The Remembering 

Asha Frost - Monday, January 11, 2016

When I was little I do not remember knowing that I was First Nations. There is a story my mom tells us about my sister and I being "shocked" that my dad was an Indian. Shocked. I was 5. And she explained that since he was, and she was, therefore we were too.

I remember in second grade, when I received my First Communion, my mom gifted me with this beautiful Eagle card that connected me to our teachings. My mom is a wise Medicine Woman, though she would never call herself that. She is one of my elders and biggest teachers. She would always share these teachings with us in a beautiful way. She would always remind us that being an Anishinaabe person meant to be a "good human who is on the right road or path given to them by the Great Spirit". The literal translation is a "spontaneous being", a being created by divine breath and made up of flesh, blood and spirit (Basil Johnston).

At 6, I could not fully understand what all of this meant, although my sensitive soul tried. I was a dreamer, a seer and I felt absolutely everything. I saw into the hearts of the wounded and wanted them to feel better, my healer self...awakening. We would visit the reserve that my mom would call home, every summer and I would know what it was like to develop a relationship with sacred land. Land that my ancestors walked and continue to walk to this day.

For Christmas and birthdays I would sometimes receive beaded earrings and watches or animal totem sculptures and hide them away. I did not want to be different or stand out. In high school I would start to hear the stereotypes being thrown around: "You don't know what *they* are like, those Indians", "Wow, you're too pretty to be an Indian", "Does your family drink a lot?". Those were some of the ones I remember, the rest I've blocked out.

Sometimes it was subtle racism, other times, pretty blatant, but it always brought me back to thinking, "Why do I even want to be First Nations if this is how we are treated?" So I disconnected myself. I disconnected from my truest essence, my truest spirit and ignored the depth of who I really was.

At 17, I got really sick. I was diagnosed with Lupus, a disease where the body attacks your tissues and organs. A confusion of self and non-self. A disconnect. The doctors suggested steroids and anti-malarial drugs. After trying these for a month and getting even sicker, I knew that this wasn't my path. But what could it be?

Another flareup at 20 introduced me to natural healing. Seeing a Naturopath and receiving Homeopathic treatment changed my life. It started my remembering. The remembering of my truth, of my spirit, of my connection. My ancestors were waiting for this moment, for me to reawaken to all that I had suppressed.

The rest, is for another day, but I am writing this today because I have been thinking about my "Why". Why do I share the message of reconnection, of deepening your sacred medicine, of coming back to your own unique truth? And I realized it is because this has been my path. A rediscovery. An igniting of my soul. The illness that caused suffering and pain has turned out to be the very thing that has created a reconnection to myself.

And at the end of the day, all that I am left with is gratitude, for the teachings, for my ancestors and for my path as an Anishinaabe person. May I always walk the good path that has been gifted to me by the Great Spirit.

I remember a few years ago, hearing that some people had been speaking about me and how I always show off "wearing those fancy earrings and native jewelry." If only they knew how far I had come to show up in the world that way. Today I walk proudly wearing my beads and earrings, a proud Ojibway Medicine Woman.  And I hold space for others in their remembering, honouring their unique path and seeing into the brilliance of their soul.

I invite you to join me in any capacity here:

May your path be filled with a beautiful remembering, one that your soul has been craving.

A. xo











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