Greetings from Vilnius:

I’m writing today from my dorm room at Vilnius University. As I look out my window, which I am sitting immediately in front of, the scene is truly European. The house built of brick with lumber inlaid across and down giving each wall a pattern of squares. The building looking like something from a farm and possibly used to store harvest from the field- the bricks a weather worn yellow and the lumber that totally accentuates the European tradition of building, brown in color. Slightly further up are the concrete built houses, off yellowish in color with the traditional orange tiled European roofs with their large concrete chimneys and many windows that have their own little roofs extending from the main roof. All this nestled perfectly amongst lush, green trees that grow thickly in the area sitting nicely underneath the almost clear blue sky that holds strands and puffs of grayish, white clouds. My spirit extends far beyond the beauty that sits before me, it flows through Vilnius. In my brief stay here so far, what an amazing experience it has been.

For an Indian (First Nations- the politically correct term in Canada; a term which in my travels I don’t use too often because people abroad are not familiar with this term and then begins the fifteen minute long explanation, which often is followed by the question: Why? Are you ashamed of being Indian?) who comes from a little reserve- Kincolith, in the far reaches of Northwestern, British Columbia, Canada, thousands of miles away; the experience is almost surreal.

I never imagined in my wildest dreams that one day I would be walking the streets of the cities of Europe. I don’t recall ever hearing of Europe much less any other places, countries that existed. As a child, my world did not extend beyond the boundaries of home except to take the ten to twelve hour boat ride or half hour flight to the nearest town of Prince Rupert and back.

Here I sit, having weathered many of life’s greatest atrocities, storms, and challenges: mom’s death when I was six; the extreme, physical beating at the hands of my father (enough to kill any six year old child) immediately after her death- (my father and I had a time of reconciliation six months before he died); the residential school (Institutions built to house Indian children whom were in many cases literally kidnapped, tricked, lied to, and forced into these institutions where the mandate was to “de-Indianize” the child). De-Indianization occurred through great measures of punishment, humiliation, and shame- in a government sanctioned mandate to do away with the Indian nations all together (The governments, both provincial and federal, have since taken steps which have begun the restitution and reconciliatory process); dad’s death when I was ten; and every brokenness, heart-ache and pain that was to follow.

I sit at this window: healed, whole, alive, and well. I sit at this window: a writer, a poet. I sit at this window: thankful for “everything” that has been my life. I sit at this window: with a heart full of gratitude- for out of the ashes and the dust, have come, the beauty of prose and the beauty of poetry. Out of it has come Vilnius- a truly magical place; a land filled with kindness, hospitality, friendship, great food, and a land of absolutely beautiful woman. I sit at this window: I see opportunity.