HEARTBEAT-SPEAK
BY NOLAN JAMES BRIDEN
Burnt wood and sage smoke tickles the air, faintly touching the edge of the nose. The smell of fresh sweet-grass rubs along the buckskin dress as my ancestor walks over the plains of Big Sky. The buffalo-skin moccasins covering her feet taste the soil of the earth. She offers up prayers to Natusi.
I speak to her through my heart. The language separation has distanced the tongues of our generation’s gap. Her fluent Blackfoot is as organic to her as the learned voice of my English is to me. We vocalize the tuned language of our heartbeat-speak.
I finally ask the questions that sit deep in my chest, ones I don’t quite know how to ask: Can you hear me when I pray? Do you hear the calling songs sung? Can you see in me the mixed blood of Irish descent?
The Kennerly lineage of a proud people also appears to me. They are charismatic, creative, lively, and connected to the earth — both sides persecuted. I imagine my great-greats being frontline warriors. Celts who fought, protecting their homeland against the raids of the British. Their heart-speak mix: Descendant tree that carries the blood through the roots of the celestial body; bodies descended. Mixed of strong bloodlines, you wear the clothes covering that is wrapped in blues. Not the blues of the sky people, but blues of the undertones hurt. Learn to embrace and lean into the sky of earth. Young child, mixed blood, fight to keep dreaming. Dream through the struggles faced in the now. Grow and keep on to create a world better. The historical histories have history. History has history. As I look at you, I imagine you look at the things in the world the way people do: as he said/she said it was; because they all said it before, all the times before; as nobody takes a look at the heart of matter. Look at the world through your heart and see-feel and learn what is true.
Hold the spirit of my ancestors, as you hold my spirit. Strength runs strong in you. My descendant, taste the same bear-root of the earth as I tasted. Hold the laurel high in your paw. You
see the same Big Sky livings, even in the iron house that resides in the industrial city. Industrialized slavery, you work for prison wages in the free world, as the class raises the cost value of valued livings.
Value the cost of living, take apart the workings that taught the material how to be material, and relearn your life. Listening to the vocals of song, ducking and diving across the way, you step into the same dance steps — steps that tell battled victories. Overcome the obstacles that hold back your tasting the finer things in life. Bend the backs of your thoughts as the bending willows of a sweat lodge form healing and resilience. Take care of taking care and remain connected to the earth. Live and honor life descendant. Ascend to us in prayer’s conversation.
Trust in the Creator, the Above Boss of us all. | NJB
NOLAN JAMES BRIDEN WAS RAISED IN PORTLAND, OREGON. HIS ROOTS BLOOM FROM RICH CULTURES, BLACKFEET AND IRISH. HE WRITES: “I’M JUST GETTING TO A POINT IN THE EXPLORATION OF WRITING TO BE ABLE TO SAY IT IS A RELATIONSHIP THAT I UNDERSTAND; THEN, I READ A DIFFERENT STYLE, FORM, OR WAY OF WRITING AND MY JOURNEY RESTARTS TO UNDERSTAND.” NOLAN IS A MEMBER OF THE LAKOTA OYATE-KI CULTURE CLUB AT OREGON STATE PENITENTIARY AND HE IS A FOUNDING MEMBER OF THE GROUND BENEATH US WRITING GROUP.
