditions of the aboriginals around Canada. The water systems that pump to these lands are decrepit water stations rich in radioactive and insoluble materials. Materials that stay in water. Materials that when ingested slowly increase cells to procreate and mutate. Causing rare cancers, bone and muscle diseases. "Stores" around these areas carry extremely expensive goods. The money that people claim is "handed" to these people barely cover the cost of living and drinking clean bottled water if you are afforded that.

I am aboriginal. I look white, I wish I didn't. I am the warrior on the inside that is recognized with the Cree, The Sioux, and all the other tribes. I battle against discrimination because of the way I look and the race I identify with.

I said that to say this. These reserves are full of people who are angry and defensive. They have been pushed into inhabitable lands and told to live. They are told by media, news, and society that they are the people who bring down society. They are the ones who commit crimes. They are the ones who will not make it out and do something with their lives. Eventually, if you are told something enough. You will begin to believe it. My cousins, my brothers and sisters I've never met who do live on reserves battle something I may never have to. Something that is more than body, more than media, more than mind: Spirit.

Aboriginal spiritual life is the strongest thing they have. It is what I cling to at my lowest. It is what everyone should cling to at their lowest. The warrior comes from the spirit.

I've lost many relatives. Many brothers, sisters, and elders I have never gotten to meet. Some of that via the poisoning of the water that feeds the spirit. Some of that because their spirit was broken and they had nothing left. They decided life under duress was not worth living.

Someone close to the ones I loved had taken their life yesterday. Remembered by those closest, but nothing more than that small community. Sadly, that is what bothers me most. Stories of murder, stories of suicide. Media leads you to believe it is aboriginals. People watching it scoff, think everything is handed to them and they are still not happy. Never understanding what is exactly paid by aboriginals.

Aboriginals will never be equal to those around them. The world "Progresses" without them. Aboriginal youth is left to.... Well, do whatever they want. Limiting options of try to make it in the city or do work in rural areas to make end meet. No one tells them that they can go to school. They can be a doctor, a nurse, an EMS worker.

Broken spirits, broken land, broken minds and broken bodies. Aboriginals are proud and resilient. We will continue to fight for change. We do not want to be equal. We just want to be treated as human beings and have a fighting chance to do good.

Regards,

Devon

Battle

Battling is something that we go through everyday. Reluctantly or with full force, we deal with the daily decisions wrought with agony. I am a firm believer of approaching things major decisions or possible life changing decisions with hesitation. I was raised this way. Perhaps somewhere deep down inside I care about this life I claim to hate.

That's just me.

Every person goes through their individual battle, none of them the same. Juxtaposed against human emotion and the will to go through everyday is the relationships that effect your life. I never claimed to have a father, never claimed to have a father figure. This was true up until about 2 years ago until I thought my stepfather was worthy enough to have me admit that he is my father. As a person who steps into the light when he doesn't want to is seen as a hero. He played the role.

He left, abandoning me. Forcing me to make the decisions that not even he could handle. A person with limited income, struggling to support as many people as he can. I became my own father. Deepest shit you'll hear all day. But, it is true. I became self-sufficient. Life has become a little less hectic. Allowing for the reflection.

The battles you do not want to participate in, are always the battles you learn the most from. I learned a lot about people you think you know. The ideal of a father I had for 21 years was thrown out with the bathwater. I'm a little more fragile. It is an interesting part of my persona I have yet to grasp.

People who hang you out to dry are the ones who are not strong enough to battle.

The people who don't stand beside you at your lowest are the ones who do not win their battles.

The people who are not a little frazzled, angry, or anxious have never battled their emotions.

You and I are strong enough to battle our demons everyday. In fact, we welcome our demons from time to time.

Keep battling, for the ones you lovc
Keep battling, for yourself.

Regards,

Devon.

For Max

The world, god, nature, or whatever is to blame took you away from us a year ago. How do I come to terms? The glue, the captain and everything that you could've been to our family was taken from us. You were so much more than a person who bet every weekend or loved to talk about your crib trophy.

You never lived a perfect life. You never saw what you should have. You learned. You learned and used that knowledge right away. You overcame the stubbornness you passed down to all of us. You became what you thought our family needed.

I saw you 367 days ago. 367 days I have thought about you. 365 days ago you passed. 362 days ago we were supposed to play crib. This is how I count the days. I miss you, Mush. I never will get to play crib with you. I will never get to learn how to say my age in Cree like I didn't every September 9th.

You taught me how to be strong. You may never know or see this. I don't know where you are. And that is what pains me the most. You taught me to give up and take what I had to, to help my family. To help myself even if I didn't think I need it. You taught me how to support the people that were left behind.

Most of all, you taught me the importance of a story. I've never listened to a story since you have passed. I guess I avoided it because I miss you so bad. I don't want to. The only story I remember in the past year is the last story you told me. Which encapsulates everything you were. Strong, stubborn, and fighting for every inch you could get.

I wasn't ready for you to leave. How selfish of me. I bragged about being selfless. But, I cannot let go of the people around me. You taught me how to appreciate those around me. Life is temporary. Don't be the person who fights with their family just because.

I learned more from your death than from when you are alive. The best thing you did for me was leaving this world peacefully and not fighting with anyone. You picked your battles. I'm learning, Mushom. April 30th will be my day for reflection. On your life. On my life. On those around me.  I would give anything in my life for one more story. I would give anything to hear you say another word in Cree. I would give anything to be skunked in crib.

I love you, Max. Brother, uncle, man, father, cousin, Grandfather.

You left us all with important lessons. But, we have to teach ourselves what it all means.
I miss you, Mushom. I love you.

Regards,
Devon

Scared

I'm scared I'll never be.

Forgiven.

Forgotten.

Forgiving.

Forgetting.

I'm scared of who.

I am.

I was.

I am going to be.

I'm afraid of being successful. 

At school. 

Work.

Failing.

I'm scared.

Of the demons that feast

On my brain

On my heart

On my soul.

Im scared. 

Walking in my Own Shadow

Preface: This is a psychology essay I have written this semester. The reference to Mario was part of the assignment. 

Carl Jung created several aspects to psychoanalysis. One of his most prominent discoveries is archetypes. He concluded that these are the “major structures of the personality.” (Frager, Fadiman 61) The structures are ego, persona, shadow, anima, animus, and the self. In this paper, I will focus on the shadow, and how it has affected my life as a whole; as well as, day to day. The shadow is described by Jung as the material that has been repressed from consciousness. (Frager et al 65)

            When you become a student at a major university, you become so much more aware of your own surroundings. It is different from working a 9-5 job – obviously. But, in many other ways. When I started at my university I did not care for my grades, my interactions, my friends. I rode the border of sociopathic behavior. My Shadow is clinical depression. It is not uncommon across universities. A number of people will talk about it openly, but an alarming number will not. Fighting depression through three years of school has been painful. I feel my depression most when I enter the building. That first breath of anxiety-ridden air on an old campus. Passing adults, who are torn apart by a communal understanding of why we are there and the societal construct that follows it. Being inside of my university is my biggest trigger for depression. My second largest trigger is missing class. I feel inferior because of my depression. I feel worthless, yet so heavy I cannot move my body. When I am in school, I am controlled by my shadow. It eats at me, it drinks from my blood, and it becomes me. When it appears (which is at an every couple of weeks cycle) it makes me angry more than anything. Angry at myself that I cannot find a reason to get up. Angry in my everyday conversations, angry at people who do not deserve it. I live in my own shadow when I am at school, I am not happy. I have not been since I started in 2011.

           This shadow I am controlled by is bigger than me. In my mind, he is larger than life. He is Bowser and I am Mario or Luigi. It most resembles and behaves like Bowser. A big spiky turtle shell on something 3 times my size. With its own little attacking minions and it breathes fire. Most of all, it robs every aspect of my life. Success in my relationships, in my family, and with my own journey. My shadow bullies me around. 

            Bowser has at least one redeeming quality for me. It serves as a motivator in a cynical way that I can battle through school as much as I hate it. It motivates me to want to be successful; however, I will not know how success will appear. It has helped me realize that there are more important things than school. Your success in academics does not define you as a person. Sadly, we are taught differently throughout primary school and through the media. Negatively, my shadow has made my growth as an adult stagger. Through 22 surgeries and trying to find out who I am. How strong I may be, my shadow is always around to make me manic. I am not a clear cut case, I am thoughtful and concise. When I am bowser: I punch walls, I throw controllers, and I snap on the people who are closest to me.

            As I stated previously, the opposite of Bowser is Mario. I am Mario when school ends. I work on relationships and I understand my journey. I learn to grow one day at a time, instead of a year in one day. Mario is a normal everyday man who does his job. He is challenged throughout his life but continues his journey as it should. He dresses like his profession dictates. His favorite expressions would be that he is an extrovert. He announces himself when he enters the room. He has many friends and loves one woman. When I am outside of school, I am easier to communicate with. That is a sometimes a negative, as my trust is taken advantage of most of the time. Which also arrests my ability to trust, and trust is almost a mirage in my vocabulary.

            In conclusion, I walk in my own shadow. I do not enjoy school, I am there for reasons unbeknownst to me. I am told to go to school or I will not get a good paying job. It has put so much pressure on me that I have thought of suicide seriously 4 times in 5 years. What I am gaining from my shadow is that I am slowly learning about me. How I learn and how I can apply that to everyday life. For as long as I am in school. I am my shadow. I am cynical, depressed and pessimistic. I am not joyous to be around. My attitude with others is introverted and destructive. I become an asshole, a prick, and someone no one wants to be around. Somewhere there is a light at the end of a tunnel, there is someone up there, and there might be something around the corner. This is how I feel. Helpless and unaware and having faith in anything I cannot see.

My name is Devon Hunt, and I walk in my own shadow.

Snow

Cold Winters day in Canada

What is snow? Snow is ice crystals falling from the sky.

Clouds are soft and pillowy, beautiful in simplicity. Unaware what they provide the earth with. Uncompromising with how much.

We live in a world where our moods are biologically and almost mechanically constructed by how the sky works. On a day with gloom, we stay in our room. Beautiful sunny days are meant for play.

Bountiful white snow represents hope in some existential way. It has no time in which it occurs, it may be predicted. It may not, snow is to weather what we are the emotion and mood. On any given day; me, you or someone else can be depressed. We have nothing, we feel worthless, we feel heavy. In those times we try to find something salvageable. We live day to day, hoping something will be there for us to cling to. Something to help us rise, or keep us from falling.

Snow is pristine. It falls from the sky ever so gently, drifting back and forth like a game of tennis. We remain mesmerized at how no snowflake is alike. Much like no two humans are completely alike. We each have our own motives, values, movements and thoughts. Snow falls gracefully. Snow falls angrily. Snow falls like a 6 year old child learning to skate. Snow is perfect in that it is different from rain. Snow will always cling.

It will find a tree, it will find a house. It will find your jacket. Snow clings to things like a cellophane wrapper to skin.

White in colour. Amazing in power. Snow is dazzling. On a cold winter's day. Snowmen are built, snow forts, shovels are out. It is just part of what winter is to people in snowy climates. The charm of a child building a snow fort with his friends. In that moment, always lost. That child is cooperating with weather that is typically uncooperative. That child is building, laughing and playing. Not worried about what is going on in the world.

You may hate snow, but there is beauty in what it represents.

Regards,
Devon

I hate poetry

I hate poetry
   I don't understand it
I hate its intensity
   I throw a fit

I wish I knew how to conceive the ideal
    That poetry isn't pretentious
I do not believe that any of it seems real
    It all seems so ambiguous

I do not understand poetic style
    I don't enjoy Iambic Pentameter
I do not read it for awhile
    It can go on for a kilometer

Another thing, it's hyperbole
    It's symbolism
It feels like you pay a fee
    To read a page full of Jizzum.

T.S. Eliot, Bronte, and Dickinson
     All were ahead of their time
They are studied a tonne
     For the ability to rhyme

I hate poetry
     There is no meat only corn
I don't think there is anything to see
     Time to go watch porn.