Pokegama Nibi Walk, September 2019

I had the distinct honor of participating in a Nibi Walk around Pokegama Lake, my home lake here in northern Minnesota, this past weekend. What is a Nibi Walk? It’s an indigenous-led and woman-led ceremony to honor all water everywhere on earth, from the water inside our bodies to the great rivers and oceans.

The Pokegama Lake walk was only 28 miles around the lake, and more than 30 women, men and children participated. Other Nibi walks across the United States are hundreds of miles, and the Mississippi walk is more than a thousand miles, for instance. Sometimes, there are only two or three walkers carrying the water in relay as they persevere for as many days as it takes.

You can learn more at nibiwalk.org.

The ceremony is based in Ojibwe teachings. It is a profound ceremony that can’t be reduced to a brief description. It must be experienced.

I am a descendant of the colonists. I am an empath and a writer. As I absorbed and supported the Pokegama Lake ceremony, I gathered a great amount of prayerful energy from my sisters and some of that energy wanted to be a poem to honor them, Mother Water, and our co-mingled calling to protect our earth’s resources and mutual community.

Here is the poem that grew from my experience. It must be read out loud. Wherever you are, speak it and the water will hear your prayer.

~~~~~~~

Pokegama Nibi Walk, September 2019

And the water laughed kindly at us
as it rested in the copper bucket,
content to be carried at a woman’s speed
for a little while. The water heard
our prayers, our footsteps,
DRUM drum
DRUM drum
drumming the ground.
The long striding carriers.
The slow mindful carriers.
Every step a prayer.

We prayed: Water, we love you.
We prayed: Water, we protect you.
We prayed: Water, you are our soul.

We walked a circle round Bagegamaa,
laid asema for the water and the caterpillars,
walked the days and miles and felt
alive,
expanded,
strong,
every step a prayer.

And the water laughed kindly
like a sister greeting a sister
like a brother lifting a brother
like a grandmother loving a small child.

The walkers rocked the water
and it rested, safe with us.

On the last mile of the last day the water felt
the miraculous hand of the final carrier, and
it began to pray back.

And the water said: Sister, I love you, too.
And the water said: Brother, I protect you, too.
And the water said: Young one, you are my soul.

And as the water returned to the lake’s embrace
it began to sing in the old language,
the language laughably older than English,
the language translated by the first Anishinaabekwe,

the truth of water, the music of water,
the delight of water, the growl of water,
the dance of water, the stillness of water,
the hope, the faith, the magic of water.
The wordless words of the oldest song.
And the water sang:

I have turned circles round this earth since the first rain.
I will turn circles round this earth after the last rain.
My atoms will remain until the last breath.
Pray for the smallest relatives as I pray for you.
You are young and alive and I pray for you.
You are young and your actions have consequences.
My teachings are soft.
My teachings take the shape of the copper vessel.
My teachings can smash you into infinite pieces.

And nibi prayed:
Sister, I love you.
And nibi prayed:
Brother, I protect you.
And nibi prayed:
Young one, you are my soul.