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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Reflection on Relationship/Romance

An open note to potential suitors, male counterparts, past/present/future partners, and anyone else who gives a shit:

Single life has been interesting and enlightening, on both a personal and social level. Below is a response, fueled in part by exasperation and in part by bold self-affirmation, to my experiences with men and romance over the past several years.

First of all, let me say that courtship is a very mysterious thing to me. “Playing the field” has been the most confusing experience of my adult life, so far. I'm no good at flirting. I get shy around people that I'm interested in. I tend to lose my words and just generally make an ass of myself. I get that gross “stress sweat” and I probably forgot to put on deodorant. Sometimes I wonder why men show any interest at all.

Also, why does communication have to get so complicated in these situations? Be forewarned, I will take your words literally and hold you to them, so be careful how you say things. My first assumption is that cuddle means cuddle, friends means friends, and getting together for a meal is just a shared reality of daily living—we all have to eat anyway. If I give it some thought, I might pick up on the hidden meaning behind your words and invitations, but truth be told I'm not so good at reading between the lines and interpreting your subtle signs of interest. Your flirtatious tactics may be cute, but please be frank with me so no one has to go off of assumptions. To assume only makes an ass of u and me, you know?

To those of you confused because yesterday I wanted to hang out with you but today I'd rather keep to myself, or last week we had fun at the bar but this week I don't feel like drinking, please be warned that dualities are a hallmark of my being. I walk between many worlds. If you plan to stick around, you'll have to deal with that. At least I'm trying to be authentic with you by telling you what it is that I really want or don't want. I invite you to do the same. Please don’t do something/go somewhere/eat something that you really don’t want to on my behalf. If we’re actually compatible, I’m sure we can find some real common ground. I’m willing to look for it if you are, and if it’s not there, we can’t fake it. Let’s be real with one another.

Also, please be open to the possibility that my wants and preferences will likely change over time. As human beings, we grow and evolve throughout our lives, sometimes slowly and sometimes rapidly. This is normal; change is the only constant. Furthermore, I don't think that continuing to acquiesce to the same patterns that you have indulged in the past when your desires and interests are actually now different is really conducive to opening up to the inevitable changes that we undergo as humans. As far as I can tell, it stifles growth to attempt to ignore such shifts in your being. So I try to stay true to whatever is true for me in the moment, even if it isn't consistent with expectations that have been established by my past actions or statements. Sometimes things change so much that our relationship just doesn’t work well anymore, and that’s okay too. I wish you continued growth and blessings on your journey, even after your path diverges from mine.

My condolences to the men who’ve felt abandoned or “cut off” by me. Perhaps I failed to warn you about, or perhaps I did and you still underestimated my vast need for freedom and for solitude.

Condolences to those who have felt discouraged by my reluctance to open up to you fully. I’ve lived behind walls most of my life. Sharing and openness are things I’m working with today, but they are new and foreign and still, quite frankly, scare the shit out of me. If you’re really interested in knowing me, you’ll need to be “patient,” which I’ve come to understand is a too vague of a term for most people. Patience with me means months, not days or weeks, because in my humble opinion, if you’re worthy of being trusted your attention span must last longer than a high school football season. And, to those of you simply interested in getting in my pants, I advise you to fuck off immediately. You’re wasting my time and yours.

Is this too much for you? Am I making things to complicated now? That’s fine. I may genuinely enjoy your companionship, but if you’re not there I’ll enjoy my own. I can love you but not “need” you, because as soon as I start needing you, that means I’m asking you to fill a void within me that I’m not able to fill myself, and if I get in the habit of always having you there to “complete” me, I’ll never learn to be whole on my own, and that’s a sort of vulnerability I’m not comfortable with anymore.

If I “need” you, I’m asking you to be a certain way, or in a certain place, at a certain time, which crosses that fine line between honoring your independence and asking you to accommodate my wishes. What I’m asking of you may or may not be consistent with who you truly are, and the last thing I want to do is ask you to change yourself to satisfy me. Presumably, I was attracted to YOU in the first place; if I try to manipulate that, I run the risk of erasing the personality that drew me in to begin with. If I have the audacity to ask you to change in a way that you don’t want to change, I don’t believe either of us will be happy. If I choose to enter into a partnership, I want for it to be because I see you and love you for who you are, not who I can mold you to be. I desire a partner whom I can honor for the precious and amazing being that they are, not someone I shall change to fit my needs and preferences, as a tool to bring me greater comfort. If I can’t fully accept you as you are, then I don’t deserve your friendship. And I believe this, by the way, is a two-way street.

I do realize that there are times when it’s necessary and beautiful to be able to lean on someone, but in the day-to-day sense of relationships and romance, I wish to maintain my independence and for you to maintain yours too, to whatever extent you desire. I strive not to ask anything of you that I wouldn’t want you asking of me. If I don’t hold up my end of that bargain, please call me out on it!

Having said all of that, I also think that one of the most valuable things about our relationships with other humans is the ways in which they challenge and shape us. We see in the faces of others a certain reflection of ourselves that calls us to examine our own ideas, preferences, and motives. Sometimes we find ourselves in really awkward positions that make us uncomfortable and give us the opportunity to learn about what triggers us. Sometimes another person questions us or calls us to defend our views on something, which can be an opportunity to articulate our truth and/or examine that truth to see if it’s really a valid one. It’s an opportunity to check in and see if we are being loyal to our stated values. Other times, just getting to know someone and observing how they act can be an example for us—one we may aspire to follow or consciously avoid emulating. These are some of the most precious and important things about relationships with other people! So, I’m not writing this to say, “Hey I am who I am and I never want to change, so take it or leave it.” I do want to change, to become a better and better human being every year of my life, and I welcome the experiences that fuel that evolution—the joyful ones and the icky ones, too. What I am saying is that, in the context of a relationship, I don’t like for someone to try and dictate how I spend my time, where I spend it, or whom I spend it with. Crossing paths with someone serendipitously and mutually exploring what gifts you have to offer one another is one thing; forcing that union and demanding one or both parties change their behavior to maintain it artificially is quite another.

Of course, I say this as a woman who doesn’t see marriage or child bearing in her future, so my views on relationship may be quite unique. Great, that’s why I’ve spelled them out to you here, so you can understand where I’m coming from and, even more importantly, so I can understand where I’m coming from. I believe it’s important to be clear about what we want—which is one of those concepts that is simple (in the sense that it is fairly straightforward) but not easy (easy to achieve, that is).

Example: You say you want a job at company X, because it pays better and offers better hours than your current job. Or you need a new car, so you want a 2016 Subaru Outback in royal blue. Okay, so there are a lot of specifics there, but do they actually represent what you really want? Take the job, for example. It sounds like what you actually want are working hours that are more conducive to whatever else you do outside of work—hobbies, family obligations, etc. Also, with better pay you are hoping to more comfortably meet your financial needs and maybe even save up a little extra money to spend on whatever is fun or important for you. In a car, perhaps you are seeking more dependable transportation that fits your wide variety of driving needs, or you are seeking to make less of an impact on the environment in terms of using fossil fuels. The point is, those underlying wants often get masked by the specific ways in which we envision them being fulfilled. What if you didn’t get job X, but you got a different job that met your needs in a similar way, or your current boss miraculously agreed to give you a raise and adjust your schedule? What if you didn’t get the Subaru, but you found a trustworthy carpooling buddy and came across a reliable used car that you ended up buying instead? Would you still give thanks for your needs being met in the same way you would if they’d been met in exactly the way you pictured? I think it’s really important to acknowledge that we have what we need, regardless of what form it comes to us in. Anyway, I digress.

So how is all that relevant to partnership? Well, what I’ve noticed in past relationships that sometimes, when my partner is unhappy with me because I’m not giving them what they want, it’s not really about me. It’s about them having a basic need, which they are probably not explicitly aware of, and expecting me to fulfill it for them. “You haven’t made time for me this week” sounds to me like “I need more companionship in my life lately, and I’d like you to fill that role.” Or, “It must be nice to be able to go on that trip; I would really love to go with you but I don’t have the money, and I probably never will” could also mean “I would like to travel but I have other financial obligations and priorities at this time and I don’t plan to reorganize my life to prioritize traveling anytime in the near future.”

One trap people fall into with partnership is placing the burden of fulfillment on the other person, and often guilting their partner into actually accepting that burden. “You’ve been ignoring me, you must not care for me or value my company,” or “You’re abandoning me and our relationship to go have fun and travel the world with other people. You’re trying to replace me,” are the subliminal accusations to the statements above, but they entirely miss the source of those statements, which is that they person making them has some void or dissatisfaction within themselves that they’re counting on their partner to fulfill. They need more companionship or a restructuring of their living situation that allows them more freedom and leisure time, but instead of realizing the root cause of their unhappiness they’re simply feeling bad about their predicament and looking for someone to blame for it. And sometimes—in fact, more often than I’d like to admit—this kind of manipulation is effective and one person will sacrifice/compromise their desires to make the other person happy. Maybe this seems to work; maybe both parties are happy, at least for a little while. But it’s really just a band-aid on a wound that will continue to fester underneath. Unless the person with unacknowledged needs acknowledges them and takes steps to meet them (in a ways that does not place undue demand on their partner), those unmet needs will continue to cause dissatisfaction, and the person will continue to ask their partner to change and accommodate until that partner feels so stifled and out of touch with themselves they either lose their identity or get fed up with the relationship or both. That’s been my personal experience, anyway.

So do a little introspection and get clear about your needs and wants. Check in with yourself before asking someone to change what they’re doing to make you feel better. Self-awareness and self-empowerment may be difficult to cultivate, but they bring you the kind of strength that cannot be taken away regardless of who enters or exits your life over the years. That kind of strength is truly priceless.

Oh, and a foot note to the men who cat-call me the street—what kind of woman are you looking for? My name is not “baby doll” or “sugar” or even “sexy.” I am not flattered by your advances—in fact, I’m rather unnerved—and I did not wear this skirt for your easy access. I’m not ignoring you because not rich enough or white enough or not wearing the right clothes. I might be ignoring you because you seem intoxicated. In the event that I did give you a polite nod and a hello as I walked by, I did so because you are a human being and deserve acknowledgement, not because I want to take you home with me. I walked past you because I was on my way somewhere, and your interest or carnal lust (whatever you want to call it) does not change my agenda. No, I don’t want to stop and talk to you for a minute, and no, I do not give my phone number to complete strangers. What do you even want to talk about?

Jeez, what a ride it’s been, navigating interactions with the opposite sex. There seems to be so much to question, so much to demystify. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming that I just want to hide out. In the past, I’ve “hidden out” by getting into another relationship—into another partnership that would quickly become predictable and familiar, something that would funnel most of the effort of relating to the opposite sex toward one person, which seemed more manageable. Being in a relationship would shelter me from having to field the attentions of other men and thus the confusion and awkwardness I spoke about above in the first few paragraphs. I sacrificed a lot of personal growth by doing that over so many years. I knew myself only as I related to my current boyfriend, not as I stood on my own two feet. My social circle and my “interests” were strongly influenced by my partner, and if he wasn’t around I lacked a definite sense of direction. My self esteem could be gauged by how attractive I felt to my partner or to other men. That has all changed for me over the past couple of years, as I’ve spent more time being single and invested more energy in getting to know myself and pursuing my own interests. Sometimes I feel I’m a little late to the game in that respect, but at least I’m getting around to it now.

Another wonderful side effect of this process has been a deepening of my relationship with the sacred feminine in all areas of my life. That is, with my own feminine side, which for years I abhorred and alienated, as well as with other women, whom I had previously perceived as competitors but now view as fellow goddesses and dearest allies. Female companionship, I have learned, offers a superior respite from the complexities of dealing with our male counterparts, so long as we agree to honor and respect one another as sisters rather than opponents. Some of the things I value most about being in community with other women are the freedom from objectification, the equality, and the authenticity we are able to practice together. Of course, ideally all of these things would be achievable in any group regardless of sex/gender composition, but theory and practice remain separated in most events with regards to this issue.

As women, we may each be on our own unique paths, but there remains a certain sisterhood between us, a common goal we endeavor towards. We help one another along the way; such is our nature. I have had the privilege of learning a lot of valuable lessons from many outstanding and inspiring women along my journey, women from all walks of life. I think it’s also safe to say I’ve taught and inspired many of the women around me. Again, this is the basic value of relationship with other humans, applied to sacred sisterhood. Perhaps what I need more of in my life right now is sisterhood. The focus has, for quite long enough, been on trying to match myself to a man somehow. I am unique and whole already. There is no need to be matched or completed, only complimented.

I’ll end this entry, as I so often do, with gratitude. Thank you to the men who have challenged me, made me uncomfortable, and revealed to me my weaknesses. You showed me where to focus my energy for growth, to examine my needs and how I meet them, and to find humor in the most frustrating and embarrassing situations. Thank you to the men who have overstepped my boundaries, so I could build them back up even stronger and more clearly defined than before. Thank you to the men who rejected me, let me down, or humiliated me. You reminded me to stand on my own two feet and be proud of who I am, regardless of your judgments. Thank you to the sisters who were there to listen to, hold, advise, and encourage me each time I was confused or disappointed by my romantic attachments. Thank you to the women who stand strong in their own power; you are my inspiration and affirmation. Thank you to the sisters still struggling with their own identity and self-esteem. You remind me to have compassion, for you and for myself (where I’ve come from and where I sometimes regress to). You cue me to reflect on what I’ve learned, and to speak my truth in a way that could help you on your path. Thank you to the two-spirits, calling for a dissolution of these traditional boundaries of gender and the stereotyped ways we interact as male/female. And finally, thank you to myself (and my Self) for facing this process head-on, with eyes wide open. I promise to seek always to love you and find value in you. Remind me to stay centered and be compassionate. Help me to live fully and authentically.

#nastywoman

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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Hoop spam to brighten up an otherwise depressing day :-D

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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Standing Rock Recap Part V (12/28-12/30)

28 December 2016

I felt a lot better this morning, after a hot bath and a good night’s rest. As soon as I awoke, I started packing and preparing myself for the long journey home. I loaded the car one last time and checked out of the hotel. I got the tire chains OFF the Kia. For a second, I questioned whether I should keep them on, because I was planning to make one last stop at camp, but the drive down the highway the night before with chains on the tires had been awful. They made such a racket I actually stopped by care and considered taking them off about a mile from camp. I could only bear to go about 35mph, the sound was so intense, and by the time I got back to the casino there were 3 warning lights on the display in the Kia that weren’t there before. I was worried that I’d damaged something major, but the car seemed to run okay once I got it back on the road, so I tried to ignore the lights.

I stopped by Oceti first. I walked to where the sacred fire should have been, at the hut Jacque had pointed out to me the night before. There were a couple of people hanging out there, blasting an electronic hip-hop mix over a loudspeaker, but no fire. Still, I stood in the opening where I imagined the fire had once been and looked around me, taking in the camp one last time. I said a prayer of thanks and blessing.

I found the donation tent and dropped a few things off—the jacket I’d worn while I was up there, a pair of boots, some warm gloves, and a couple boxes of hand warmers. Then I headed to Rosebud. I had gone through my garbage that morning and picked out all the paper and cardboard to give to Rosebud as kindling; I knew the wood stove could be challenging and they could use it.

I was happy I stopped by, because Grandmother Silvia was there. She was also getting ready to head out soon. We chatted for a few minutes. I told her again how grateful I was to have met her, and we promised to stay in touch, and perhaps join forces again sometime later on. She reminded me of her “safe house” in Hayward and invited me to visit any time.

I said my final goodbyes to Jacque, Ann, Orka, and Camille. I felt sad to be leaving them; although I hadn’t been with them long, I felt a great deal of affection for them already.

The sacred fire in Rosebud was still burning. I stopped there and sat beside its warmth for a while, gazing into the flames and contemplating my time at Standing Rock. Beside the hut that housed the sacred fire, a young man cheerfully chopped wood. I thanked him for what he was doing, and he replied, “Oh, it’s a pleasure! It’s such a beautiful day, and this wood is like candy, just cuts right down!” Typical Standing Rock response, I thought. Glad to be of service.

I added one more log to the sacred fire before heading back to my car and leaving camp.

Here is what I posted that afternoon:

Making my way home today. Next stop, Minneapolis!

It was bittersweet to bid farewell to Standing Rock this morning, yet I am fully ready to return home now. I feel such enormous gratitude for all the people I've met, the things they've taught me, and the ways they've inspired and empowered me to change the course of my own life. This experience feels like a rebirth in many ways. I feel like I am leaving this place armed with the tools I need to be an instrumental part of the necessary evolution of human society now gaining momentum on this amazing planet Earth, and now I am connected to a network of people with the same passion for creating the positive changes so necessary at this point in our history. But let's be real; North Dakota winters are brutal and although this place is stunning all covered in snow, I'm more of a warm-weather gal myself. Mad respect to all those hardy folks out there for the long haul. I send you endless supplies of love and warmth, straight from the heart. Thank you for changing my life. Now, I shall carry forth your legacy in a warmer locale.

I stopped at the co-op in Bismarck again, thinking it would be nice to eat something there, now that my sense of taste was beginning to return. I got another golden milk for the road, and made my way onward toward Minneapolis. The drive was pretty uneventful. I took my time getting there, knowing that my Air B&B host wouldn’t be off work until 10 or 11pm.

Thursday 29 December 2017

I woke up before sunrise this morning. The window of the room I was staying in had a view of the Minneapolis skyline. I watched the sky brighten against the towering buildings as the exhaust from numerous buildings billowed up around them. My host was still sleeping, so I dressed quietly and ordered and Uber to take me to the nearby Whole Foods. It didn’t cost much, so I figured it was worth it to have someone else drive me around the city a bit so I could stare out the window.

The night before, I was thinking I’d stick around the city for a while—maybe hang out at a coffee shop for a while and journal, or meet up with Anthony and Jeremy to chat about our experiences at Standing Rock. I really like Minneapolis and wanted to explore it more while I was there, but as I contemplated the 10 hour drive ahead, my nagging sickness, and the obligations awaiting me in Cincinnati that weekend, I decided it would be best to hit the road ASAP. I felt bad for bailing on Anthony and Jeremy yet again, but they seemed to understand my need to take care of myself.

The drive home seemed to take forever. I stopped and got some Thai food for lunch in Eau Claire, which seemed like just the thing I needed to clear out my sinuses, although I think I overdid it with the self-serve garlic-chili oil (sorry, stomach!). I did notice, however, that I was starting to feel a great deal better since leaving camp.

I made a couple of phone calls from the road, which helped pass the time in good company. I talked to Anthony, Faith, Baoku, and Harold. I enjoyed the conversations, and I enjoyed the silence in between.

I was so tired toward the end of my drive that I took a wrong turn somewhere around Indianapolis and ended up going 7 or 8 miles in the wrong direction, which wasn’t much of a detour in the grand scheme of things but felt like a big deal. The last hour is always the longest part of a road trip.

I arrived home around 1am. My dad was still awake, watching TV and eager to talk to me, but I excused myself and went directly to bed. My own bed, finally.

Friday, 30 December 2016, ~00:50

I just arrived home.

Many, many thanks to all of you who kept me company on the long drive, To everyone who sent your kind words and prayers or supported me in any way while I was on my journey, To everyone I met in Standing Rock, And to anyone who's still up there.

I love you all. Goodnight.

#nodapl #mniwiconi #waterislife #standingrock

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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Standing Rock Recap Part IV (12/24-12/27)

24 December 2016

A post from Facebook, which accompanied several photos from camp:

Some late photos from my wanderings around camp on the Solstice...I walked across the Cannonball River, frozen solid, and offered tobacco to the land and the water. Just a couple of hours meandering through camp completely wore me out and reminded me to be gentle with myself, as I am still on the mend. But it was well worth the fresh air and sunshine.

In other news, looks like we will be enjoying a very white Christmas here at Standing Rock. The forecast is calling for 12-18inches of snow tomorrow and white-out blizzard conditions. So I guess my biggest dilemma today is where do I want to position myself for that time? Must consult my guides and angels on that one...

Happy Saturday, Merry Christmas Eve, and lots of love and hugs to you all!!

Christmas Eve was one of my favorite days of all at Standing Rock, mainly because of the good company I enjoyed and the sweat lodge I was blessed to be a part of. I wrote pretty extensively about these experiences already, thought, so I won’t rehash them here. I’ll just say again how thankful I am for the privilege of this experience. Aho!

Go forward without fear, But walk humbly, And walk always in prayer.

25 December 2016

Well, it certainly has been a Christmas to remember.

Yesterday I spent the day at Rosebud camp. I hung out in the latrines for a bit, because it happens to be one of the warmest places around. I warmed my frosty toes by the barrel stove as Nahko played on someone's blue tooth speaker. People stopped and chatted with me, and even thanked me for being there, assuming that I was the volunteer watching tending the place. There is so much gratitude being offered here, all the time, & that's a powerful thing! One woman asked me to hold her baby while she took her toddler to the potty. What an unexpected joy to hold this quiet, wide-eyed wonder...what an honor for that woman to trust me enough hand her precious infant over to me without thinking twice.

On my walk back toward the medical tent, I happened by an inipi (sweat lodge) where a man was heating stones for a ceremony. "She wants to join! Come have a seat!" He announced so confidently, I knew I'd finally found a sweat lodge to partake in. An indigenous man gave up his seat beside the fire-tender for me. I sat beside Mike, a Lakota man, and he instructed me briefly about the ceremony and told me when the stones would be hot, when I should return to that space.

I returned as the sun was setting, wrapped in a skirt according to Lakota tradition. We stood with our heads uncovered in the wind and snow as Mike said a blessing. As the only woman present, I was asked to enter the lodge first. I stripped away my boots and layers hastily in the 20-degree weather, bowed before the inipi, and crawled inside.

All of the other men except one were Natives, and much of what was said was in their indigenous tongue but I listened to the feeling of the words and even found myself singing along with them. They honored and thanked me for showing up there to represent the feminine and balance the lodge. It was a deeply humbling experience, like so many of my other encounters here.

Two coyotes appeared by our medical tent after the lodge, so close I mistook them for dogs. But they weren't threatening, just passing through.

Tonight, I enjoy a sharp contrast as I sit in the casino lobby observing how different the cultureand vibe are here, between 4 walls, versus that at camp amidst circular dwellings, prayers, and fresh frosty air.

As I write this, I'm over 1,200 miles from my hometown. I've never spent Christmas away from my biological family, but I've gotten enough greetings from friends and family around the country to warm my heart on this cold North Dakota day. Thank you, everyone.

I didn't unwrap any presents today, but I did receive the gift of my sense of taste returning! Tasting and smelling everything I've eaten today for the first time in a week has been a pretty big treat!

Other than that, today was a day of healing, rest, and solitude. I'll be honest, at times I felt really lonely. But that loneliness has transformed to joyful affirmation as I've realized the power in an unexpected opportunity for quiet self-reflection.

I spent some time in the casino lobby beading this afternoon. A man reading in the chair beside me got up at one point and beckoned me over to the window to admire the snow. He was from San Diego and had never seen a whiteout. He asked me what I was doing there, and I explained about coming to help out with medical but ending up sick most of the time myself. "I came here with a desire to learn about different healing modalities, but I didn't know I'd have to use them all on myself," I said. "But that's the best way!" He exclaimed. "You're a healer...and you've got to heal the healer, too. Keep taking good care of yourself, " he told me. A good reminder.

This place has gifted me with so much. I came here to give and to serve, but I feel that I've received so much more than I've given so far. Of course, it doesn't end here. Standing Rock is everywhere. Prayer reaches everywhere. There are plenty of places in need of the kind of gifts I've received here over the past two weeks, and I am so eager to share what I've gained in my short time here.

Here. As they say, they call it "the present" because it's a gift. I hope that your weekend, dear friends, however you have chosen to spend or celebrate it, has been warm, peaceful, and joyful. Thanks to those of you who read this whole thing. That's commitment! I appreciate you and your interest every bit as much as you've appreciated my words. I hope they've uplifted you in some way.

Wherever you are, know that I am sending you love from the great white plains of North Dakota, and peace and respect and compassion too! Aho mitakuye oyasin!

26 December 2016

With the winter weather advisory behind us, I returned to camp today. My car windows were coated in ice and snow from the “blizzard,” but I had seen plows on the road that morning so I figured it was probably driveable. I was waiting in the lobby, warming my fingers while the car engine warmed up in the parking lot, when a young man approached me and asked if I was returning to camp. I told him I was, and he asked if I might have room for him and a friend to ride along. I told him I surely did.

I went out the check on the car. By the time I returned, his friend had joined him in the lobby. The young man who first approached me appeared Native American, although I can’t recall now where he said he was from. His name was Josh. His friend Ian was from Canada. We got acquainted, chatting in the lobby, until the ice on my car was loose enough to chip away. The three of us piled in the Kia and headed North on 1806.

Most of the road was easily passable, granted I took my time and stayed alert. There were abandoned vehicles here and there beside the road. Some were halfway buried in snow already; others were more recently abandoned and might still be recovered easily if the owners returned soon. Still others were busted and wrecked; it would be anyone’s guess when they would be moved.

The wind was intense, blowing clouds of white across the road so that it was difficult to see more than 6 or 8 feet ahead of the vehicle. In some places, the wind had blown snow into the road, so that, although it had been plowed, it was quickly covered over again, several inches deep. Once we hit the last mile or so of highway before the turn into camp, suddenly the road was covered all the way across in 2 or 3 inches of snow. Taken by surprise, I started to lose control of the car but recovered it quickly. The first thoughts that came to mind was that the street had never even been plowed here—“Nice, they’re trying to hinder traffic into and out of camp!” I thought cynically—but as we slid slowly forward, I realized the road had been plowed here. This was just one big snow drift.

At last, the camps were in sight. I scoped out the driveway to Rosebud, which was caked in snow all carved into ruts. I picked what I thought would be the best way to approach and swung the wheel to the right—and got stuck. My passengers were quick to jump out of the car to push. They tried to move the car a few times, but it became clear we’d need a shovel to dig out the wheels. Another couple approached us; they seemed to be planning to head southbound on the highway, into the mess we’d just come out of, in a sedan of all things! They had a shovel though, and came to our aid. Josh and Ian came up with a couple of shovels too, and they all worked around the wheels while I briefed the couple on the road conditions ahead. I regretted not putting the tire chains on the Kia before leaving the casino, but I couldn’t do anything about that now.

Digging out the wheels worked, but most of Rosebud was still under several inches of loose snow. The regular driveway was out of service, and the alternate route seemed to be a road to nowhere as well. I got stuck one more time just beyond the entrance to camp, and my companions dug me out yet again. I ended up backing the Kia into a spot near the entrance to avoid any further hang-ups with the snow.

Josh and Ian kept right on shoveling for a while, trying to recover some of the driveway leading into to Rosebud. I gave Ian my mittens to wear while he worked, since he didn’t have any. He resisted the offer at first, but I assured him I was going straight to the medical tent, where it was warm and I wouldn’t need them.

I marched through the fresh snow, wondering if I should even stay at camp under those conditions. Not being able to get in or out easily made me nervous for some reason. Besides, I had come to relieve Rachel from her duties at Rosebud, so she could take a break for a few days and go pick up her boyfriend in Minnesota, but she wouldn’t be going anywhere in this weather. I’m not sure why I wanted to leave again so soon that day, but maybe I was just generally exhausted from my time there and was looking forward to going home soon.

As I turned down the side road leading to Rosebud medical, I encountered a pickup truck flanked by 6 or 7 water protectors wielding shovels, literally digging out the road as the truck went. I could tell they were working hard. I admired their dedication. I was already feeling a little drained myself, just from walking through the snow. I didn’t envy them for their task.

Rachel and Jacque were in the medical yurt when I arrived. They asked how I was doing. I told them I was slowly starting to feel better, except that I’d woken up with an ear infection the day before. Jacque shook her head in disbelief and sympathy and assured me she’d come up with something to treat my ear.

Rachel announced she’d be leaving the next day, as there were ice storms presently afflicting Minnesota. She intended to spend the afternoon doing another round of wellness visits. My presence there would be useful after all, I realized. I made up my mind to stay. After talking for them for a while, I headed back to my car to get a few things and put the chains on my wheels.

The pickup truck that I passed on my way in was almost to the main road when I returned. The diggers were still digging furiously ahead of it. I was impressed that they had cleared that whole way by hand. Ian and Josh were still digging by the main entrance, extending the area of passable road from that direction.

I set to work putting the tire chains on the Kia, trying to remember just how it was done in the YouTube video I’d watched a week or two earlier. I had actually been looking forward to doing this. I had to keep jumping in the car to warm my fingers, which became like icicles after only a few minutes outside, but I managed to get the chains installed and secured. They looked pretty damn good! I have to admit, I kind of felt like a badass for putting them on all by myself.

I spent that night at the medic yurt. I had to keep getting up to feed the wood stove, which had recently been installed to replace the propane heaters. I came to understand the inconvenience of a wood stove, when you’re trying to sleep through the night yet stay warm in an unforgiving winter wonderland. It was a long, cold night.

27 December 2016

I was a little groggy and grumpy this morning, which I blame on still being sick and having such interrupted sleep last night. Rachel packed up her things and left sometime between noon and two. We have a young physician helping out at Rosebud while Rachel is gone. His name is Steven, but the other ladies in the medical tent affectionately call him Snowflake. He’s a family medicine resident from California and has very little of the arrogance I’ve noted in a lot of other medical doctors, which is refreshing.

At some point during the day, I finally made a point to walk down to the new medical yurt I’ve been hearing so much about. It’s about three times as big as the current one. Herbal and allopathic medicine will still be practiced together in the new space. The yurt has windows and a sky light, so its inhabitants can enjoy natural light instead of the LED camping lights that illuminate the yurt they’re in now.

While I was there, I overheard Snowflake and the builders were discussing the logistics of setting up a trauma bay near the entrance, right down to the gritty details of needing waist-high tables in case there was a need to do CPR. The rest of the clinic will be curtained off, creating a more low-key space for regular consultations in the back. There will also be bunk beds for the medics to sleep in, and plenty of shelving for supplies. The building crews at Standing Rock are just phenomenal. They talk to whomever will be using the space they’re setting up to find out what is needed, sketch out their plans, and set right to building. It’s motivating just to watch them work.

After my visit to the new yurt, I decided to head back to the other medical yurt. I had a few things to check off my list before departing the next day, like emptying the compost toilet, dropping off the rest of my donations, and visiting the sacred fire, but first I needed to be able to feel my fingers and toes again. My time spent at camp was a constant rotation of going outside for a little while, then seeking warmth and shelter to rewarm my fingers and toes, which quickly became painfully cold and stiff in that weather. Jacque had given me a warming salve at one point, which contained cayenne and ginger extracts. If I rubbed this on my feet to promote blood flow, and kept switching out the foot warmers in my boots, I managed to get by with my feet only being numb a couple hours out of the day.

Such was my occupation as I was sitting in the medical yurt with Jacque, Snowflake, and Ann that day, listening to the radio. Gradually, the chatter became more frantic. Someone started calling for security to report to Turtle Island.

“Some people are down here arguing with the police,” a voice on the radio said.

In the background, there was commotion and shouting. It sounded like more than just “some people.” This went on for some time without any of us being able to figure out what was actually going on, but he kept the radios turned up, listening to them intently for any clue as to what was going on. Outside we heard a helicopter occasionally circle over the camp, as it had been doing for the past couple of hours, which was unusual. It must have been DAPL keeping an eye on us, and especially on Turtle Island.

It was beginning to get dark, and I remembered the few things I had left to do. I figured I’d take care of the compost toilet before the daylight faded any further, so I got up and left the yurt, where everyone else remained to await further news from the radio. Just as I turned right onto the main road toward the camp latrine, Jacque came running up behind me with the jump bag, which we kept stocked with medical supplies, on her back and darted left down the road. Orka and Camille happened to be passing by as well.

“Jacque, is everything okay?” I called out.

“Where are you going?” shouted Orka.

Jacque slowed to a trot and yelled over her shoulder that she was headed to Turtle Island. Orka and Camille took off behind her. I would have gone then too, except I was lugging around a bag of human waste I didn’t want to just leave by the side of the road. So I continued on to the latrines, wondering what could be going on at Turtle Island—wondering, where was Turtle Island anyway?

Once inside the comfortably warm latrine house, I noticed an electronic screeching sound. The lights in there were dim, and although I looked around I couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from. I wondered if it was the radio, somehow scrambled by DAPL so we couldn’t communicate? I definitely needed to head to Turtle Island and see what was going on.

I hurried across camp to the security gate, near where my car was parked. I thought about going back to the medical tent to tell Snowflake and Ann where I was going, but decided that would take too much time. I asked security where Turtle Island was, and they pointed it out to me.

“See that hill off in the distance, with a few trees on top? That’s it,” said the young woman at the gate.

I also asked them if they had heard anything over the radio about what was going on. They exchanged questioning looks with one another. They had no idea. They picked up their radio to see if they could call someone and figure it out, but they weren’t getting the same chatter I’d heard earlier at the medical tent. I was in too much of a hurry to wait for a response, especially if the radios were being scrambled anyway. I thanked them for the directions and hopped into my car. The guy at the gate stalled me.

“Be careful, sister,” he emphasized. “It can get dangerous up there. Don’t go alone!”

I assured him I was going to join the other medics and wouldn’t be alone. I held my hand up in a peace sign as I pulled out of Rosebud, thankful I’d put my tire chains on.

I turned into Oceti, telling the gate guard simply that I was there to help out with medical. I tried to read him to see if he was aware of any commotion going on in camp, but he didn’t seem alarmed in the least and waved me right through. I kept my eyes on the hill with the trees and tried to get as close as I could by driving, but the pathways through camp were different now that there was so much snow, and it was hard to tell where the roads went when everything was white on white.

I parked the Kia somewhere that seemed relatively out of the way and took off on foot for Turtle Island. Handfuls of others were making their way in that direction too, some hurried and some walking more casually toward the river. I tried to take the most direct route, which turned out to be a rather snowy one. Here and there I found myself up to my knees in snow. But like I said, it was hard to pick out the walking paths, so I continued to march straight toward the island, feeling my legs tire out already. I stopped every now and then to take in the scene, and to catch my breath. The cold air was harsh on my lungs but I needed the oxygen.

A man was walking toward me from the opposite direction, heading back toward the main camp, and I asked him if he knew what was going on. He told me a few water protectors had been arrested, and now people were kind of just hanging around making a fuss about it. He shrugged, indicating he wasn’t a fan of their present tactics, then continued to make his way back toward Oceti.

Off in the distance, I could see Turtle Island, a steep mound in the middle of the river, maybe a third of a mile in length, and I couldn’t tell how wide because of the steep face that blocked the view of the rest of it. There was razor wire around the top of the island, where several official-looking SUVs were parked. People on the camp side were walking across the frozen river and climbing the steep hillside to perch themselves on the narrow ledge that remained outside the razor wire barricade. Someone was lugging a flag up there. I didn’t see anyone standing inside the razor wire. If there had been cops, they appeared to have retreated to their vehicles by now.

Once I was in sight of the river’s edge, I was able to recognize Jacque by her beige backpack and long skirt. I had a pounding headache from the exertion of running there. I might have overdone it a bit, I thought remorsefully, but at least I was warm.

“Hey,” I said to Jacque, once I reached her. She turned away from the hill and greeted me. “What’s going on?” I asked. “I heard some people got arrested.”

Jacque told me that earlier that day some people had climbed to the top of Turtle Island and cut the razor wire barricade.

“They got the canoes back!” she said.

She explained why she had run down there—there had been a request for medics at Turtle Island, and then the radio started to get scrambled so she was worried about what might be happening. But so far, there hadn’t been any violence.

Apparently, earlier on in the resistance, the water protectors had occupied Turtle Island. One day DAPL moved in, pushed everyone out, and set up their razor wire barricades. When they took control of the island, there were several canoes there, at least some of which they smashed in a show of dominance and dis-rez-spect toward to water protectors. The water protectors had tried before to reclaim those canoes (sometime back around Thanksgiving, I think) but were unsuccessful. I thought of the young man whom I’d talked to at Oceti medical during the one night shift I’d worked there. He was among several protectors who ended up in the river that day, he explained to me, as he sat before me with lungs full of pneumonia.

But this time, the effort was a success. They had reclaimed the canoes, and although some had been arrested, that was such a minor consequence compared to the backlash other actions had provoked.

I understood, then, why people were climbing the hill, singing and cheering and waving their flags. This was a victory celebration. There didn’t seem to be much going on besides that and the helicopter circling around and around, until we noticed a few vehicles coming down the road toward the island. The one in front was massive. It looked like a tank to me, but someone else suggested it could also be a water cannon. Behind it were two more large vehicles, possibly armored cars or at least military Hummers. They turned off the road across the river from where we were gathered and sat there facing us for the next 20 or 30 minutes.

Orka and Camille approached Jacque and me to say they were going to walk down the river bank to get a better view of what was on top of Turtle Island. Meanwhile, Jacque and I watched the crowd from a distance. One man was pacing the width of the crowd near the base of the island, holding a bundle of burning sage. Others sang and held their hands up to the sky in prayer and thanks. Some young spunky white man dashed down to the frozen river shouting and hooting. We watched him strip off his warm clothes and replace them with only a fur jacket. He dashed up the hill with a costume shield strapped to one forearm and continued to holler as he did obscene dances and waved his genitalia at the SUVs on the other side of the razor wire. These are the types of goofballs that discredit the who,le resistance, I thought. I remembered the disparaging remarks of the man I’d passed earlier on my way down to the river.

“I hope he doesn’t become our next hypothermia patient,” I said to Jacque.

“I’m hoping no one falls off the hill and breaks something!” she replied, cringing as people gripped tree limbs and rocks to make their way to the top of Turtle Island. Others slid downhill on their butts, like it was a sled ride but with no sled. We stood and watched mostly in silence until Orka and Camille returned.

“You can’t see them from here, but there are about 30 SUVs and armored vehicles on top of the hill,” Orka told us, “plus a bunch of officers on snowmobiles. If anything goes down, they’ll all be here in about 30 seconds.” Camille stood quietly by Orka’s side, as he usually did. If he spoke, it was mostly in French.

I looked toward to hillside, trying to imagine the scene Orka described. Some people had broken off from the main group and were walking the perimeter of razor wire. I said a silent prayer that no one would instigate anything further. It sounded like we were outnumbered. As far as I could tell, getting the canoes back was victory enough for one day. I hoped they’d finish celebrating soon and come back down the hill. It was getting dark, I was getting cold, and my head was pounding.

Eventually people did start to come down the hill. Someone had made a small fire to keep us warm. A few guys were calling for people to regroup and head to the bridge where highway 1806 was barricaded.

“This is how we waste their money,” one of the organizers explained to Jacque and me with a mischievous grin. “We keep them hopping around, back and forth. Give them something to do.”

Others threw around the wild suggestion of setting up camp and hanging out there for the night. From a medic standpoint, I wasn’t a fan of having people out here overnight, in the cold, facing off with the DAPL forces in the dark. In general, it seemed like the crowd was dissipating. Jacque and I decided to go. Orka and Camille wanted to stay.

While I waited for Jacque, I overheard a voice saying, “Did you see the buffalo over there?” That got my attention. I turned around and saw a man was pointing off in the distance toward another hilltop. It was too far away to say for certain that these were buffaloes, but I definitely saw the large dark figures gathered there, some in clusters, some more spread apart. They had been watching us all along.

As we walked back through the snow toward my car, I wondered out loud about the principles of the action we’d just witnessed. I was happy the canoes had been reclaimed, but I had also noticed that some people just seemed to want to be part of the excitement. I thought of the man in the fur coat. I remembered listening to the security guards who sat in the medical tent in Oceti, bored and talking about going to the front lines to “fuck with DAPL.” I’d heard comments from others during my time there, suggesting that they were craving an action, more for the excitement than for any particular goal, it seemed…I’m more in favor of unified, goal-oriented action, I decided. Without any particular objective or end point, it was easy to see how a situation could easily turn violent. If protestors/protectors just show up to the front lines and engage in a standoff with the opposing forces, it’s fairly likely that at some point, someone will do something stupid or careless and provoke a strike. That kind of thing, I told Jacque, put people in unnecessary danger. She acknowledged my words in a way that wasn’t necessarily agreement or disagreement, just an understanding of my perspective. And even as I spoke, I felt there was probably a hundred ways to refute what I’d just said. The philosophy behind these kinds of movements was, and still is, pretty new to me. I was just processing what I’d seen.

We found my car and climbed inside. It seemed kind of bizarre, to be living in this camp, in the snow and ice and wood smoke, and yet have this luxury car to get in and turn on and blast the heat. Like a relic from another world.

I offered to drive Jacque to the bridge, where we suspected we might find more protectors gathered. But when we got there, it was virtually deserted, except for one or two trucks parked there. So we rode back to Rosebud medical to update them with the news from Turtle Island.

Snowflake and Ann had not been idle while we were gone. They had been warming hot water bottles to treat hypothermia and defrosting bottles of milk of magnesia by the fire in case people were sprayed with mace. The cot nearest to the door was layered with warm blankets, and two chairs were set next to a table covered with an assortment of bandages. I was thankful that none of these things were needed after all. It was a good drill.

The radios were working again, and we heard that the crowd at Turtle Island was dissipating. There was eventually a brief gathering at the bridge, but that too died down pretty quickly. I ate some dinner and waited around until I was fairly certain that there would be no major action that night. I was starting to feel feverish again, and the headache I’d conjured while running through the snow wouldn’t go away. I didn’t want to skip out on the other medics if I was needed, but I was praying that things would remain peaceful. And they did.

#nodapl #mniwiconi #waterislife #standingrock

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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Standing Rock Recap Part III (12/20-12/23)

Tuesday 20 December 2016

The Tylenol I took the night before took the edge off my headache enough that I was able to sleep for a few hours at a time, between coughing fits. I took them every 4 hours throughout the day to stay comfortable enough to function even minimally. I was actually feeling significantly better than the day before, due in part to prayers and well-wishes from my friends and in part to the Tylenol keeping my pain and feverishness at bay.

I stuck around the casino all day again but at least managed to get out of my room a couple of times. I played the slot machines for a bit, in honor of my friend Harold who had described his lucky 7-7-7 system to me over the phone on my drive up to North Dakota. I played $21 and won a $17 or $18, so it wasn’t a total loss. I also stopped by the wellness room, which had downsized and moved since my last visit. Lakshmi was still there. She gave me a little wellness package with vitamin C and Holy Basil supplements, Alphay mushroom tea and mushroom coffee, and some Ricola cough drops. She also gifted me a bowl of brothy soup she had just made. It had kabocha squash, mushrooms, carrots, and sweet potatoes in it, and although I couldn’t really taste somehow it was still the most delicious thing I’d eaten in days.

Overall I was feeling pretty optimistic about my health, until I noticed that evening that my eyes were looking pretty red and felt kind of itchy. They were oozing that same color discharge that was coming out of my nose and throat, so at first I dismissed it as overflow from my sinuses. But then it dawned on me that the drainage was becoming excessive, crusting my eyelashes together, and the redness and burning could very well signify pink eye. WHY was this happening now?! I wondered…I hadn’t worn contacts in days and I’d NEVER had pink eye before. But it appeared that I now had it in both eyes.

I laid in bed that night with a cloth over my eyes to keep my lashes from sticking together, wondering if I’d finally have to give up and go see one of the doctors at the rec center in Cannon Ball for antibiotics. Something in my gut told me no, though. So I popped another Tylenol, rinsed my eyes out with contact solution, and googled some natural remedies for pink eye. I knew breast milk was a great remedy, but that wasn’t really an accessible option for me at that point. I remembered a girl from the herbal yurt in Oceti who had come to see us for the same issue, and she had mentioned she was going to use colloidal silver to clear it up. I had seen a bottle on the shelf at Rosebud and made a mental note to get some the next day. I also read that a solution of raw honey and a little sea salt could be used as eye drops every few hours. I boiled some water on the propane stove I used for that sole purpose (all of my food preparation merely required boiled water) and concocted myself a solution according to the recipe I found online: one half cup of water, one half teaspoon of raw honey, and a pinch of sea salt. I thanked my lucky stars I had everything I needed for this remedy. I drew it up in a 10cc syringe I had in my personal first aid kit and dropped some in each eye. It was soothing, if nothing else.

Wednesday 21 December 2016

Winter Solstice!

I woke up determined to make it out to camp for a few hours today. Spending Solstice at Standing Rock was among the things I had looked forward to most about this trip, and I was a bit disappointed knowing I was still too ill do much in the way of celebrating.

My eyes were looking less red and felt less irritated, thanks to the honey drops I was using every couple of hours. I was still on a regular dosing schedule of Tylenol, so I hadn’t felt feverish in over 24 hours and my headache was bearable.

I played the slots again that morning—another $21 dollars, plus my winnings (which were squat), because it was the 21st and that felt lucky somehow. At least the money was going to the Standing Rock Sioux who run the casino, I reasoned to myself.

I headed back up to my room and stuffed foot warmers into my boots and hand warmers into my mittens and layered myself in long johns and a skirt with waves printed on it, in honor of the water. I stashed a little tobacco in my fanny pack, hoping to finally visit the sacred fire today to make an offering. I set out for camp around noon, looking forward to being out of the casino and back on the land for a while.

My first stop was Rosebud medical. It was quiet there, as usual. Rachel gave me a little colloidal silver for my eyes and a small bottle of aspirin. She mentioned that they were having a Solstice celebration that evening after dinner but cautioned that I probably shouldn’t come, since I had pink eye. I was disappointed to be excluded, but I also realized I probably wouldn’t have the energy to stick around that late anyway. I sat in the yurt for a while, drinking tea and sanitizing my hands frequently so as not to spread any of my sickness around.

Rachel and I talked about the patients she’d seen, and about one in particular that had recently been sent to the hospital for an infection that Rachel herself hadn’t picked up on. She felt really guilty about this, but I reminded her that nurses are only human and even those of us with a great deal of experience don’t always pick up on every little ailment a person has. I reassured her that, especially for a new nurse, she is doing an incredible job overseeing the medical needs for the water protectors at Rosebud. I told her about some of my experiences in the hospital—times when I hadn’t picked up on patient problems at their earlier stages, because of the many factors that can obscure the warning signs of an impending crisis. I didn’t want to seem like an incompetent nurse myself, but I also wanted her to realize that even when we’re trying to do our best, we won’t always be able to avert certain complications.

“Wow, thanks,” she told me after hearing about some of my experiences, “that does make me feel a lot better.”

I told her again how impressed I was with her competency in handling such a wide array of nursing duties in such an unconventional setting. She’s getting a really unique and well-rounded education from her experience at Standing Rock, and I don’t think she realizes just how adept she’s become there. I hope it serves her well when she reenters the “real world.”

We talked for a little while longer, about camp politics and her boyfriend and her need for a break from camp. I promised to be back to help as soon as I was feeling up to it. On the surface, it would seem I wasn’t doing much more than paying a social visit, but I could tell Rachel was beginning to trust me by the way she frankly shared her thoughts and feelings that afternoon. I realized that she needed someone to just sit and listen to her. I wondered how she kept it together, doing what she was doing every day, constantly extending herself to be in service to whatever anyone needed, at any time. I was becoming more aware of my own empathic nature, noting how drained I felt even after a day or two at the medical yurt, constantly subject to the needs and whims of those around me. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy being in service, I realized, but that I have a strong need to balance that open giving-ness with solitude and self-care. That’s hard to do when you’re living and working in a shared space 24 hours a day, where anyone could walk in at any time with any need and you have to address it then and there. I have enormous admiration for Rachel, and Jacque the herbalist, too, for spending so much time in that space and giving so selflessly every single day. They were (and still are, and have been for months) serving in a capacity I could only aspire to on the best of days.

After a while, I left the medical yurt to go wander around camp. It was a bright and beautiful day out. The weather had warmed up to just above freezing the past couple of days, and the top layer of the snow had melted and refrozen, creating a glossy layer of ice that made the landscape especially shiny. I wandered slowly through Rosebud and headed east toward Sacred Stone camp, although when I saw it off in the distance I decided it was a farther trek than I felt up for at the moment.

I ran into Orka and his companion Camille along the road. Orka asked me how I was feeling and I told him I was doing quite a bit better. I also apologized in case I’d seemed grumpy the other night at the casino. He told me not to worry about it at all, that he understood and was glad I felt better today. He gave me another hug and we went our separate ways.

I began to march toward the river. In some places, the snow was deep and I sunk in to about mid-calf. In other places, it was shallow. Sometimes the ice crusted on top was so thick it would support me and I didn’t sink into the drifts. I stopped frequently to admire the varied landscape, and also to catch my breath. I kind of wished I had snow shoes to ease the trek. I searched for pathways through the snow to make my passage easier, but all I saw was glistening white. I was beginning to realize how weak I actually was from being sick and lying around so much.

I finally reached the river’s edge. I noticed a patch of brown grass poking through the snow, as if the Earth was reaching up to say, “Hello! I’m still here!” I knelt down, facing the North, the direction of the ancestors and Oceti camp. I said a prayer of thanks for the Earth, the Water, the Wisdom of our Ancestors, and for all the other elements that support us in our survival on this amazing planet. I prayed that we should return to an understanding of the Earth as the sacred living being that it is, and begin to treat it as such, to restore the balance that has been destroyed by the process we so nobly call “civilization.”

After making this offering, I continued down to the river itself, which still appeared to be frozen solid. Was it still solid enough to hold me, I wondered, after two days with temperatures near or above freezing? My gut told me yes, and I proceeded to walk across the river, right over to Oceti. It was something I had wanted to do for days, to walk across the water, and it felt like an accomplishment (albeit a small one) to finally be doing it.

I stopped at the medical yurt first to see if anyone was there that I knew. Most volunteers had moved on since I’d been there last, except a pediatric nurse from California, Blaine, who was about my age. He greeted me when I walked into the space, but seemed pretty distracted otherwise, so I went on my way.

I realized I was starting to feel hungry, so I asked someone where I could find a kitchen (there were at least 2 or 3 operating in Oceti at the time). I managed to find what I believe was the main kitchen for the camp. People were gathered inside around a big wood stove, talking and getting warm, smoking cigarettes and munching on snacks that were spread across a table near the entrance. People seemed to be eagerly anticipating the meal that was being cooked there, noting how delicious it smelled, but I couldn’t smell a thing. I looked around the table for something small to fill my belly, knowing I wouldn’t be able to taste it anyway so it didn’t really matter what it was as long as it curbed my hunger pangs. I drank the tea I had carried there with me and chatted with a young man whom I’d met at Oceti Medical the week before. He was the designated tea-man, always cheerful, and always making delicious and medicinal teas and distributing them to the different areas around camp, such as medical, wellness, and security.

After a while, the combination of wood smoke and cigarette smoke began to burn my eyes, so I left the mess hall to go wander around camp some more. I had hoped to find the sacred fire, but also felt my headache returning, and I had not brought any Tylenol with me. I suppose I could have gone back to Oceti medical and asked for some, but I it didn’t occur to me at the time. I could feel exhaustion setting in, and my car was all the way across the river in Rosebud.

I started back down to the river and made another offering of tobacco on the North bank, facing the South, and also in the middle of the frozen river itself, facing East, the direction of the rising sun. I realized I wasn’t entirely sure which direction that river flows when it isn’t frozen, but I guessed it went East to West.

I made it back to Rosebud, to my car, and headed home sometime around dusk. I made dinner for myself back at the lodge room before crawling into bed, exhausted from the few hours I’d spent at camp and cowering from a splitting headache that had reappeared since I had gotten off of my regimen of aspirin that afternoon. Despite all the discomfort, though, I was thoroughly satisfied to have gotten out in the sunshine and fresh air that day. There was a twinge of disappointment, for sure, that I wasn’t able to participate in the ceremonies or gatherings that others were having to mark the Solstice—remember, I had imagined celebrating Solstice at Standing Rock would be one of the highlights of my experience there!—but I tried to reassure myself that whatever experience I was having was the one I needed to have, regardless of my plans, expectations, or fantasies. So I bowed down to the humbling force of my headache and whatever other ways this virus was ravaging my well-being at the moment, and summoned forth the dream world as my fingers made their way along my strand of carnelian beads I use as a mala.

Thursday, 22 December 2016

By this point, I was learning to appreciate whatever experience was being dictated by my physical condition, and the unexpected wisdom that came along with it. The hours I spent shut away in my hotel room afforded me the opportunity to explore ideas of leaders such as Oren Lyons, Noam Chomsky, Howard Zinn, and others. Sure, these guys and their unforgiving critiques of modern society have been around for decades, but this was the first time I was really being exposed their ideas. I lay in my hotel room and listened to interviews and lectures. I learned quite a bit about the social history around the fundamental values set forth in the US Constitution, and how we’ve gone astray in actually living them out. I realized with startling clarity how very relevant all of their messages are to the present struggle we see around us, and it all helped me understand the principles and importance of Standing Rock even more.

Like so many other Americans, I have lived the majority of my life, up to this point, in blissful denial of the warpath our way of living have forged across the planet and in convenient ignorance to the suicide machine that is modern society. We are unsustainable. Certain groups of people, especially indigenous cultures, have been warning us of this for decades—centuries even.. The infrastructure that sustains us is already crumbling, but many of us—particularly in this country, where we have to power to continue to hoard a disproportionate fraction of the world’s remaining resources and thus maintain our current standard of living—choose to simply ignore the facts, even as we find ourselves in the 11th hour. We ignore the fact that, by the time we are actually inconvenienced or caused any sort of discomfort that we CAN’T ignore, it will already be too late. I am almost tempted to say, simply, that it is already too late, period. But perhaps it isn’t.

So I’ve resolved to become more informed. I’ll study the wisdom and ideas of others, about why civilization in its present form just doesn’t work. I’ll make myself more aware of the ripple effect that my actions have on the world around me, and work to mitigate that effect where is it most harmful. When and where I can, I will join others in the effort to dismantle the power structures that oppress and rob and kill. This is the transformation Standing Rock has to offer me, I think. I’m waking up in a new way, all over again. This is the next step of my journey—to become more conscious of my role in this intricate web of life and to improve my impact upon it. And to move forward, eyes wide open, wondering if and how we can survive the position we’ve put ourselves in?

In other news, I also spent a few hours at camp on this day. I was excited to show up to Rosebud medical and have Rachel take a look at my eyes, which were almost completely cleared up after using the honey/saline and colloidal silver drops. I was also pleased to discover that they had a new EMT helping out there. Her name is Ann and she came from Washington state, although she had grown up in Alaska and was therefore well-matched for the North Dakota winter weather.

A couple of elders also visited the medical tent while I was there. One was the woman who had given me Tylenol at the casino a couple of nights prior. He name is Kassie. She’s a little taller than your average woman, with a heavy build and dark hair frosted with gray. She’s a Lakota woman, as a tattoo across her right forearm proudly proclaims. She’s a mother and grandmother, as well as a tattoo artist. She hiked up her sleeves and pant legs to show us some of the beautiful tattoos she had done on herself.

“I’m addicted,” she admitted. “I’m really missing the ink right now, being away from home. I can’t wait to get some more work done.”

Kassie had traveled to and from the camp several times over the past several months. On her present visit, she had been hospitalized with double pneumonia. The night I met her at the casino, in fact, was the night she had just been discharged from the ICU in Fort Yates, the reservation hospital about an hour south of Standing Rock. Now family turmoil was calling her back home again, and she spent a long time talking quietly and tearfully with Jacque, with whom she’d clearly developed a close relationship.

The other woman is named Silvia. She is in her 60s, short and squat, with a head full of short hair in various shades of silver and gray. She is Cuban but has lived in the States for the majority of her life, as far as I could tell. Presently she has a home in California, but seems to spend a great deal of her time traveling and living out her life’s work as an activist. This warm and intelligent vegetarian woman has multiple arrests under her belt from participating in acts of civil disobedience across the country. Her children support her, for the most part, she tells me, but they still get frustrated with her when she calls them from jail. When she’s not acting out against the establishment, Silvia loves to cook (especially lentils, which she swears will cure anything) and learn about the lives and passions of the new people she meets along the road. Her house in California, she tells me, is a safe house and I am welcome there any time I happen to be in the Hayward area.

It was well worth the trip to Rosebud just to meet these two powerful and inspiring grandmothers. I talked at length with Silvia, and a bit with Kassie as well. These are the types of matriarchs our society needs right now—fierce but gentle, honest and uncompromising, wise and absolutely unafraid to stand up for what they feel is right. I need to stay in touch with these women, I thought to myself. I could follow Silvia anywhere. I’d get arrested with her, no question about it.

23 December 2016

Today was originally my planned departure date, so I could be home for Christmas. However, I don't feel that my work here is done yet. I'll be staying another several days. Medic council still needs support, and there are places yet to be explored, people yet to be met at camp. Have a warm and cheerful Christmas, everyone.

Today I went to Bismarck to run some errands. I stopped at a co-op and replenished my food stores. I also got some yummy fresh vegetarian food, and although I couldn’t taste it, it felt good to nourish my body in that way. I was also pleasantly surprised to discover that the co-op café had golden milk. Turmeric is my favorite wonder-drug, so I treated myself to a hot cup of that as well.

After lunch, I did some laundry at a nearby laundromat—mine and Rachel’s. Poor Rachel kept apologizing profusely for giving me her dirtiest leggings and socks to wash, but I assured her I couldn’t smell a thing and wasn’t offended in the least.

It was an interesting experience. For one, I’d never done laundry at a laundromat. And also, there was an odd young woman there. She first struck me as odd because I was standing at the washing machine next to her, loading my clothes, when suddenly she turned to squarely face me and stared me down with a stern expression, her lips tight as if she were getting ready to scold me for something. I checked the space around me to make sure I hadn’t moved her things or accidently hijacked a machine she was using. Nope. I raised my eyebrows toward her in a kind of questioning way, but she didn’t say a thing.

She eventually went about her business, switching over her laundry, then returned to a chair to wait for the next load to be ready. I heard her talking and glanced over in her direction, assuming she’d be on a cell phone. But she wasn’t. She was talking out loud to herself, or to someone else she perceived to be there but whom no one else could see. I happened to be using the machines closest to this woman yet chose not to move because, aside from our initial encounter, she didn’t seem to be paying me much attention anyway. Several of the other patrons gave me looks, ranging from merely quizzical to “oh my god be careful, she’s nuts.”

Her ramblings were sometimes heated and aggressive, accompanied my stomping and wild gestures, which I’ll admit made me slightly nervous, but for the most part I just wondered what it must be like to be her. She sat down right next to me with a soda while I folded clothes—unconventionally close in fact, but she paid me no mind as she talked about her one true love and how, if she couldn’t be with him in this life, perhaps she could be in the next, because they were destined for one another. Perhaps she’d just scrap this life altogether and start a new one, she conjectured out loud. Sure, a lot of it sounded entirely nonsensical, but I also played a game of pretending that she wasn’t “nuts” and tried to imagine what life would be like if we all just moved in and out of various realities, the way she seemed to do. What if we were aware of the difference between our soul existence and our corporeal existence? What if we could switch from one reality to another as it suited us? What reality would I hop to now, given that kind of infinite option? Hmmm…

So, I finished the laundry and picked up a few more items around town for myself and Rosebud medical before heading south, back to camp. I stopped by Rosebud briefly to deliver the things I’d gotten up for them before heading back to the lodge.

Back in Cincinnati, some of my family was gathered for Christmas, including my father, sister, and one of my brothers, and all the associated spouses and children. I talked on the phone with them, happy to be able to share in the gathering at least in that way. I didn’t miss the shopping and gift exchanging that goes along with Christmas. In fact, I was quite relieved to have avoided it altogether this year. However, I did miss the opportunity to be with my siblings, nieces, and nephews. They were all quite curious to hear about what I’ve been experiencing in Standing Rock, and we agreed to get together soon after my return.

#nodapl #mniwiconi #waterislife #standingrock

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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Standing Rock Recap Part II (12/13-12/19)

Tuesday 13 December 2016

Full Moon!

I spent all day at the medical yurt, starting to feel more comfortable with the pace and routine there. It was a hub for the camp, I realized. People brought us food every few hours, which was good but almost always cold by the time it got to us. Security personnel stopped in frequently to check on us and to coordinate transportation for patients. We were shipping a lot of people out during those first few days I was at camp, either to the Cannon Ball rec center so they could have a warm place to sleep, or out of camp altogether for medical attention or simply because they weren’t prepared to stick around in that kind of weather (the forecast was predicting temps of -25F for the weekend ahead, feeling more like -50F with wind chill factored in).

At one point, the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA, which are basically the rez cops) came by to inspect our operation and inquire about our plans for the arctic blast over the weekend. I’m not sure of their exact relationship with the camp or the water protectors, but everyone seemed pretty tense about their arrival. They seemed friendly enough to me, but several members of camp security hung in and around the medical yurt while they were there and even their SUV out of camp to make sure they left.

I agreed to do an overnight shift at the medical yurt that evening with Liz, the physician. Despite having a steady stream of patient, the night was fairly calm—we did a couple of breathing treatments, a few dressing changes, treated a mild case of hypothermia, and visited with a sweet young man with pneumonia.

We stayed up all night, bullshitting with the “Kichita” security when there weren’t patients to see. Apparently, the “Kichita” (not even sure if I’m spelling it correctly, but I am spelling it phonetically) are different than the self-appointed security personnel that had been manning the gate when I arrived. The word means “protector.” From what I understand, they are the original security force in camp, before things grew and became more structured. In fact, some kichita suggested the gate guards might even be infiltrators. Anyway, they seemed like a nice bunch, though a little rough around the edges. But what can you expect? These are the guys who’d been getting shot with rubber bullets and maced for weeks and months.

At one point, in the wee hours of the morning, a man came to the yurt, followed by a dog and a young coyote. Apparently he had served in the military at some point and seemed pretty hardy himself. However, he came to warn us that he was staying in an outlying camp near the front line that didn’t seem to be visited often by anyone but its inhabitants. He expressed concern that it was difficult to get firewood and water out that far and that several of the structures people were staying in out there seemed inadequate for the worsening weather conditions. Some of his fellow campers were elders, he told us, and a few of them were pretty sick but seemed resistant to seeking medical care. “They’re prepared to die out here,” he said seriously. We asked where he was located, what his specific short-term needs were, and if there was any urgent need to evacuate campers. He assured us that there was no immediate urgency, but that he just wanted us to be aware of the situation. “Besides,” he added, “who are we to tell any of those Natives that they can’t stay on their land, that they can’t die here if that’s what they want, if they feel it’s their time?” Liz and I looked at one another solemnly, in silent recognition of the fact that we don’t have any right to make that call.

A little while later one of the “bottom liners” (a person who’s been in camp a long time and plans to stick it out for the duration) came into our tent. He’s worked in a variety of roles during his time at Standing Rock, from construction to medical to security. I’d had a wonderful heart-to-heart with him a day or two before and was happy to see him again. “Joe! Can I hug you?” I asked as he slowly entered the yurt and sat in the nearest plastic chair.

“Give me just a minute,” he said, holding up his hand. He had a confused look on his face. “I woke up to my carbon monoxide detector this morning,” he announced.

Liz and I mobilized immediately to hook him up to oxygen and check his vitals. He told us how he’d spent several minutes, when he first woke up, trying to figure out why his phone was alarming so early, until he realized it wasn’t actually his phone. At least he’d had the presence of mind to put on his boots and jacket before wandering through the cold to our medical yurt! He started to come around pretty quickly, once we had the oxygen flowing, and asked for an Excedrine for his headache. How terrifying, I thought, to see such a dear friend experience such a close call! Thank goodness we had been handing out CO monitors left and right.

Wednesday 14 December 2016

Sunrise came and I began to wonder where our relief was. I had made it through most of the night with plenty of energy, but I was started to feel really run down by about 8am. I also suspected I was beginning to get sick, judging from the runny nose and the dry/scratchy feeling in the back of my throat. I had been asked to go down to Rosebud and fill in later that day because they were short a medic. I was trying to figure out when I would sleep. I think it was around 10am when I finally left Oceti and headed back to the casino for a nap and a shower. Here’s an update I posted before my nap:

Good morning friends! I am at the clinic this morning...have been up and running for over 24hrs so please excuse my rambling... I worked the night shift last night, and we weren't exactly busy but we stayed steady all night. Weather is very cold--high of 6 degrees and low of -12 today. Everyone here is working very hard to prepare for the winter and make sure everyone stays safe in these challenging conditions. The situation here has been very eye-opening to say the least. It has been a great honor to be on this land and care for those who have served on the front lines of this fight--to hear their stories and care for their wounds and humbly receive their gratitude for my service (wow really?? Thank YOU). The violence has stalled but the battle is far from over. Every day brings new and unexpected situations to be dealt with, but people are eager to help one another. The power of prayer is still strong here and needs are met each day in the most synchronistic ways. I have learned and experienced so much already; I can't believe it's not even been 48hrs since I arrived on site. There has been so much going on all around me that I'm am finding it difficult to connect with people "out there" individually, but please know I hear your words and appreciate your kind messages. Also, there is only so much detail I will share, knowing DAPL is monitoring communications coming out of the area. (Hi ETP & co.!) The only other thing I can say is...this is surreal, yet so real. I'm right where I want and need to be right now. Mni wiconi!!

And another update posted at some point later that day:

Standing Rock Medic and Healer Council is doing some really vital work for people on the front lines at this very moment, building safe cold-weather shelters, transporting people off site when health conditions require, and making sure all people who are still in camp are provided for, among other things. If you wish to support the #NODAPL movement please donate to the link below. Material donations are in excess at this time and more flexible monetary support is needed. Also, please see the article attached to this link. Highway 1806, the main route to Bismarck ND, remains blocked at this time, which lengthens a vital emergency exit route not only from the water protectors' camp, but also from Cannon Ball and the Prairie Knights Casino, Ft Yates, etc. Please spread the awareness and help create pressure to reopen this road so that EMS can use it in the event of an emergency.

I only napped for about an hour and a half before heading to Rosebud. I still felt run down, but I had a sense of urgency about getting back to camp to relieve the other medic team. There was only one RN at Rosebud, as the herbalist was driving the departing medic to the airport. I arrived around 3 to a quiet yurt on the outskirts of Rosebud camp, which is the camp closest to the road on the South side (the rez side) of the river.

Rachel is an RN that came to Standing Rock fresh out of nursing school, sometime in August or September. She only intended to remain in camp for a short while but wound up extending her stay there and even turned down the job she had lined up back home in Washington state. She is dark-haired and beautiful, short but sturdy, of Native descent, and in turns is quiet and contemplative or exuberant, bursting with energy and exclamation. Her little schnoodle (schnauzer-poodle) Neville lives in the medical yurt with her and has at least as much sass as his owner, but none of the tact.

Rachel was relieved to see me arrive. She adeptly manages the majority of the work that goes into operating Rosebud medical, which means she rarely gets to leave camp. I offered her my room key and she left with her boyfriend, Dallon, another indigenous man from Minnesota. They were gone for about 6 hours. In that time, not a single patient showed up to the yurt. I spent the evening orienting myself to the supplies and examining the supplements and other natural remedies on the shelves. I bandaged a burn I’d sustained early that morning at Oceti medical by resting my hand against the pipe of the wood burning stove, because I was tired and not thinking. I helped myself to cough drops and immune boosting tea. I napped a bit on a cot, thankful for the quiet so I could at least try to make up for the rest I did not get overnight or that afternoon. I started to read a book called “Against Civilization,” which is actually a compilation of essays from the 19th century through today about the dark side of this wonder we call “civilization.” I’ll have to get myself a copy so I can finish it.

Here is a post I wrote while sitting in the yurt, enjoying the solitude and quiet:

It's another cold night. Darkness comes quickly, and then DAPL floodlights replace the black SUVs on the hilltops as beacons of that which we have gathered here to change. During a short walk outside, I feel my nose hairs freeze together with each inhale. I'm spending as little time outside as possible right now... My body is shocked by the weather and I have a cold and sore throat, as do many others in camp. But I must tell you, I am very fortunate, for my post here is inside a medic yurt, kept warm throughout the day and night. I have plenty of hot herbal teas to fortify my body. I also have a fabulous combination of modern western/allopathic technologies and natural/holistic/herbal remedies at my fingertips. It's quiet at the moment and I have time to rest and read. I have ALL that I need right now, and I know I'll be healthy again soon. The realization that this is a manifestation of yet another dream, as a health care provider and student of healing arts and of life itself, brings tears of gratitude to my eyes. The chants of our indigenous brothers and sisters drift across the river, now frozen solid. Hammers echo from the various construction sites around Standing Rock. The radio crackles at my desk. The future could bring anything, but I have absolute faith in what we are creating together here and now.

People stopped in to check on me, to say hello and to see if I needed anything at all. At one point, a man named Adam from Massachusetts came by. He has experience as a wilderness medic but had been told his skill set wasn’t necessarily appropriate for the medic team, so he spent most of his time in camp helping out with construction projects. We sat and talked for perhaps an hour. I found his company easy and pleasant. He was actually good at holding a conversation—asking questions, listening to answers, responding thoughtfully. Perhaps that was his nature, or perhaps he has developed those skills in camp, for I was beginning to notice that in the absence of Wi-Fi and cell phone reception, people seemed to be more present with one another here. They hold conversations—conversations with substance. They read aloud together. They work together and serve one another and attempt to resolve any conflicts that arise with the application of fairness, awareness, and honesty.

Rachel and Dallon returned in the midst of my conversation with Adam. Someone else stopped by the tent around that time too, and it felt somewhat like the reverie my companion and I had been in was shattered. I felt the pressure of the sudden influx of energy and chatter. I was exhausted, I realized. Rachel asked me how I felt about doing an “overnight” at the tent, and I felt a slight panic. I wanted so badly to help, but I also realized I was definitely falling ill. I explained to her how my body was feeling and how little sleep I had gotten in the past 36 hours. “Oh!” she said sympathetically, “go and sleep! Absolutely, care for yourself.” I felt so relieved to be heading back to the lodge to rest.

Thursday 15 December 2016

I went to bed around 11 last night, fully expecting to sleep deeply and wake up feeling much better. But around 1:30am I awoke with violent chills. I got out of bed feeling weak and shaky. I layered fleece over my long underwear, pulled thick socks over my feet, and climbed back into bed with the covers over my head, but I couldn’t seem to lie still or get warm. I tossed and turned, my limbs twisting around one another, trying to create friction to warm my shivering body. Was this a fever or a demonic possession, I wondered? I couldn’t remember ever feeling that way before. Finally, after a couple of hours, I feel into a restless sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, I scarcely felt like I could get out of bed, much less go back to camp and work in the medical yurt. My sense of guilt at not being able to fulfill my duty was almost (almost) completely overshadowed by how absolutely shitty I felt. I texted Rachel to tell her I couldn’t make it to camp that day.

I lay in bed most of the day, only venturing out once to go to the healing space at the lodge, room 331. There I met a lovely California goddess named Lakshmi. She was quite petite with freckles and sandy-colored braids that hung below her hips. She gave me fire cider, which burned inside my head and made me cough. She made me ozone water and tea with slippery elm for my throat. I sat in a chair, gratefully sipping her concoctions and trying to blow my nose without contaminating everything around me. After she’d given me all the remedies she could think of, I headed back to my room, back to bed, hoping that tomorrow I would finally wake up and feel well again.

Friday 16 December 2016

I woke up feeling not quite as bad as the day before, but definitely not well. I had to check out of the hotel, though, as there were no rooms available over the weekend. I packed my things and loaded the car slowly. I was slightly concerned about the prospect of spending the weekend at camp in the sub-zero temperatures while feeling so sick, but there were no other options, so back to Standing Rock I went.

Business at Rosebud medical was slow as usual, thank heavens. I met John, a nurse, homeopath, and acupuncturist from Minneapolis. He gave me 2 acupuncture treatments to try to open up my nostrils and otherwise relieve my symptoms. The left nostril seemed to open readily, but the right side was more stubborn. I began to wonder about the broader energetic picture of my illness—why so sick, why now? Why couldn’t I sleep this off like most other illnesses I’ve experienced? Was it because I partied in Minneapolis or didn’t sleep that night at Oceti and thus knocked out my immune system? Was it some kind of healing release triggered by being in Standing Rock, as Rachel suggested? Was it an empathetic thing, a sign that I was picking up on all the energies around me? Had DAPL unleashed biological warfare to make everyone in camp sick?

Other than to go to the bathroom or to the acupuncture tent, I stayed inside, in the warmth of the yurt, as much as possible. I drank tea and hung my head over steaming pots of herbs, at the suggestion of Jacque and Rachel, to try to loosen my sinuses. I couldn’t taste or smell anything at all, and I didn’t have much of an appetite.

Saturday 17 December 2016

Coldest day yet! It got just as cold as predicted (-26F plus about another 24 below with wind chill).

We were awoken early in the morning by the arrival of a man named Jeremiah. He entered the yurt grunting and yelling that his hand was “crushed,” which certainly got our attention. I was expecting blood and gristle when we flipped on the lights, but as it turned out, “crushed” was a figure of speech. Jeremiah was suffering from a flare-up of chronic tendinitis in his hands from years of manual labor. More recently, long days of chopping and hauling wood, working the security gate, and barely sleeping at all had taken their toll. He was in so much pain he couldn’t sleep at that point. He was angry and hurting and couldn’t get any relief. He refused Tylenol or ibuprofen, insisting they wouldn’t do anything for him. He begged us for something “stronger,” asking if we had any CBD salve, which we didn’t. I crawled out of my bed and rummaged through the drawers to find a cream containing menthol, capsaicin, arnica, and a few other natural analgesics. I massaged some of it gently around the heel of his hand. He said it seemed to help a bit, so I squeezed some into a plastic salad dressing container and gave it to him to take while the others planned to transport him to the rec center where he could sleep a while without having to tend a wood stove, at least.

We didn’t have many visitors at the yurt the rest of the day, which was fine because I didn’t have much energy to care for others at that point. Rachel went out and did well-visits all day, checking on people she had cared for previously and seeing what others might need in the way of supplies or medical care. I tidied up the yurt a bit, only to find it was cluttered and messy again by the end of the day with the constant influx and rearranging of supplies. But I suppose it was useful to have me around, if only to free Rachel to walk about the camp. Rather her than me, I thought. I was no match for that kind of cold.

Orka was gone most of the day after leaving to take Jeremiah to the rec center. Apparently he had gone from there to the casino, where he was taken to a room and allowed to rest. Orka met an RN at the rec center, where they seemed to have a surplus of providers. Her name was Kate and he brought her back to Rosebud to see if she could fill in for us. We arranged for her to come back to help the following and stay overnight too, so I could check back into the hotel and rest up.

John did some more acupuncture on me, which was nice of him but didn’t seem to be helping my case much. Whatever I had sickness I had was unusually stubborn.

By about 10pm I was absolutely spent. I was practically begging to lie down on the cot and bury myself under the covers. I slept with a surgical mask on my face to try to avoid drying out all the yellow-green muck oozing out of my sinuses. The radios in the medical yurt stay on 24/7 in case someone needs us, and the pointless chatter and crackle of the lines in the middle of the night kept me awake and nearly drove me mad. I couldn’t wait to check back in to the hotel the next day.

Sunday 18 December 2016

No one came to Rosebud Medical this morning until about 11:30, and we all slept until that time. I was grateful for nearly 12 hours of rest. I tidied up my space and made some lunch, which was bland since I still couldn’t taste anything.

Kate arrived to replace me. I showed her around the space and answered her questions. She helped me pack up my car so I could head back to the casino. Jacque sent me with a couple of bags of Epsom salts spiked with essential oils. I was so grateful to get out of the cold for a while…

I arrived at the lodge around 3, but was told that check-in had been pushed back to 4pm. This was understandable; that casino probably hasn’t seen so much business since it opened as it’s had in the past few months. I was so looking forward to my bath, but I’d have to wait a bit longer.

A Native man named Victor approached me in the lobby and asked how I was doing. I must have met him at some point in one of the medical yurts, because he said he recognized me and he looked familiar. We chatted for a while. He asked me if I smoked, and I told him no, but I realized he wanted a cigarette so I offered him some of my loose tobacco that I carried as an offering. As he rolled himself a cigarette, he told me about his life on the reservation and shared with me his thoughts about the happenings at Standing Rock. His face was weathered and he was missing several teeth so that it was hard to understand what he was saying at times, but his words were full of wisdom. He challenged my image of what “wise” looked like, I realized. A lot of the Natives around here look beaten and weathered. Such are the effects their life has had on them. But many of them are wiser and nobler than you would ever imagine.

After a while, Victor asked if he might be able to shower in my room when I checked in. He sensed my hesitation, which was due mainly to the fact that I was feeling so bad and wanted, above all else, to take a hot bath and go to sleep ASAP.

“It’s okay, you can say no,” he told me gently.

“It’s just that I’ve been really sick…” I started to explain.

“It’s okay,” he repeated.

Still, I gave him my number and encouraged him to call me later, after I’d had some rest, and he could come get cleaned up. He never did call me, but I hope he found a place to shower.

Monday 19 December 2016

Felt awful again today. I didn’t go to camp—I mostly just laid in bed, willing my body to recover. I tried showering and steaming, like I’d done at Rosebud, but anything I tried only provided temporary relief.

Below is a post I shared that day. I hadn’t posted anything in a few days, because I had been feeling so bad and didn’t want to share anything negative or cause anyone to worry about me. But on this day I was feeling discouraged and thought perhaps it was okay to ask for help in the form of prayers from my friends.

Adversity and discomfort teach us more than stability ever could.

For example, I used to dread long drives by myself. By the time I got out of the car, I felt half crazy. Now I see it as a wonderful opportunity to practice presence, mantra, and reflection.

I used to shy away from awkward or challenging situations, and try to forget them as soon as they were over, or beat myself up for not acting differently while I was in them. Now I strive to remain fully present in those moments and notice what is triggering me, and I look back on those experiences with interest and gratitude for what they have taught me.

Not long ago I never would have believed you if you told me I'd find myself voluntarily traveling and camping in arctic weather. Now I'm in reverent awe of the quiet beauty of an expanse of snow-swept landscape. I have a newfound respect for the demands of survival and sub-zero climates, and for how myself and those around me have risen to meet those demands.

If you choose to resist something, you will find that life has a way of pushing the issue. Rise up to meet your challenges always, and you will be forever stronger for it.

P.S. I wrote the above message on my way to Standing Rock over a week ago. Tonight I lay shut up in my hotel room at the casino trying to rest and recuperate so I can get back on the ground. I have been sick for nearly a week now...not sure if this is the flu or just the worst sinus infection of my life. The constant headache is the most demoralizing thing about it all--every time I cough I feel like my forehead is splitting. Usually my immune system is really efficient and I can kick just about anything in 24-36hrs if I take care of myself. Not this time. It's really hard not to be able to be in service with my brothers and sisters back at camp right now. Prayer is all I have to offer today, between hot baths and naps.

I guess I wrote the first part of this message days ago so I could look back on it now and remind myself I'll come out of this stronger somehow. I'm still honored to be here and serve in what small ways I've been able to the past few days. I trust I'll round the corner on this thing soon. In the meantime, please send your prayers and thoughts for healing. Thank you.

I had a terrible sinus headache, almost like a migraine, which threatened to keep me up for the second night in a row. By 11pm, I had already been in bed for two or three hours, exhausted from the illness, but unable to sleep. I had refused to use pharmaceuticals up until this point, insisting on supporting my body with herbs and prayers and rest instead. But the headache was too much. I called the front desk, and the woman who answered informed me that the hotel gift shop was closed but I could perhaps find an aspirin in the cigarette vending machine located on the casino floor. I headed downstairs. It was the first time I’d left the hotel room all day. I dragged my feet across the casino floor, aware that I was surrounded by cigarette smoke but grateful that I couldn’t smell it. I scanned the room in search of the cigarette machine, slightly overwhelmed by the flashing lights of the slot machines.

Crossing in front of the bar, I glanced toward one of the tables and saw a familiar face. It was Orka, a young man from Ontario who was on the construction team and sometimes stayed overnight at the Rosebud medical yurt. He smiled and greeted me warmly.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, aware that I’d been sick.

“Like shit,” I replied groggily. “I’ve got a headache that won’t let me sleep and I’m told there might be aspirin down here somewhere.”

A woman standing beside him, maybe in the late 50s or early 60s, chimed in, “I’ve got Tylenol!”

My mind was set on aspirin, because it seemed like the least adulterated pharmaceutical analgesic I could take, so I declined her offer and continued my search for the cigarette machine. But, as it turned out, my only options there were ibuprofen (which I am allergic to) and Tylenol with caffeine. So I went back to the woman and asked if she wouldn’t mind giving me a couple of her Tylenol after all. Orka was still there too. He gave me a hug and said and he hoped I would feel better soon. I thanked them and told them goodnight and trudged back up to my room to lie down.

#nodapl #mniwiconi #waterislife #standingrock

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jkdavidson-blog · 8 years ago

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Standing Rock Recap Part 1 (12/8-12/12)

So now that I am back in Cincinnati, and before I dive headlong back into my day-to-day business, I want to take an opportunity to reflect more thoroughly on my Standing Rock experience, to solidify it in my memory and begin to process the journey so that I can more fully integrate its lessons as I move forward. I kept some notes on my daily experiences so that I could write in greater depth later, so what I have not already journaled about in detail shall be expanded upon here. I’ve also included my posts from Facebook (in italics), as many of my more thoughtful reflections were shared there.

8 December 2016

Today I picked up my car—a Kia Sorento full-size SUV, AWD—loaded it up, and double-checked my packing list. I packed in a prayerful manner, a bit apprehensive about the journey ahead but repeating my mantras all the while.

I went to Thursday night dance class at Baoku’s Village. It was quite a joyful send off! I didn’t know many of the other people there, but they all thanked me for going and assured me they would keep me in their thoughts. After class, I rested for a little while before hitting the road around midnight.

The roads were a bit snowy and icy to start out, but North of Indianapolis everything seemed to clear up nicely. The 10-hour drive wasn’t so bad, after all. I sang, prayed, chanted, listened to the radio, and played songs from my iPod. I took naps when I needed to and stretched often. I was nervous but excited for what might lie ahead.

9 December 2016

Written about a short hike I took from a rest stop in Black River Valley, WI, which turned out to have a monument to one of the first sawmills in the country—undoubtedly erected in what had, up until then, been indigenous territory. “Mni Wiconi” and other phrases along those lines were scrawled onto the railings of the walkway that overlooked the valley.

Good morning from Wisconsin!

What was promised as simply a "scenic overlook" turned out to be a half mile hike through the woods near a rest stop off Highway 94--and a much needed respite from the last 10hrs on the road.

I can still hear the trucks howling on the highway below, but up here I find peace in the beautiful morning sun. Also, there are reminders of the many who have journeyed before me. I send you my deepest gratitude, brothers and sisters.

Mni wiconi. This is my YES.

I arrived in Minneapolis around noon. I had an extravagant lunch at an Indian buffet before checking into my Air B&B for a nap. I went to the Dustin Thomas concert that night. The club was really neat—it had a small concert venue and a larger dance club area. I think someone said it was Prince’s club?

The show was phenomenal! He played many songs I love but don’t usually get to hear when he does short opening sets. I met several really friendly people—Adam and Eric, who are also musicians, Jeremy and Anthony, who had recently been to Standing Rock themselves, and a fiercely loving mother named Julia Chavira. There was another wild young woman with a drum, but her name escapes me now…

I hadn’t had a night out in quite a while, and I had taken an Uber to the show, so I decided to indulge in some tequila—three glasses, which was probably a bit overboard. But all my best road trips usually involve a good hangover at some point, so be it. I danced my ass off that night, and sang along to nearly every song. The show went until 2 AM or so, which was later than I planned to be out but oh-so-worth-it.

I chatted with Julia, Anthony, and Jeremy after the show and traded contact information with them so we could stay in touch. I left there absolutely astounded at the friendliness and generosity of the crowd gathered there that night. Minneapolis, you sure made a great first impression.

10 December 2016

Post about a radio broadcast I heard on my way to MPLS:

This keeps nagging my conscience, so I will share:

On my way up to Minnesota, driving past Chicago around 3 a.m. I caught a broadcast by Thom Hartmann (amazing author too BTW, check out Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight). He was talking about our president elect and comparing his persona to that of Hitler and Mussolini. We probably have all heard that before, but he went into depth about the psychological tactics of a "leaders" such as them and it gave me a much deeper understanding of the validity behind those comparisons.

After his broadcast was over, I flipped to a Latino radio station (I like to practice my Spanish by seeing if I can figure out what the songs are about). They took a commercial break and this public service announcement came on. My Spanish isn't good enough to understand the finer details of the message, but it was something about people coming to your door and asking for your identification and your papers justifying your presence in this country, and under what circumstances someone can legally do that.

I felt a pang of fear in my heart. What a disturbing message to have to sit there and listen to! I realize this is a very real concern for America's international residents. They are truly fearing for their safety and freedom. This is not the America I was taught to love as a child. Shouldn't we all be concerned?

I ended up staying in Minneapolis an extra day. With warnings of a blizzard in Standing Rock, it didn’t seem wise to drive up there just yet. Plus, I didn’t have a room at the casino until the 11th. I spent the day running around, picking up a few last-minute supplies, including a package full of long underwear and other winter gear that I had ordered from REI but which hadn’t arrived by the time I departed (ironically enough, due to the weather in the same region I was headed to, which held up shipping). Dad had to overnight it to me, which actually worked out really well. I also went to the Mall of America, which is apparently one of the major attractions in MPLS but which I had intended to avoid. However, Jason requested specifically that I pick up Alpaca wool socks, and MOA had an Alpaca store. The rest is history…

I also worked very hard to track down tire chains for myself and Lolly B. They weren’t as easy to find as I had assumed, but with Jeremy’s help I did manage to find a couple of pairs the following day.

Anthony had offered me a place to stay that night, and I was originally going to take him up on it, but as evening rolled around I was having trouble getting in touch with him. He said he wouldn’t be off work until 10…I had been running around all day with a hangover and had honestly hoped to be in bed by that time. So, I booked an Air B&B last minute (which was kind of a miracle in and of itself) and went to someone else’s house to hole up in a quiet private room for the night. The guys were disappointed I didn’t come over to hang with them, but I knew I needed the rest.

11 December 2016

I woke up to about 4 or 5 inches of snow this morning. No sense in rushing out the door until the snow plows have had a go at the streets, I told myself. I took my time to reorganize my belongings and then set to work cleaning off the Kia, by which time snowplows were crisscrossing through the residential area I was staying in. Perfect.

I hit the highway behind another brigade of snow plows. The pavement was coated, but my AWD seemed to be pretty reliable. I was surprised how much traffic was on the road early that Sunday morning. That’s the difference between 5 inches of snow in Cincinnati and 5 inches of snow in Minneapolis—people don’t freak out about it up North.

Someone named Rosemary from the Medic and Healer Council, which had previously been unresponsive to my inquiries, called me a few hours into my drive. I guess it was the email titled “ARRIVING TOMORROW 12/11” that finally got their attention. She informed me that she had forwarded me “some orientation materials to review.” She also cautioned me about the importance of cultural sensitivity, having a camp “buddy” especially for actions, and “checking in with myself frequently.” She advised me to stop somewhere with WiFi along the way so I could download said literature “because the internet at the Casino is crap.”

I found my tire chains along the way at a place called Mills Fleet Farm (thank God!), and another Indian buffet in Fargo called India Palace, just like the one I had eaten at a couple of days before in St Cloud. After filling up on Indian food, I headed next door to Caribou Coffee to download the orientation stuff. I was overwhelmed by the herbal remedy guides, camp guidelines, medic council guidelines, hypothermia and frostbite treatment, lists of recommended equipment, suggested readings, and most of all the lengthy pamphlet on crowd-control tactics. The latter file included detailed descriptions of devices like pepper spray, sound cannons, heat rays, various “nonlethal” projectiles, water cannons, etc. I skimmed that last pamphlet in horror and prayed I wouldn’t need the information during my time at camp.

It was dark and temps were dipping below zero as I neared my destination. I started down highway 1806, the main road to Standing Rock and the casino, and was met by signs that the highway was closed. A detour was indicated, but the alternate route was unlit and covered with snow, whereas 1806 still appeared to be clear and moderately trafficked. So I continued down 1806 to see if I could get through. I’d tell them I was heading to the casino, I reasoned to myself, even as I passed more signs and a partial blockade warning, again, that the road was closed.

Then I arrived at the road block. Cement barricades created a zig-zag passageway only the most nimble of vehicles could navigate. Floodlights shone harshly against an otherwise starlit night, illuminating a small booth where a young man dressed in army fatigues was stationed. A couple of law enforcement vehicles clogged what little remained of the throughway. I rolled down my window as I slowly approached the blockade. The young man strode toward me and greeted me. “Good evening, where are you headed?” He asked politely. “To the Prairie Knights Casino,” I replied. “To the casino,” he repeated, “I’ll be right back.” He walked to the booth and reached inside. I thought maybe he was requesting clearance for me to pass, but instead he came back with a small square of paper. “Turn around here, go back 21 miles, make a left on 138. Take that road 3 miles to 6 South. Follow that road for another 18 miles to 24. Make a left on 24 and that will put you right back on 1806.” I looked at the directions, and then at my GPS. He couldn’t be serious—but of course he was. I was only 30 minutes from the casino, there at the blockade. It was dark and cold and I just wanted to get off the road. “Highway 138?” I asked. “I saw the detour sign back there, but that road looked like it was covered in ice and snow.” “Yeah,” the guard replied, “It’s a gravel road. It’s only 3 miles. If you’re not comfortable with that route, you can go back up to Mandan and get on 6 South from there.” He was artificially polite and matter-of-fact about the whole situation. In the intimidating glare of the floodlights, I didn’t feel that I had much room for negotiation. “Okay, thanks.” With a sigh, I rolled up my window and turned my vehicle around.

The blockade really weirded me out. For a while, I felt nervous that I was being followed by one of the law enforcement SUVs, but I think it was just another vehicle behind me that had been turned around also. I wasn’t sure yet what the relations were like between water protectors and DAPL affiliates, but I could assume it wasn’t exactly genial.

As it turned out, I arrived at the casino lodge sometime around 9:45, which I had intuited I might. In light of that, the whole roadblock experience made sense. It was too late and too snowy to venture into camp, so I unloaded my car and settled into my room for the night.

I had been in contact with the One Nation camp via my friend Jason, and I had some cash for them from a fundraiser back in Massachusetts. I let them know that I had arrived, and they headed to the casino to meet me. Just after I’d gotten all my supplies arranged there in the hotel room, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and was greeted by 4 beautiful young men from different reservations around the Southwest. I invited them in and they all introduced themselves. We sat and talked for maybe a half an hour. I was a bit self-conscious, a white woman with 4 Native men in my room who were practically strangers. I tried remember what little cultural advice I’d read so far, but also wondered how relevant that was to this younger generation. The leader of the group E’sha did most of the speaking. They had been talking about leaving camp since the ACOE denied DAPL’s permit and some authorities on the Water Protector’s side (including chairman of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe) were advising people to vacate camp. However, I guess the most recent council meeting had renewed their enthusiasm for staying and at that moment they sounded like they intended to be around for the winter.

Eventually, I felt much more at ease in their company. I remembered the money for E’sha, but wasn’t quite sure how to present it. At first I pulled out the whole wad of cash, but then thought better of it and gave it to him in the money belt I’d stashed it in instead. They thanked me and took their leave for the night. We talked about meeting up again sometime later at camp or the casino, but that night turned out the be the first and last time I saw them.

I had toyed with the idea of studying some of the literature I was assigned by the medic council, but by the time they left it was all I could do to climb into bed.

12 December 2016

First day at camp. The roads were still snowy but definitely passable as I headed North on 1806 that morning. About 10 miles from the casino I started to see the tipis and flags off in the distance. Following E’sha’s instructions, I drove until I reached the south blockade on 1806 and turned right into the Oceti camp on the North bank of the Cannon Ball river. I asked the guard at the security booth where to find the medic tent, and he pointed me straight down Flag Road and assured me I’d see the sign on my left. Sure enough, I did.

I entered the tent and was greeted by a young woman with short blonde hair named Leah. I started to explain that I was there to volunteer and she began politely telling to me that they were no longer accepting volunteers and were in fact encouraging people to go home. “Oh,” I said, unshaken. “I spoke to Rosemary just yesterday on the phone and she didn’t say anything about not taking new volunteers. I supposed I can give her a call back and find out where the medic orientation is supposed to be.” “OH!” Leah exclaimed, “You’re here for medical? Well that’s a different story!” Still, there was no formal orientation at noon (as Rosemary has suggested the day before), but Leah, a PA, started to show me around the yurt. Next to the main “medical” (read: allopathic) yurt, there was a “wellness” (read: herbal medicine) yurt. Beside that was a tipi for mental health services. There was also a warming tent directly across from main medical where people could sleep or just hang out for a while to stay warm. It seemed brilliant to me, the way everything was arranged in one small hub. That way, we could conveniently make referrals to other services as necessary—which, of course, is how our larger medical system works in theory, although not so “conveniently” in practice. The small scale of this operation certainly appeared to help it function more efficiently.

After Leah showed me all she could think to show me, we asked around to try and find out if/when there would be a formal orientation. We finally came to the conclusion it would be around 5pm. It was only noon.

I decided to walk around and explore camp for a while. I was in awe of all the bright white and the snow-encrusted structures. But it was COLD, probably around 0 degree (Farenheit). The neck warmer I had pulled up around my mouth and nose to warm the air I was breathing became stiff with frost after about 15 or 20 minutes of me walking around camp. I could feel frost forming on my eyelashes where the steam of my breath had collected and frozen.

I returned to the medic tent to observe and orient a bit more. My instinct was to pitch in once I got a feel for the intake routine, but I was quickly warned by another physician not to touch a patient until I’d been oriented. So I hung back for a bit longer, but decided shortly thereafter to leave for a while, since it didn’t seem like I could be much help until I’d been formally oriented. Besides, I had plenty of orientation materials to review back at the casino. I told the rest of the team I’d be back around 5pm for the orientation, left them my number in case anything changed, then headed back to my car.

At the casino, I made myself lunch and started looking over the orientation materials. I also got in touch with Lolly B and invited her to my room to collect the money our friend Jason had sent and the tire chains I’d picked up for her. She showed up with a handsome man friend and they stayed and chatted for a while. She had started out on a road trip West, she explained to me, when she “heard about something going on in North Dakota.” She wound up staying for 4 months offering mental health services for the water protectors. She had been there through some of the most intense days of the entire movement. When I met her, she was on her way out. She wasn’t the first one to tell me they’d dropped everything else in their lives to be in service to this cause, and she wouldn’t be the last either. The power of this movement was finally sinking in for me. I was humbled and in awe at the reality of it, and would be struck with the same feelings again and again throughout my time there. I thanked her for her service and wished her well on her return home.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful. I got my orientation around 5pm, as planned. It was really pretty informal. A young wilderness medic named Harrison talked to us about serving Natives first, about being “fiercely pro-grandmother” (and thus against the patriarchal mainstream culture), and about practicing within our scope of experience and licensure. Those were the main highlights. I spent the rest of the evening in the medic tent helping with assessments, dressing changes, breathing treatments, etc. It really hit home for me to SEE the wounds caused by the bean bags and rubber bullets, to hand out medication to ease the symptoms of the colds brought on by water cannons and witness the labored breathing of elders and asthmatics irritated by the pepper spray that had been shot at their faces.

I watched one of the other RNs, Blaine, kneel down each time he spoke to a patient. That was so moving to me for some reason. What if Western health care providers knelt, or even got to eye-level with their patients, instead of standing over their sick clients who are often slumped in chairs or laying helplessly hospital beds? Again, speechless, humble awe. It still brings tears to my eyes to think of it.

#nodapl #mniwiconi #waterislife #standingrock

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