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It Ain't Easy Being Indian
It Ain't Easy Being Indian: May 2015
Monday, May 04 2015
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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ricey wild.jpg … My bad. Or am I?

Whilst ‘Under the Clock,’ which is a euphemism for being in city jail, I experienced some of the greatest terror and trauma up till then in my life. My repeated queries as to why I was being detained were only answered with “probable cause.” Being the law-abiding citizen that I am I didn’t know what that meant. Now I know it means that any and all law enforcement can pick you up for no other reason than they feel like it.

Just because. Because there was a lull in arrests and the officer was getting bored and didn’t like the look of you; because someone did something somewhere and the vague description is most likely you especially if you walk around being brown, black and not-white. Because of false accusations that are probably a cause so you get taken downtown cuffed up in a cop car in a state of utter panic and disbelief. Because I found myself wearing big white underpants in orange scrubs and some type of plastic sandals on my feet carrying a small toothbrush and toothpaste, a thin mattress and blanket and later at some point I got a nubby pencil with no eraser.

Later I found out I was placed in the less-violent cell block so my new companions were prostitutes, junkies and women who committed misdemeanors (I guess). I shared a cell with the trustee; I had the top bunk and tried to sleep with the light that never shut off. No sleep was to be had anyway as I had no actual contact with guards at all in order to question them. There was only a slot just big enough to slide food trays through and that, except for a static voice that gave orders or reprimands on the intercom was the only contact to be had with the outer world. The large windows were frosted over too.


It Ain't Easy Being Indian: April 2015
Friday, March 27 2015
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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ricey wild.jpgA few months ago my son Steve visited me and my friends at the Risky Raccoon Kasino Hotel where we were staying for a powwow. My son told us he got pulled over by a cop and my mother’s heart skipped a beat; I immediately thought he was being racially profiled and thoughts of all the recent slayings of unarmed black men by police made me catch my breath.

Steve pulled a copy of the report out of his pocket and showed it to us, it was a warning and then he said, “Look closer.” The police officer had checked the ‘white’ box where there was a choice for race. I looked at him and said “Whaaaaaat?” He was still pretty brown as far as I could tell, I mean I’m Native and his father is African-American so his being mistaken for white even though we also have French ancestors was rather a stretch. So I did what anyone would do. I laughed but since then I have pondered why?

Why? Why did he let him go? It came to me that police officers have to turn in their papers after each shift and perhaps the cop didn’t want his brethren to know he let an innocent brown man off with only a warning! I have convinced myself that was the why and wherefore because of the extreme racist atmosphere that is law enforcement culture. I add here I do not paint all police employees as being racist; instead I will let the glaring facts speak for themselves. My concern is not only people of color but anyone who takes up activism for the benefit of all peoples.


It Ain't Easy Being Indian: March 2015
Thursday, March 12 2015
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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ricey wild.jpgAfter 10 years without I have satellite again thanks to my Brother Mike W. I’m absolutely addicted to the H2 channel when it’s about Ancient Aliens and America Unearthed; both are very well produced in that they bring up more questions than answers that leave the viewer to make up their own mind. In fact, they are the very opposite of organized religion. I love especially when my own belief that we here on this Earth have been created as an extraterrestrial alien ant farm science project is validated though not in those words. Ayyyyy!!!!

Yeah, yeah, yeah believe what you like but please don’t deny or diss other people’s creation stories, which are every bit as valid as any other that have millions of followers or just a relative few. Just to reiterate: the Great Flood must have been an actual event because most cultures have their own stories about what happened; not just the Judeo-Christian story about Noah and the Ark.

In fact I saw an episode generally about North American Indian Peoples’ Creation Stories, NOT MYTHS, about how the flood wiped out the previous civilizations because the people became wicked and then the creation of our Turtle Island where we live now. In addition to oral history there are also really big in every sense of the word signs on rock art, in caves, hieroglyphics, pyramids, ancient cities; and texts, mounds, artifacts, human remains and even colossal figures drawn in a desert that can only be seen from the air like the Nazca Lines in the plains of Peru and the Carnac Stones in France.


It Ain't Easy Being Indian: February 2015
Thursday, February 05 2015
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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ricey wild.jpgAt age 19, I became absolutely unhinged. I had recently left an abusive relationship with a man it was taken for granted I would marry; I thank all the Gods living and dead that did not happen. The moment of truth crashed upon me the morning I looked at my big, swollen bloody lips after being punched by a man who professed to love me. “No one,” I said to myself, “No one who loves someone would do this to someone they say they love.” In that astonishing moment I was freed from misery, knowing especially that I deserve better and I would settle for nothing less.

In the meantime and in between time after becoming legal age, I morphed into the Club Queen I felt I was meant to be. I missed out on the sweaty, glittery Disco days but Prince and other amazing artists like Teddy Pendergrass, Rick James and Teena Marie were smooving and so I began my glory days partying to their music. I’m happy I have that to share at whatever bridge I end up under if republicans get their way.

So … this one night I was wearing a really sexy backless jumpsuit and talking to fine, FINE suave men at the Yellow Brick Road Knight Klub and for some reason I became really twitchy and uncomfortable while gabbing what I thought were witticisms. I looked down toward my feet and saw one foot of pantyhose dangling under the bottom of my attire. (Younger readers: ask your Mom or Gramma what ‘pantyhose’ were. Absurd garment if you ask me). I gasped and ran for the ladies room where I grabbed the foot and pulled and pulled and pulled at least forty yards until the entire hose was out. I had not noticed while hastily getting dressed that the previous hose were still in there!

Ahem!!! Excuse me while I collapse in hilarity at a most fond memory of my wild, unapologetic youth. I’m pretty sure no one else saw it but I will never forget it and have never taken myself too seriously after that. Trickster is real and will get you, just laugh at your silly self, stay aware and go with it.


It Ain't Easy Being Indian: January 2015
Tuesday, January 13 2015
 
Written by Ricey Wild,
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ricey wild.jpgMy heart is full because the wolf hunts in the Great Lakes regions have been stopped by a federal judge. The horrific carnage of trapping, baiting, killing and continued disruption of the wolves’ families are no more; they are back on the endangered list where they will stay with the love, compassion and diligent advocacy of people who worked hard and long for their lives. To those of you who were directly instrumental I am deeply thankful and so much for everyone who became active on the wolves behalf to speak for them.

An odd thing though, just a few days before the announcement I had called the Minnesota Fish & Wildlife office and spoke to someone who was directly involved with the so-called 'wolf harvest.' “Harvest!” Aghhh. That **name for what is actually savage, bloody slaughter upon superior sentient beings disgusts me and I told him so.

Then I told him a short version of how Anishinabe (First Man) and Maa’ingan (Wolf) in the beginning of time traveled the world together naming all animals, plants and places. Eventually they had to go their own ways and Maa’ingan knew Anishinabe would be lonely without him so he gave him Animoosh (dog).

That part always gets to me and I cried as I am doing now. No longer buried in my skin is my spiritual, cellular connection with Maa’ingan, it’s out now and I honor it as the most basic level of being that is love in the purest form. We both benefit. Maa’ingan will live their lives as Creator intended and I benefit by putting my vulnerability out there for all to see and in my own eyes I become a better person for having done so.

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