Posts Tagged ‘mystery’

Free from desire, you realize the mystery. Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations.</p><br /><p>~ Tao Te Ching ~
Free from desire, you realize the mystery. Caught in desire, you see only the manifestations.
~ Tao Te Ching ~
Shared by “Michael”

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We all go on the same search, looking to solve the same old mystery.
We will not, of course, ever solve it. We will finally inhabit the Mystery.
Ray Bradbury

Shared by April

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This wonderful world that we live in is full of excitement, mystery, adventure and creativity every second of every day!

When I feel bored all I need to do is remind myself that I am an integral part of  our world and I create my seconds through my eyes, thoughts and imagination!

Now, how on earth could life in my world ever be boring unless I choose it to be?

Today I choose adventure and self discovery and it all started right here right now!

Peace, love, light, blessings and wonderful adventures  to us all today!

“White Eagle”

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I feel so close with a man I’ve never met, and I never will. I think of him often and get so puzzled by his story it keeps me up some nights. Some days I am focused solely on his story because it has left nothing less than a mystery. I speak of my G-Grandfather, a man I only know as a name that doesn’t seem to fit the name of his birth.
My G-Grandmother, whom I only know from a slightly aging postcard and carried the same name as mine, she married a man a long time ago. I don’t know the story of how they met or what brought them together but I do know he was a stranger of Lheidli, the story says he was from Fort Chipewyan – a Metis son of a Hudson Bay Fur Trader. I was told the old folks of the community liked this stranger and was able to share in conversation from the same Athapascan language dialect. I heard he found his way to BC for work, taking advantage of the mill close by. But I guess work was never quite stable during those days. I later heard he left a family of great wealth, so his purpose for being there is not truly known. Maybe he wasn’t a trapper or a trader? Or maybe he moved with hopes, dreams or simply wanted a wife. One can only speculate at this time.

The next chapter I am keen to, is he married my G-Grandmother in a December ceremony at Stuart Lake. A Catholic ceremony by a known Father of the area. The name on the presented certificate is a piece of documentation that has no apparent roots. The name on the paper has kept me at a cornered wall. I’m simply going around and around and around. But it is through this December day that I know he truly was a breathing person.

Four children later, one of them being my Grandmother. But back in that time my G-Grandfather and his children were nothing more than half breeds. There wasn’t a place for his family in a government run community, coordinated by the draw of blood. My G-Grandmother had no choice but to leave her family and community to live the world of a half breed. and put a band aid on the community blood. She no longer carried the same status. I heard they lived where the work kept G-Grandfather busy. But I heard he was a determined worker. Or maybe my mystery G-Grandfather was? Sometimes I can’t tell the difference.

It was unfortunate times as sickness spread through the communities and stealing the breaths of those caught in its wind. I believe this sickness that took the breath of my G-Grandmother was Spanish Flu. And a young age of 27. Leaving 4 children and a half breed husband. The mystery heightens from here on in.

G-Grandmother who shares my name, she finally found peace. And G-Grandfather, well one can only speculate what he was experiencing with four kids, difficulty keeping steady employment and a half breed face. I heard it tried to keep it together but was unable to after about a year of unknowns and I’m sure a not so silent household. My Grandma, she was 4, her oldest brother was about 7 and her oldest sister was in between the both of them. Each of them had a younger brother who was just over a year. The sadness of the story and heightened mystery became the plot when that desperate year, after the last breath of G-Grandmother, my G-Grandfather succumbed to frustration (the only obvious feeling I could relate to) and left his home with his integrity buried with his wife and children behind.

Alone, scared and hungry (again, the only obvious feelings I could relate to) the children remained in the house. The littlest guy, only a precious year and a bit old, died of neglect on a cold April day. It took an observant (or maybe not so observant) neighbor to realize the children were abandoned. The story told was the times were very tough, and the kids were unable to go back to G-Grandmother’s community. A piece of our history that creates further mystery for all that is to follow.

At my Grandmother’s young age of 4, and alongside her older brother and sister, they were taken to a grand school that was gratefully accepting Indian children and quickly tore the band aid off these half breed children exposing all the blood that flowed through their veins. This is the residential school that essentially adopted these orphaned children and raised them accordingly. My Grandmother was to become a nun after leaving on or near her 18th birthday. To an Academy she was to go with a letter of high recommendations.

To bring the story back to the man of mystery, my Grandmother’s oldest brother apparently left in his mid teens. He got married to a woman from his mother’s community and started his own family. Tragedy found its way into his own family as poison water abruptly took the lives of each of his children. It is then, sometime after, a letter to my Grandmother is received by her brother. It is this letter that keeps this mystery alive.

A path is now drawn to who G-Grandfather was, at least my stories that were acquired on a journey to solve the mystery of his father. It is this communication that takes me back to my roots of Fort Chipewyan, a family of Metis blood and Hudson Bay wealth. But it is that name on the marriage certificate so many years back that contradicts a son’s trek to find his father. A simple name has poisoned the nourished roots.

G-Grandfather never returned home. Never inquired about his children. And left as quickly as the wind that took my G-Grandmother’s last breath. I have gone as far as to reach to someone who could see the spirits and stories of those no longer in the physical. So many questions flow from my mouth to ask about this mystery. And the mystery still remains. With some new clues from another depth… he may have had another family with more children. He may have lived with the guilt and thoughts of his children. He may have remained in closer proximity than one can imagine. He may have worked in a mine. He may be buried at a lake I frequented often. He may have…He may be…He could be…He could have… But then…He might not have, or might not have been. He’s simply a mystery.


A rock of a foreign language. Breath that can only be imagined.

What secrets lie within your once active veins? Your story is so bold but incomplete.

A mystery, Grandfather, you have gifted.

I can’t seem to care for the throbbing wound when you bleed under painted masks.

You are my closest stranger and my most colored void.

I’ve searched for your drum and I’ve tried to mimic your beat, but found instead you removed its knowing sounds.

Grandfather Mystery, yet, it is you that brings the path alive – grooming my feet for the pebbles and shifting the chorus of currents with direction. You not only move mountains but you are the mountain.

Grandfather Mystery, we may never recognizer your breath but your intentions continue to bleed through us.

Sweet magic you have carried as you have discovered you are firmly grounded within the soil you once hurried upon.

But don’t worry, your mystery will always be nurtured as long as you remain within the ground below.

I honor you in ceremony, I care for you in prayer and will continue to find your beat.

Grandfather Mystery, I thank you for this path and ask that you continue to share it with me as my footprints have embedded with yours at many of times.

You will always be a mystery, as long as I have questions.

All my Relations.

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There is a journey in which we have developed a path of discomfort.  The walk between our head and our heart, but wait!  Is that another road that has gone untouched?

“Hmmm…how curious,” my heart says.  “How ridiculous,” you think, “this is the path we MUST walk; this is what the brochure says.”

It’s time to trek forward.  So many directions, which way is forward? How come the brochure doesn’t outline it more clearly?

Your head speaks and my heart pleads.  My head speaks words of chaos and you have a strange ability to soothe it, but your heart is masked from the sorting.  And I’m just confused.  “Wait, there’s something calling us from another direction…ah, maybe another time.  We must move forward.”  But which way is forward? Your North or my South?

When your words become assigned, like a meeting in progress, my emotions are hoping this meeting is going forward without attendance.

Another moment lost.

The East calls.  It’s signaling us.  Maybe it’s the East that you escaped so you can get wrapped up in the North.  Hmmm….The compass is not the point here.  It’s the moments we are missing.  You’ve questioned the journey of the East, but again, the explanation misses the mark. “It’s too confusing, let’s forget it.” Did you say that, or did I?

Oh oh…It’s just another moment lost.

We are taking this walk together, back and forth from the head to the heart.  Back and forth, but rarely walking together, unless of course, I leave my baggage along the way, or you overload yourself with both of ours. With the lightened load, I can take this journey unenlightened but free to move in your direction.  “Wait! I forgot what we’re walking towards and my senses are no longer working!”  Is this a moment of blindness? Or did I not read the brochure correctly?  Maybe the sign to the East will be in Braille, so I can read about the mystery location.  You tell me there is no sign, so it must mean it’s not meant to be walked down.  “It’s time to move on.” Whose head is speaking?! It’s so confusing.  My load has been lightened but you are struggling with the excess.

Ack! So much thought, and another moment lost.

Your head is expanding with thought.  “Where do we go next and what do we need to get there?”  A moment of rest we will share.  Okay, back on the road again.  “Wait, you’re heading North, I want to go South – but that direction to the East that we keep avoiding is becoming a mystery.”  Your head says the road is unknown and may not be safe.  “There could be a grizzly hiding around its corner, let’s keep going North.”  My emotions are uncertain as well, “I’m convinced we will get eaten if we head East,” oh wait, maybe that’s my head talking.  I’m so confused.

Okay, another moment lost.

I can’t figure out the moments anymore, maybe they too were left along the way to lighten the load.

It’s time to rest.  Maybe we can dream of that area of discomfort that calls to us.  But when we wake will your head confuse my heart as we recollect our night memories? And will my heart jumble the clarity you found from your sleep conscious? Where will we find the true answers? Maybe it’s time to explore.  Maybe this head and heart journey is boggling us and we need to step away.  “Step away from the path!?” Now who’s going to own that explanation? That’s just crazy talk.

At some time we’ll need to reclaim those moments we lost.

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