Photo by Penthea Burns titled “The Land I Think I Own”
The path is old in the east
Dawn blesses us first each day
Shining the light of truth
Where soft footsteps once fell on fertile ground –
On this land I think I own
Elements of the air around me
Drift unchanged across time and space
From the last breath of the first people
Whose land and lives were claimed
By the ones who share my skin
The trees and stones bore witness to their suffering
And for generations they have stood in solemn prayer
Generations of grief and hope
Rooted deeply
In this land that I think I own
There are voices which have been silenced
And they are dying to be heard
If I can only stop talking
Quiet my busy mind
And break open my heart
To all that I don’t know –
-
There are worlds that exist without me
With ways of knowing and being
Strengths and hurts
Their language and traditions
Children and land were
Stolen not lost
And the people are ready to teach
They’re ready to be heard
If I can only stop talking
Settle my knowing mind
Sow seeds of curiosity in my heart
Resist my urge to retreat and
Open my whole being to
Listen to the teachings
Like argon – I breathe them in
My expertise is not needed here
My expertise has never been needed
Only my love, my attention
I stand firmly on this ground of humility
Open these eyes through which I see the world
Through which I see myself
My inheritance, my privilege
I throw all that I know away
Save the knowledge of my own heart
The path is old in the east
You and I - we have found ourselves
And one another on this well-worn trail
I bow to you and acknowledge all that you hold dear
We each lay down what we’ve been carrying
And sit in the early morning light
The trees and stones encircle us in prayer
The day has come
(Nov. 20, 2014)
Here is the story behind the poem from Maine-Wabanaki REACH Co-Director Penthea Burns:
“I began writing this poem after two powerful experiences. One occurred during a joint TRC-REACH conference call during which both Wabanaki and white representatives from our groups were involved in making plans for a Commission visit. We hit a point of difference (not all that unusual with intense work like this) but I didn’t immediately recognize the white privilege that was at play in the call until it was a little too late and some felt hurt by the dynamic. I was humbled and frustrated by my own missing the power dynamics as they were occurring. I experienced a heightened awareness of how important it is for me to ‘show up’ as a white ally. The poem was also influenced by a simple walk in the woods where I live. I was preparing to sell a portion of my land to a neighbor and was wistfully walking across this land, feeling a bit melancholy about the prospect of not owning the land any longer. Yes – it hit me immediately how absurd this was in the context of how none of this land belongs to me anyway.
These experiences and others like them have helped me to deepen my understanding and recognize how very important it is for me to listen and learn, to speak up on behalf of my Wabanaki brothers and sisters, and to practice great humility in the course of this work and my daily life.
I want this poem to speak to the heart of my Wabanaki and non-Wabanaki friends as we ‘find ourselves and one another on this well-worn trail.'”
