30/04/2025
Tapwe, nîtisânak — it is true, my relatives. Come closer to the fire, lean into its warmth. Tonight, the old ones are speaking through me, and the stars are listening too.
Long before the first footstep, long before the rivers carved their songs into the stones, there was only one breath — one great, endless breath — and it sang everything into being.
We call it Kise-Manitow — the Great Mystery. Some know it as Wakan Tanka, others as Gitchi Manitou.
But it is not just a name. It is the life that stirs the grasses, the fire that dances in our blood, the whisper behind every bird’s wings.
Every rock, every stream, every trembling leaf — all of it — carries the breath of that sacred Mystery.
You, too, nîtisânak, are not separate from it. You are not a stranger on this land — you are the land. You are not a wanderer in this life — you are life itself.
When the mist rises from the lakes in the cool dawn, it is Kise-Manitow breathing upon the world.
When the northern lights dance across our night sky, it is the old songs woven into colors, into memory, into blessing.
When the loon cries across the still waters, it is our ancestors calling us home.
We were not put here to conquer.
We were not put here to take.
We were woven into this web to tend it, to love it, to walk softly among all our relations.
And so, each day, we are asked to choose:
Kindness over anger.
Forgiveness over bitterness.
A hand extended, not a fist clenched.
Each act of love, each small kindness, feeds the sacred fire inside us — and that fire lights the world.
But do not forget, ôta nitôtêmak, the journey is not only outward.
There is a lodge inside your chest, hidden behind your ribs, and inside it the fire of Kise-Manitow still burns.
In quiet prayer, in fasting, in songs carried to the sky, we find our way back to that sacred flame.
Even when the winds howl and the path disappears, even when sorrow sits heavy on our backs — the fire within does not die. It waits. It hums. It calls you home.
Every rock you step upon, every tree you pass by, every river you drink from — they all remember the beginning. They all know your name, even if you have forgotten it.
So walk, my grandchildren, with your heads bowed to the stars and your hands open to the earth.
Walk with gratitude heavy in your bones.
Walk with humility, as though each step is a prayer.
For truly, you are a living breath of the Great Mystery.
You are a song still being sung.
And when you are gone, if you have walked well, the earth will still sing your name in the wind.
Ekosi pitama — this is enough for now.
John Gonzalez
ᑲᓂᐸᐏᐟ ᒪᐢᑿ
Standing Bear Network
