One Native Life

Wagamese describes a mountain resembling a resting bison, a sight imbued with a sense of strength and ceremony, almost as if it were a Spirit Helper watching over the land. He contrasts his upbringing in a strict Protestant household, where faith was a rigid yardstick, with his reconnection to his Ojibway family and their stories, which were filled with wonder and acceptance of the magic in life. Through ceremony and ritual, he embraced his place in the spiritual energy that surrounds us. In 1978, he took the name Wagamese, which symbolizes belonging and ongoing worthiness. Later, an elder named him Mushkotay Beezheekee Anakwat, or “Buffalo Cloud,” a storyteller’s name reflecting his role as a keeper of his people’s oral tradition. Embracing this role, Wagamese contributed to various media, proudly and humbly bringing forward his people’s stories. He reflects on the profound significance of names, history, tradition, and self-discovery, affirming his identity as an Ojibway man in harmony with the Creator’s plan and reintroducing himself to the universe in the traditional Ojibway manner.

As Wagamese reconnects with the Indigenous practice of baking bannock, he contrasts two Ojibway methods: slow and methodical versus slow and unmethodical. Having emerged from the foster care system feeling disconnected from his Ojibway identity, Wagamese was drawn to the earth’s science, a discipline of coexistence and acceptance of mystery. His mother, a masterful bannock baker, taught him without measurements, using handfuls, splats, and slaps, a method that initially puzzled him but worked. Wagamese describes his first successful bannock as a cultural reconnection that brought him pride and a sense of community as he shared it with his family. He continues to bake traditional Ojibway bannock, seeing it as an expression of Indigenous science and a vital part of cultural continuity, understanding that such simple acts help preserve and pass on his people’s heritage.

Wagamese got his first writing job by falsely claiming that he had journalism training. Eager to work and write stories about his people, he spent five days in a library learning journalism before successfully completing a trial assignment at New Breed magazine. This job exposed him to Indigenous politics and the plights of his people, fueling his political awakening and Indian identity. However, his passion led to overzealous reporting, spurring a local politician to dub him “Super Injun.” An elder, John Rock Thunder, then advised him that to truly be a “good Indian,” he must first learn to be a good human being and man. Wagamese took this advice to heart, stepping away from his exaggerated Indigenous persona to strive for personal growth through ceremonies and teachings instead, despite his continuing struggles with addiction and unresolved childhood trauma. He recognizes that becoming a “good Indian” is an ongoing journey rooted in his humanity and masculinity.

The deep connection that Wagamese feels with the land is a sentiment rooted in his boyhood experiences of loneliness among people but awe amid nature. When he reunited with his Indigenous family after two decades, the land became a crucial element in bridging the gap between their different worlds. A camping trip highlighted these differences: While Wagamese and his brother Charles immersed themselves in the traditional ways by exploring portages and feeling connected to their ancestors, they returned to find their Indigenous family comfortably merging the old with the new, watching a baseball game on a battery-powered TV. This juxtaposition confused Wagamese, who longed for a pure tribal connection, yet it reflected a societal truth: Amid the quest for a simpler existence, a blend of cultures was evolving. Nevertheless, he considers the desire to reclaim a connection with the past and the land, an echo of the voices of ancestors, a universal desire.

Speaking his first Ojibway word at 24 was a moment that felt like a true cultural awakening. The word was “peendigaen,” meaning “Come in.” This invitation into the language was a beckoning to his heritage, offering a sense of true belonging that English never did. Ojibway initially felt soft and timeless, but it soon brought a sense of permanence and connection to his people. Despite initial embarrassment from making mistakes and cultural differences, Wagamese was inspired by a woman’s speech on the healing power of relearning one’s “native” language. She described it as a return to functionality, a reconnection to the sacred. Praying in her language felt like direct communication with the Creator. She emphasized the responsibility to pass on the language to the next generation, even if only a single word. Wagamese notes that he still isn’t fluent, but using Ojibway in prayers and greetings makes him feel welcome and connected to his identity. Reclaiming his language was an essential step in expressing himself as he was meant to be, a journey that transcends cultural boundaries.

In describing his encounter with two wolves on a newly frozen lake, Wagamese notes their presence as a sign of winter’s arrival. He reflects on his lifelong affinity for animals and how, as a child, his closest connection to Indigenous teachings was through a Young Naturalist club. Unaware then that the Ojibway consider animals kin and teachers, he later learned from his uncle about animals’ cultural significance in Ojibway tradition. Since animals walk on traditional land, his uncle regards an animal’s tracks as those of a “who” rather than a “what,” explaining that the Creator designated animals as eternal teachers to humans, imparting lessons on how to live harmoniously with the world. Through traditional stories about animals, Wagamese gains a deeper understanding of this interconnection, embracing the Ojibway teaching that all life is related and shares the creative energy of the universe, binding people as family and caretakers of Earth.

At 24, Wagamese experienced profound silence for the first time, describing it as a dreamlike state that one can find in nature’s grandeur or after meaningful conversations. This silence contrasts with the internal noise that haunted his youth as a foster child. Upon reconnecting with his brother, Charles, Wagamese began to learn traditional Ojibway spirituality, which initially filled him with anxiety because of misconceptions about needing to qualify as “Native.” However, during a ceremony, he found acceptance and calm among the participants. The elder leading the ceremony instructed them on smudging with smoke to purify and regain the innocence of birth, ensuring constant guidance and protection from ancestors, the Old Ones. As Wagamese smudged, a comforting silence enveloped him, and he felt a reassuring and sheltering presence. In this moment of stillness, he realized that he had always been part of his community, without the need to prove his worthiness, and finally felt at home.

Wagamese shares the history behind his family name. It derives from an Ojibway phrase meaning “man walking by the crooked water” (148), which was shortened by a treaty registrar. His grandfather, John Wagamese, was a legendary figure in Northern Ontario, deeply connected to the land of their traditional territory along the Winnipeg River. Living a traditional life, he never spoke English or learned to read and write, but his knowledge of the land was unparalleled, a testament to his bush life. Wagamese recalls meeting his grandfather in a nursing home at age 25, a moment marked by a silent but powerful welcome. Through conversations, facilitated by an interpreter, he learned about his family’s history and traditions. His grandfather’s stories and the vividness with which he recounted his youth instilled in Wagamese a sense of identity and connection to his heritage. After his grandfather’s death, Wagamese felt a profound mix of emotions that transcended language, a testament to the legacy and teachings imparted by the elder Wagamese.

Wagamese tells a story from his people about a young raven who yearned to be like the majestic eagles he admired. Despite his stubby wings and black feathers, the raven practiced soaring until he felt confident enough to demonstrate his skill. However, in his attempt to show off, he quickly tired and fell from the sky. Only crashing through the branches of a pine tree saved him. A wise old raven later told him, “We’re all born with gifts” (153), urging him to appreciate his own unique abilities as a raven. Wagamese relates this teaching to his own experience in radio broadcasting, where he learned that emulating others was exhausting and less effective than using his natural voice. He became successful by being authentic and embracing his gifts. The lesson is clear: “Find your own chunk of the sky, then flap, flap, soar. Flap, flap, soar” (154).

As a journalist, Wagamese covered a significant political event in 1983, when Indigenous representatives met with Canadian government officials to discuss the new Constitution. He recalls his youthful admiration for Pierre Trudeau, noting his lack of awareness of Trudeau’s policies that affected Indigenous peoples. Despite this, Trudeau’s charisma and defiance made him a beacon of hope for Wagamese. As a journalist, attending a press conference and interacting with Trudeau was a defining moment for Wagamese, affirming his profession and his worth. Capturing a photograph that became a magazine cover and asking questions that were acknowledged by Trudeau gave Wagamese a sense of validation. He reflects on how some individuals, like Trudeau, can illuminate the world and allow others to see things anew, and concludes by expressing gratitude for the light that such figures bring into lives.

An enlightening encounter with Cliff Thompson, a Sioux spiritual teacher, transformed Wagamese’s understanding of the interconnectedness of life. The setting in the Qu’Appelle Valley served as the backdrop for the spiritual lessons that Cliff imparted. He introduced the Medicine Wheel, a symbol representing life’s cyclical nature and interconnectedness and how everything impacts everything else. Dignity, humility, and respect for all creation are at the core of Indigenous philosophy. Cliff’s teachings went beyond intellectual understanding, emphasizing the importance of feeling and the spirit as conduits for learning. The Medicine Wheel is a guide for navigating life with emotions as a compass, a challenging journey that promises true wisdom. Wagamese reflects on the sacredness of “medicine” and the simple truths that each day brings, recognizing the world’s readiness to teach those who are willing to learn.

To Wagamese’s people, Beedahbun is the first light of early morning. He recounts a period of personal turmoil following the end of his first marriage, when he found solace in the tranquility of early fall mornings in Northern Ontario while working at a marina. These mornings inspired him to write poetry under a pine tree, marking a departure from his usual journalistic writing. His poems, which reflected his melancholic state, were later published, catching the attention of Simon Frog, who invited Wagamese to a storytelling workshop. There, alongside other Indigenous creators, Wagamese embraced the blend of traditional and contemporary influences, which led to his healing and decision to become a storyteller. This experience affirmed his daily ritual of welcoming the dawn, a time he cherishes for its never-ending novelty and its ability to subtly impart spiritual energy and teachings.

During thunderstorms in the mountains, Wagamese feels a connection to the natural phenomenon before it’s audible. He muses that his Ojibway heritage might influence his profound reaction: His ancestors viewed thunder as a voice of spirit teachers. Ojibway tradition considers the first thunder of spring sacred, a time for gathering medicines empowered by the storm’s energy, symbolizing life’s renewal. Wagamese recalls being honored to attend the opening of a Sacred Bundle of the Peigan people, a ceremony conducted after the season’s first thunder, emphasizing the respect for spiritual practices that contribute to community well-being. Being part of the ceremony gave him a sense of wonder and likened the exposure of the bundle’s spiritually potent items to thunder’s power. He reflects that everyone has their own “Sacred Bundles,” consisting of memories, stories, and learnings that define us, and sharing them is a universal and pure ceremony.

While sitting on a mountain ledge with a young Blackfoot elder during a traditional gathering in Montana, Wagamese experienced a moment of reflection. He was moved by the tribal way of life they shared, feeling a sense of unity and harmony he had long sought. As the gathering neared its end, he expressed his sadness about leaving, to which the elder explained the Ojibway concept of the seven hills of life, each a stage for reflection and understanding. The elder emphasized that nothing is lost; it lives on as energy and feeling, and relationships never end but change form. He encouraged Wagamese to internalize the experience, assuring him that it would remain with him vividly. This teaching helped Wagamese realize that every stage of life has beauty and value, and from the vantage point of wisdom, one can see life’s panorama and never feel lonely. This concept reassures him during difficult times, reminding him of the journey’s value and the spectacular view it offers.

Wagamese observes the dying red pines on the mountain, victims of the pine beetle infestation, and contemplates the impact of their loss on his spirit, likening it to “a clear-cut path through the soul” (171). He recalls a lesson from Jack Kakakaway, an elder who taught him to listen to the wisdom of trees, describing them as living beings with spirits and histories. Jack’s method was to guide Wagamese toward self-discovery rather than give direct answers. Once, while seeking insight, Wagamese rested under a ponderosa pine, striving to hear its voice among the natural sounds. Eventually, a soft “Shh” encouraged him to embrace calm and stillness. The teaching became clear after Jack’s death: The interconnectedness of life is important to preserve. As he faces the loss of his own trees, he understands that the value lies in the effort to protect life, and the ancestors’ voices in the trees motivate this preservation. The “Shh” now serves as a reminder to be still and respect life’s fragile web.

On a summer evening in 1989, Wagamese and two friends, Brian and Kathy, experienced the vastness of the night sky in the Alberta foothills. Their day was filled with nature, music, and conversation, reveling in their shared dreams and aspirations. As night fell and they gathered around a campfire, they collaboratively spun a tale of a man lost in the jungle, immersing themselves in the story’s unfolding. Later, driving back through the mountains, they were captivated by a display of red, orange, and yellow lights in the sky that moved with purpose, changing formation and then speeding away into the darkness, leaving them in awed silence. This sighting, which defied explanation, stayed with them long after they parted ways. Wagamese muses on the connectivity of all beings, the shared breath of creation, and the reminder that such extraordinary experiences reinforce people’s kinship with the cosmos, making everyone “Star People.”

At a retreat aimed at reconnecting Indigenous men to their traditions, Wagamese met Paul, a half-Cree man who, like Wagamese, was disconnected from his culture. Paul, who had endured a history of abuse and forced assimilation, chose the animal name “Two Skunks,” symbolizing his low self-esteem. Throughout the retreat’s 10 days, they engaged in traditional practices, shared personal histories, and participated in healing ceremonies. The elders guided Paul through a healing process, allowing him to openly express his pain and seek forgiveness. He experienced a transformative light within himself and expressed gratitude for his life’s challenges. After the retreat, Paul embraced his cultural identity, learning his language and becoming a traditional dancer and singer. Sadly, he passed away at 44, but he left behind a legacy of reconnection and healing. Wagamese honored Paul’s memory by thanking the earth for the teachings, underscoring the power of sharing stories and the healing that comes from love and communal support.

Wagamese reflects on the diminished role of television in his life, appreciating the natural scenery from his home more than the screen. He recounts a profound encounter with Johnny Cash, who had a deep interest in the lives of Indigenous people and their rights. Cash’s 1964 album, Bitter Tears, addressed the struggles of Indigenous Americans. Meeting in 1991, Wagamese and Cash discussed various topics, including Wagamese’s Indigenous identity, spirituality, and land rights. Cash’s genuine engagement and questions about Wagamese’s personal experiences and dreams revealed his empathy. Cash expressed his belief in the importance of the living room as a space for family and community, lamenting how technology has led to disconnection. He emphasized the need to return to communal values to change the world. This conversation had a lasting impact on Wagamese, embodying the notion of connectedness and harmony.

Wagamese shares a teaching from his people about the origin of human mobility, wherein butterflies led the first children to stand and walk, thus fulfilling their destiny. Various animals tried to inspire the children to move, but only the elusive butterflies succeeded, symbolizing the pursuit of destiny. Wagamese connects this teaching to his experience at a gathering of the Three Fires, an alliance of Ojibway, Odawa, and Potawatomi nations, that aimed to preserve traditional views and teachings. He compares this to his cultural awakening and how he initially limited himself to only valuing Indigenous things. However, his perspective broadened when he discovered jazz, particularly Thelonious Monk’s “Epistrophy.” This experience taught him that soul and inspiration are universal, transcending cultural boundaries, much like the butterflies that urge people to follow their destinies.

Wagamese describes the profound connection he feels with Canada’s landscapes and diverse cultures. He recalls the awe-inspiring power of nature he experienced during a trip to Jasper and the spiritual connection he felt hearing the “spirit songs” near a waterfall. His time with Norval Morrisseau, discussing Ojibway traditions, deepened his appreciation for Indigenous art and spirituality. Walking along the North Saskatchewan River amid the harsh winter, he found solace and friendship that soothed his sadness. An adventurous canoe trip with an Inuk man, Enoch, through traditional Algonquin territory, brought him closer to the elemental forces and stories of the north. Wagamese concludes that the “song that is Canada” (192) encompasses the many voices of its people, from Indigenous to various immigrant cultures, creating a “magnificent cacophony” of “all my relations” (192). Thus, Wagamese embraces an expression of community and the understanding that Canada’s essence includes every voice, each integral to its identity.

Wagamese notes that a wood-burning cast iron stove sits on his deck; it was once inside the home, but a newer, more efficient stove was installed to replace it. Hence, the old stove has become a firepit. When he sits with friends and family outside on cool nights, he adopts the role of the firekeeper. This is an important role in traditional Indigenous rituals, akin to a leadership or teaching role. The firekeeper tends the fire to heat rocks for use in a ceremony, and the firekeeper’s prayers begin the ceremony. Thus, the firekeeper is crucial in “rekindling community.”

Wagamese details his spiritual journey, which began with engaging Christian hymns in his childhood and traversed through various religious and philosophical teachings in search of fulfillment. He recounts the transitions from the Salvation Army church to Presbyterianism, and later, his brief encounters with evangelical Christianity, the Jesus Freaks movement, Scientology, and a plethora of self-help and psychological theories. Nothing provided the comfort he sought until he met Albert Lightning, a Cree traditional teacher. Lightning introduced him to the ceremonial use of a medicine bowl filled with tobacco, sage, sweetgrass, and cedar. This ceremony taught him the principles of gratitude and humility. Lightning’s guidance helped Wagamese realize that carrying the essence of these ceremonies into daily life allows one to live a principled and spiritual life, transforming existence into a continuous ceremony. Now, with his life partner, a morning smudging ritual connects them to the universe’s energy and brings him the fulfillment he had long searched for.

Wagamese describes the creation of a garden circled by stones, which attracts a vibrant array of wildlife, symbolizing life’s cyclical nature. This belief in circularity extends to his understanding of the universe and spiritual practices, as reflected in the round shapes of sacred Indigenous objects. He contrasts this with the isolation he felt living among the straight lines of a city condo. To counteract this, he initiated a Sharing Circle at a United Church ministering to marginalized groups, including urban Indigenous people. The Sharing Circle, a ceremony of equality and open communication, allowed participants to express their experiences and emotions. The inaugural circle, a diverse group of individuals, became a space of communal healing and connection: Each person shared their stories of pain, struggle, and gratitude. This circle, which lasted for three years, underscores the power of storytelling and listening to foster community and inspire change, “one story, one voice at a time” (203).

Moving to a cabin necessitated leaving behind the clutter of a previous life, revealing that items once deemed essential were unnecessary in the presence of nature. This process of elimination left only the essentials. Wagamese had believed that embracing his culture meant accumulating Indigenous-themed possessions. However, after attending ceremonies and meeting traditional teachers who exhibited simplicity, he questioned this belief. A wise Ojibway man, Art Solomon, guided him through a ritual that stripped away the superficial, teaching that authenticity doesn’t require material symbols but is found in the intent and nature of one’s inquiries. This lesson in simplicity led to the realization that less is often more, freeing him and making him feel more human rather than more Indian.