ABOUT
On this first page, I share with you the recent artistic images—using the disciplines, craft, the academic structures of abstraction and conceptualism—literature and poetry that I have composed, created, and reworked. These works represent my journey to reclaim and emancipate myself after engaging with the non-sacred, dark forces of the world—demons, the evil veiled fog of deception, thieves, liars, and the dark entities that oppose life and humanity. I have now delicately navigated my way back into the realm of the sacred and the divine as much as possible in this world world through... Creation. This will all soon lead to a fully functioning websitewith varied offerings. - summer 2024.
Coming soon!
--------------------------
Coming soon!
--------------------------
"Black Walnut" 5' x 6' acrylic on canvas, pvt collection.
Wild
Beneath the canopy's dark spread,
In Sleepy Hollow, fear embed, I walk alone, my path ahead,
With entities that seek to shred.
No horseman's ghost, no spectral plight,
But shadows cast in darkest night,
They gnaw and tear, with all their might,
Yet onward still, I hold the light.
Alone I stand, with naught to guide,
In this realm where fears reside,
No portrait like Dorian's pride,
Just the path where I abide.
A lone entity, in cosmic gaze,
Lost in this mysterious maze,
Seeking answers in this daze,
Yet met with silence, endless craze.
Despite the wounds, the pain, the strife,
I press on through this endless night,
For I am light amidst the rife,
And to the dawn, I cling, contrite.
They return, with fangs and ire,
To quench their thirst, their dark desire,
But I am more than mere attire,
I am the flame, the eternal fire.
In warmth and glow, I rise once more,
Defying all that came before,
Towards the light, where hopes restore,
To find my home, forevermore.
s. madison riley
---------------------------------
Sacred Visions: Last of the Dodo's
The razor eyes of the mist draw my attention to other thoughts, other lives, other times. Figured flames become the canvas of experiences granted to few.
During sacred and ancient ceremonies, I'm honoured by the presence of the living, the dying and the dead, resurrected only a brief moment. A virgin child is he - a sacrifice of the seduction of the physical and the base.
He's afraid of the shadows and cannot see the stars in the city. He is a long way from his home. At an age not yet consumed with the trials of adolescence, without the hair of maturity, and the voice of a girl is the act of my vision.
I know; because it is ancient and sacred timber wolves frightened by wisps of air that come to tell me this. My thoughts and figures in the flame seduced the wolves on this bitter February night.
"We feel safe with Indian people," they say. There is no safer place for wolves it occurs to me than around Native ceremonies, and rituals I now find myself a part of.
In the rhythmic flames I see; White Eagle. Yes, that is his name White Eagle, he wears no braces, he has no bed, and he is a child. It has been many years since another like I sang and approached by the sacred.
The little people come and I’m sure I’m hallucinating. “Play with us,” they sing, while softly drumming their tiny ornate drums.
Deny the sacred is what I try to do. I think of anything but that which is before me. I reject this simple touch of humble purity, this sacred moment; which is exhausting.
"Reject these visions!" I shall think of anything but that which is before me! Young men my age throw footballs in fields, I tell myself. I have never done this. I have never experienced joy. I shall never do so.
The flames reach out in solitary rhythm, “We feel safe with Indian people.” I stop fighting. All are asleep in the lodge; the night is purple and silent.
I am alone and willingly allow visits from the sacred. I do not know this boy, this White Eagle, yet I am tortured by the visions given to me.
Ojibwa people seem to have forgotten the blood memories that run so strong in the boy’s veins. In fear of his life he ran from the horror, from his own people, he was ostracized.
He is an emotional banshee. An entangled spirit who is not ready for its journey, it startles me. Then a fleeting painful remembrance, while an alchemy of senses breathes, awaiting their final exhaustion.
I receive a note written on birch bark (from whom or what I do not know) in shaky hand script it reads “you my spirit.” A handful of cedar and tobacco fuel the flame of my sacred prayer.
Men with full-headdress sang. Others beat upon drums. There are canoes and he is... he was happy and proud.
His thoughts screaming questioningly, “Why am I abandoned?” He is flame and the snow is silent. A circle I draw in the dirt is now the moon.
The veiled shield is pierced, this blood plague, its sword, savage, precise and slaughtering people of my kind.
The heavy silences of my thoughts scream their own obscenities convinced of their divinity, it’s an aching beat, thump, thump, thump in collusion with my heart.
Listening to the flames a calmness of spirit enters. My body shivers. Everyone’s pain but my own I feel. White Eagle bleeds and soon comes to understand his worth.
The images, more horrific than the one before. I can’t stop them! A stinging quickness, fog, then blackness overcomes him. The camera rolls and his memories of singing, of canoes and of embellished dress are lost.
I chant, sing and cry seeking guidance from his, from mine, from our ancestors. I am without answers. I sometimes lose the questions. I no longer have courage and the warrior spirit.
I'm adrift in mist walking backwards. He will never again visit his relatives on his reservation. I offer tobacco to grandfathers, to the fire and a prayer to the Great Spirit.
An Eagle appears, circles four-times then disappears. White Eagle, the gentle, innocent and magical Manitou is now on his journey.
s. madison riley
--------------------------------------------------
Self Portrait -"Nanaboozhoo" 5' x 6' - acrylic on canvas.
-----------------------------------------------
Tricksters Veil: The Medicine Man's Dance
This is not ritual, but fear's cruel hand,
Loss unaddressed in this toxic substance land.
Summon your own healing, summon your might,
Societal systems won't bring us light.
I embrace the ancestors, those who've passed,
Their pain, their loss, their shadows cast.
Summoning spirits, to bring us home,
To find peace, no longer to roam.
I must capture your pain, the hurts, take your losses,
Sending them north, where they'll be tossed.
Sweet grass burns, cleansing the air,
Sending your burdens, your sorrows to bear.
Ancient methods, no longer seen, known,
Nanabush embracing Wendigo, unseen, alone.
To face it's weapons, gleaming, the pain the medicine man seizes from you,
as he must, there is no other way,
to see, hear, feel and place within, skin.
I won't let you suffer, not alone,
For our pain, our loss, makes us known.
Embracing ancestors, and you with wind,
Rising to the spirit world, where healing begins.
Tears flow freely, as hearts release,
In the smoke of sweet grass, we find peace.
Supported by friends, loves, and losses dear,
We'll be okay, with spirits near,
I must bring for you, here.
Embraced by ancestors, in love's warm light,
We stand strong, against the night.
No shame, no disconnection,we're valued,
we're real, you won't win,
I've seen your deal. I see you.
s. madison riley
---------------------------------------------
"Echinacea" 5' x 6', acrylic on canvas, pvt. collection.
----------------------------------------------------
Vision Quest: Killing the Innocents
Upon the rocks of Northern Ontario,
he found his place, no easy task, which took him over a week to find. He was well prepared for this fast, this quest into his being, into the world around and through him.
Still, it has been since another lifetime when he last was placed upon the earth to pray and reflect.
It is quiet and protectively oversees water.
His place is surrounded by Bear, Moose, Deer, Raccoon, Martens, Beaver, and Wolf situated in a family of cedar trees not yet touched
by the browning disease of the south.
The ground is solid and high; it is here that he decided to go hungry of food and to be nourished with spirit. He can see the stars and breathe the air.
His name is He Who Sees Among the Clouds.
He prepares the fire,
and sets up his tent in case of rain.
He finds a stone and begins unknowingly doodling in the rock an ancient symbolic image.
Slowly and with care each line etched into the granite, each line taking him hours
before going onto the next.
Grind, grind, his thoughts wonder...
Oh how I miss your eyes of mystery and question.
I weep. Your thighs, your chest, your lips, so willing, so...open, to love.
This is a gift; this vision I shall never let go.
There was this curl in your ear lobe,
A cute thing really, that entranced me to see you
I miss you, I was not allowed into your death, but.
You gave me life. You touched my hand and I
Came. You licked your lips and spoke of...
Art.... and I came.
Truth. Oh, please come back.
Let me know you live, let me know.
You are and were valued somewhere, anywhere.
On to the next line in rock he carves.
It curves a familiar shape connected to the straight line before him. A circle is being created repeatedly etched to last many generations.
He seeks from the wind his path of joy, hope, and truth. He sees very beautiful things around him
not making any sense. His eyes not yet blinded by the travails of life.
The fire he has made is now ember, sparkling and talking in rhythm. More wood is placed upon it,
dead wood, discarded wood giving it a new life it’s ashes to be given to the earth again.
He is whirling like a dervish and becomes a part of the wind and no longer hidden. Singing out to spirit.
Seek only within your heart!
Do not hide.
The hidden have no place in a world of vision!
Your beauty is in you, do not slumber! Awake.
He returns to his task upon the rock, finishing the circle, slowly and with patience.
He looks about him.
The sun is going to sleep and the animals come to visit; first the raccoon
followed by the eagle and bear.
He remembers those elders he saw
while driving in a car with a friend,
the friend and elders long since gone from this world but for a moment saying hello.
What did they want? What did they want to say?
The questions of mysteries
only lead to answers that are not there.
It is dead.
The seeking of answers to the question of why,
cuts one off to joy.
Rejoice
in the mystery he tells himself.
Fly; at first unsure,
he knows he is heavy
then realizes he can control his flight.
He soars!
Spinning fast almost uncontrollably
until he surrounds himself
with bright love light,
he is a protected spirit.
He sees death; a loss so profound the shock streams down his gentle brown skin.
They are all blinded
to beauty, to their own beauty,to the beauty of the earth,to the beauty of their life here with our mother, choosing instead death.
He realizes they will all get their wish.
Their beauty is in what they do.
They do not know this.
They can no longer see beauty.
Their love of life and spirit
is leaving them all.
Their love of spirit helps all.
We are dying.
He sees as he is flying the trees no longer are where they once were, water no longer fit to drink, children buried in unmarked graves in the hundreds covered only with lime.
There is brown air and holes above the earth
going to the stars
ripped by space shuttles and satellites
tearing at its fragility.
The fat greasy white man is eating delicacies which are becoming rarer and rarer still,
while others starve scratching at their skin from the diseases of the street for being divine.
There is an imbalance, He Who Sees Among the Clouds acknowledges as he flies into the world.
The greasy man’s skinny wife; her face that of a grotesque false youth on an aged body happily does “charity” work dripping in diamonds
and the blood of children.
Smiling with flashbulbs flashing,
running for AID$ this week, singing for Salmon next.
Together husband and wife create the morality for others to follow.
Others believe that they too can have what they (their role models) have, unaware of the true costs of
such vulgar humanity.
They follow these role models of human hatred into their own graves smiling and
joyfully singing all the way in a celebration of their own death.
He knows they have no right to take him along on this moat of putrid self-hate.
He Who Sees Among the Clouds cannot swim with them.
They will drown.
Children run upon the burnt fields where joy has departed. Blood soaked fields in drought, harvesting food for the conquerors, while descendants of the defeated live in a hospice of false hope.
On return from flight to his place
he continues his rock etching. Inside the circle drawn
are lines that represent water. This is all that is left of the world until the next beings take their place.
Inebriated by spirit he sings to all.
The moon speaks to him with warm soothing light, the fire needs some more wood,
the insects sing, the birds sleep, the animals mate and he gently lays upon the mother ready for sleep.
He is bothered by the wood spirit that comes to him.
Clawing itself out of the ground its arms are sticks, its face is shadow topped with deer antlers,
its body shaped like a wolf with an enormous phallus, and it laughs loudly.
Laughing it begins to shake.
The wood spirit then quickly turns into a grizzly bear. Its fat and fur jiggling as the bear passes wind, which makes it evolve in hysterics.
The man starts to laugh harder and harder until exhaustion overcomes them both.
Nestled beside the bear he sleeps.
The fire burns.
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------------
"Water" 5' x 6' acrylic on canvas. pvt colection.
-----------------------------------------------
The Seer
In forest glades,
Twinkling spirit lights,
I felt warmth, though my name echoed in the night.
Mountains, forests, grandeur's embraced,
I found myself in nature's story, ages old.
Mammoths, tigers, beavers of great size,
Dragonflies, filled the skies.
Trees, trunks thick, brutal,
As I floated towards a stone, massive..
Once outside, the vision became a cave of...
delight, rested, crested
wondering where.
I heard a sigh, in the quiet.
I wear a gown of old,
Tingling, ringing, losing my balance
In a fog, still, unsure, a burst of sun
showing me God.
What's to come, I listened in hunger
With compassion, I felt numb with thirst.
Silent I remained, attaching myself to the sacred
Futures foreseen, through mystic and false veils.
Danger draws near, my mouth sewn
Pain is my constant companion,
My spirit unable to heave
Dreams consumed by leaves, totems, wind
In every form it takes,
Leaves me haunted, the world breaks.
In a house of stone,
Blinded by faith, yet not alone.
Surrounded by the departed, trying to mend,
A broken world, beyond life's end.
The bear runs, the marten screams,
The eagle flies, revealing truths in beams.
Yet, I'm so tired, so terribly tired,
And darkness conspires. Still.
s. madison riley
-------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
Jupiter
The blood washes over me
Their screams, their memories, breathe
I am caught pained, seeking solutions
Relieved for generations
I embrace the voices
I gather their fractures and hunt -
For the guide to dissipate the hurts
To offer sustenance, to quicken a balance
I leave this earthly body
Travel into the ether and find its heart
Asking forgiveness
For you, for me, us, us, all
This tiny speck of darkness still palls over me
No longer with power, it simply reminds me
Of a time long ago, wounds healed and losses gained
Virtually silenced by truth of lifetime gains
Its sunshine rises, its moon rises,
And Jupiter can once again rest
Wrapped in the universes’ cloak
Cold, living, warm, and embraced vastness
Humility overwhelms me, gratitude
Unresolved guilt is not given permission
Shame’s entrance is retired
Granting myself the birthright to be, me this sovereign awakening
Gifted to you, to me, an exquisite rarity
Living enchantment, never drowning in falsehood
Its purity, of simply inhaled, exhaled joy.
s. madison riley
-------------------------------------------
"Mourning" Photograph - b/w print. NFS. (background) "Memories" --------Installation, 100's of works, each feather represents a child who died in the residential school system. collection, Woodland Art Gallery & Museum.
-------------------------------------------------
The Climbing Trees
Time clouds your path
Ancestors speak wisdom
Not always heard
Still … I am embraced by story
Together as tribe
We can overcome the sad
Gently, quietly, with reverance
Until joy reigns
As we are spirit
Accept your weakness
I accept mine
Trees climb towards the grandfather
Our grandmother
Listen, they whisper
Your voice is heard.
Speak again-
Within the medicine lodge
My story
It is our history
Our bones, our blood
Strengthen the house of parliament
It is our duty
To find solace, in this…
Filtered abominations.
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------
When you do evil, you ARE evil. Sorry, but that's how it works.
Genocide
Indigenous cultural genocide can encompass a broad range of actions aimed at erasing or suppressing indigenous cultures, including the erasure of indigenous innovation and achievement on both individual and collective levels. This erasure can take many forms, such as denying credit for indigenous inventions, innovations, or accomplishments, suppressing indigenous knowledge systems, or marginalizing indivdual indigenous contributions to society. By disregarding or actively diminishing individual indigenous innovation and achievement, perpetrators of cultural genocide contribute to the erosion of indigenous identity and cultural autonomy.
This is especially evil, or any act that diminishes the contributions and innovations of someone or theft of these creations of an individual in any form. It's demonic. It attacks the gifts given by God and supresses his glory through his chosen ones.
*Irish Erasure is also very real, so much so there are false histories now taught as fact, which can be seen as acts of cutural genocide.
---------------------------------------------------
"Y.M.C.A." B/W Photo Print, on Glossy 8" x 10". NFS.
Trauma
This spirit of disassociation
is one that helps you cope
with life here on mother earth.
You created it, it’s a part of you
and was created for your protection
and in a way out of love.
This Spirit more than anything says,
I want to survive, I want to live,
I am protecting that little boy/girl
within.
This loving Spirit is one of resiliency.
The disassociation Spirit asks
that you honour it and say hello.
It’s a Spirit, or person that was
(and is no longer), that needs
your protection now.
It’s a Spirit that is deserving
of embrace.
Some of the daily exhaustion
you feel is that Spirit
who has been working so hard
for you for so long,
it’s getting tired and needs you now.
It is a Spirit that has protected you
for so long, and now it’s time
for you to protect it.
As you pray, speak to this loving Spirit
and let her or him know,
that you know they are there.
Thank that Spirit, thank that little boy,
that little girl for all that they have done
for you.
Let them know that from now on
you are going to take care of them.
Find them, love them as they’ve loved
and protected you.
You’re big and strong now.
Love the Spirit that has loved you
for all your life.
And as you carry her or him with you,
know that that takes enormous strength,
compassion and a true connection
to The Great Spirit, Chi-Mantou.
Your ancestors are with you.
s. madison riley
"Sundown" 5' x 6' acrylic on canvas. pvt collection.
-----------------------------------------------
Breathe
Breathing within these walls not of my making,
I see before me an empty sky,
Its flames of struggle, brown and putrid,
Yearning to breathe.
I ponder my creation and the creation of others,
Concluding destruction is now the act of creation.
Life, but deaths, consumed blindly
by those without will, without conscience.
Still, there is a knowing,
A sense of purpose and hope we give over to freely,
In the hope that they, our youth, our children,
Will succeed where we so blatantly failed.
We are cruel to place such a burden upon others
When we, who know better, failed.
We create for these spirits of innocence (unintentionally)
The very tools to embrace our darkest humanity.
Yet all is not lost, nor can it be,
As long as there is a baby that cries,
Couples who love, examples of admiring courage,
And the possibility that tomorrow will come.
I speak of these to my own mind
In a rare moment of silence,
Until I again must visit the other place
And embrace their truths.
I cannot abide much longer this momentary visit
To the shore of this Great Lake,
As the heaviness increases;
Its constriction warning me.
I must move on. I inhale my exhaustion and
exhale its memories and pain
To the aether, which will
once again become dissipated in its sustenance.
I look around once more at the water,
The children playing, the dogs barking,
And sympathetically commune with the Sun,
Who in all its immense power.
Tries desperately to break through a deceptively beautiful haze.
Created as we all are to be; to be,
I must go forward in exaltation of all that is,
Could be, and once was.
Silently touching in gentle mists not quite felt,
And smooth single raindrops that appear when the sky is blue,
and the sun shines,
Provoking only a momentary time still.
I float through the squishy squashy offal
Of religious fanaticisms, exclusions motivated by hate,
Stupidity, and spiritual sicknesses of such rot.
I speed my pace through this sewer-like inhumanity of ignorance,
I sense it is engulfed by politics of non-consequence,
Run by the empty gluttonous guts.
There will be a tomorrow...
But today I travel and rest upon a bench,
Gazing at a painting with colors vibrant and stories all around.
It is a painting of 'Madonna and Child'.
By Native American artist Norval Morrisseau,
Clearly done during his Christian period
In which he sought a badly needed peace never granted.
It is this peace that I struggle for so long
To offer those who cannot any longer hear its voice.
So encumbered are they all about me
As the young man beside me on the bench is.
Deep with worry frowning while lost in thought,
I whisper gently; kindness,
Tenderly attempting to remove fear to make room for love.
So many people hate themselves now.
So many people feel without power,
So many believe they are alone without purpose,
Without direction, and disconnected to all.
He is contemplating suicide.
As it seems a logical.
But he doesn’t know how much more he has in his future.
How could he know?
I see him with children, I see him laughing again,
I see him strong and free,
Connected again to the world that he is to change.
And change he will, eventually finding his truth.
But right now he sees nothing, no hope, no future,
Until at just the right moment he lifts his eyes
And directs them towards that young woman,
A stranger to him but shining like crystal.
Who also is without purpose and seeks to be; simply to be.
His thoughts change, he sees hope,
and he walks over to her.
Creating again I do a scene of purity,
For there is no other role, no other source
for me but to be.
I fly without the wind,
Without the sense that once dictated my very self,
For now I no longer believe this rule,
This dream not of my making.
I create my own.
In rhythm I breathe trying to catch the earth’s heave
And I notice she is heavy, she is struggling
more and more each day upon each new visit.
The water is brown, gooey, and sick.
The air is moist with unknown particulate.
The people walk around with heads down,
ashamed at their deeds not yet done.
Who no longer have the strength,
Or the thoughts to heal themselves let alone the earth.
I see the wars and fears upon their faces,
Their ignorance and cowardice rewarded.
While their masters they’ve never met huddle,
Slurping, gurgling, giggling at their power,
Rubbing their hands together
in anticipation of an eventual prize.
While all wilts, this pestilence thrives
Eating upon your fears, your hopes, and your dreams.
Stripping you of your love, of power, your humanity,
And your path to God.
This is the “other” which from time to time I battle,
With you in mind. I’m trying to create this balance
So as not to disrupt the closing of wounds
And prevent the dimming of light.
That will guide you through darkness.
There can be a peace, as we are all around
to ensure this balance,
But you must be at peace traveling that path of glory.
Which will allow you your moment,
Your truth never to be taken and never to be sold.
I cry over this playground of bullies
And see the little one in the corner alone.
And sensitive, who listens to medicinal trees singing to him,
And who freely speaks to the Sun and the Moon,
But at a great personal cost.
For 500 years the dead and the dying have tried to kill him.
To be close to nature, to our humbleness is to be human,
is to be spiritual,
And you have left nature and now she is leaving you.
But she is forgiving and will embrace your nurturing.
Embrace her and you will embrace yourself;
Never to be alone, never to be confused and never to be lost.
s. madison riley
---------------------------------------------
"Self-portrait" 8" x 10", B/W print. ---Your life IS the prayer.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Arrow
The chariot reigns
supreme
not quite reaching the worlds edges
alone
a single rider, urgent in the blood
soon to pierce an arrow,
through the
sun, to stop the day from departure
s. madison riley
---------------------------------------------
"Cedar" 5'x 6' acrylic on canvas. pvt.collecton.
=============================
Burning
Combing among this sea of drought, harvesting the vestiges of what could be, a flock of lost hopes flying above.
Scratching, grinding upon its malaise, the hate burning my hands, my fingers, my skin, until I glimpse a joyful reflection, saying hello.
I retrieve this gift, examine it to observe, a vulgarity, a trick to disregard my humanity.
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------------------
This is Chuck just walking away from an opponent. He never lost a single fight that I recall. I never missed attending a single professional bout of his.
Hello in There
Above is Chuck, walking away from one of his opponents in one of his many professional bouts.I never missed a single fight of his.
He was alone in Canada at only 20 years old when I first met him, and he had no friends or family in the country. One day, at the gym, I said hello.
He had been in Canada for about 6 months by then and he was very sad. He told me I was the only person who had greeted him since his arrival.
Chuck looked very fit, perhaps intimidating and determined and was coming from Nigeria, but I just saw a boy with eyes full of longing.
For years after, I assisted him as much as I could. He's like a second son to me. He's very gentle, kind, compassionate, respectful and a man with solid critical thinking skills.
Yet, without my first hello, his path may have gone a very different way, rightfully so, as he was treated very badly and in terribly racist ways by some very specific type of people as well.
Today, I couldn't be more proud of him and his achievements and he has independently achieved a great deal. He owns property outright and has a family with children and is very happy. Some people don't need very much, just a little pat on the back, or someone, anyone who cares and they're off to the races. He is one of those people and obviously I still care.
--------------------------------------------------------
"Dandelion", 5'x6' acrylic on canvas, pvt collection.
==============================
The Earthquake in my Bones
her voice is heard
still...
be still
listen,
she moves in the wind
within a song,
gentle drum beating
our mother
her voice is heard
prayer...
life is the prayer
pray,
despair the price
in our dreams
memories,
the child’s eyes
her voice is heard
pain...
she has no pain
she offers spirit power
ceremony and home
empowerment,
this her clarion call
her voice is heard
silent...
a stronger love
empowered,
guiding us now
you will not silence her
she will not be silenced
she is here
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------------
This is one of the songs on my gym workout playlist. Hope you enjoy. I simply could not imagine my life without the gym, (or cycling) it has saved me more times than I can count. You don't have to be a superstar fitness person, I'm most certainly not that, or perfect in everything you eat, but regular exercise has proven to be of amazing value for our overall well-being. I know the world is now all about celebrating the un-healthy, de-humanization and brutalism but don't fall for it. You are sacred. Do not deny the sacred, including your body, it's the temple. Do the best you can and remember we all fail, but as long as we keep getting back up it usually ends up just fine.
--------------------------------------------------------
I need to do more Art, more writing, more painting, I have a need, not a want, but a need to create. I must create. Life gets in the way of so many things sometimes. There IS beauty and I think you can create beauty even in a world that enforces and demands ugly. Here's some of my work, from "The Medicine Series". Red Clover, Sweet Grass and Sage.
----------------------------------------------------
The Quest
In the photo on the left, you'll see me braving the icy expanses of the Arctic. That journey was just one chapter in my lifelong quest for knowledge and connection with other Native healers. Embarking on this path at a very young age, I've dedicated at least four plus decades to exploring and learning, a testament to the demanding nature of a healer's journey. Whether you refer to it as the work of a Medicine Man, a Healer, Holy Man or use the modern term "Shaman" (though it's not a term used by the Ojibwa or Celtic cultures), the commitment is profound and often leads one far from home for weeks, months, or in my case, years.
This particular snapshot captures more than just a moment; it tells the story of adventure and the lengths I went to in my search for deeper understanding. Standing there, far from the safety of the village, with the ever-present risk of encountering polar bears—yes, the only bears in Canada known to see humans as a potential meal—it was a stark reminder of the unpredictability and dangers that come with such quests. The men with shotguns were there as a necessary precaution, highlighting the reality of the environment where polar bears roam.
But beyond the immediate thrill and danger, what stays with me most are the insights and revelations gained from such experiences. The Arctic, with all its mystery and challenge, reshaped my understanding of the world, its history, and the essence of human progress in ways that words can scarcely capture. There are discoveries and lessons that remain unspeakable, knowledge so rare and profound that it's shared by only a few.
Reflecting on it all, I can confidently say the journey was more than worth it. It's these experiences that enriched my life, broadening my horizons beyond the imaginable.
---------------------------------------------------
This photo? If you know, you know.
===============================
Confusing Hand
creeping
upon this golden star
I call you
the never ending blemish of shame
not yours to burden
until a painful
revival of times past
those of the future of what can
what will
and what could be
trespassing
interfering with your known world
your safe self
still
I cannot recall your confusing hand
reaching with intent
s. madison riley
------------------------------------------------
Beneath the canopy's dark spread,
In Sleepy Hollow, fear embed, I walk alone, my path ahead,
With entities that seek to shred.
No horseman's ghost, no spectral plight,
But shadows cast in darkest night,
They gnaw and tear, with all their might,
Yet onward still, I hold the light.
Alone I stand, with naught to guide,
In this realm where fears reside,
No portrait like Dorian's pride,
Just the path where I abide.
A lone entity, in cosmic gaze,
Lost in this mysterious maze,
Seeking answers in this daze,
Yet met with silence, endless craze.
Despite the wounds, the pain, the strife,
I press on through this endless night,
For I am light amidst the rife,
And to the dawn, I cling, contrite.
They return, with fangs and ire,
To quench their thirst, their dark desire,
But I am more than mere attire,
I am the flame, the eternal fire.
In warmth and glow, I rise once more,
Defying all that came before,
Towards the light, where hopes restore,
To find my home, forevermore.
s. madison riley
---------------------------------
Sacred Visions: Last of the Dodo's
The razor eyes of the mist draw my attention to other thoughts, other lives, other times. Figured flames become the canvas of experiences granted to few.
During sacred and ancient ceremonies, I'm honoured by the presence of the living, the dying and the dead, resurrected only a brief moment. A virgin child is he - a sacrifice of the seduction of the physical and the base.
He's afraid of the shadows and cannot see the stars in the city. He is a long way from his home. At an age not yet consumed with the trials of adolescence, without the hair of maturity, and the voice of a girl is the act of my vision.
I know; because it is ancient and sacred timber wolves frightened by wisps of air that come to tell me this. My thoughts and figures in the flame seduced the wolves on this bitter February night.
"We feel safe with Indian people," they say. There is no safer place for wolves it occurs to me than around Native ceremonies, and rituals I now find myself a part of.
In the rhythmic flames I see; White Eagle. Yes, that is his name White Eagle, he wears no braces, he has no bed, and he is a child. It has been many years since another like I sang and approached by the sacred.
The little people come and I’m sure I’m hallucinating. “Play with us,” they sing, while softly drumming their tiny ornate drums.
Deny the sacred is what I try to do. I think of anything but that which is before me. I reject this simple touch of humble purity, this sacred moment; which is exhausting.
"Reject these visions!" I shall think of anything but that which is before me! Young men my age throw footballs in fields, I tell myself. I have never done this. I have never experienced joy. I shall never do so.
The flames reach out in solitary rhythm, “We feel safe with Indian people.” I stop fighting. All are asleep in the lodge; the night is purple and silent.
I am alone and willingly allow visits from the sacred. I do not know this boy, this White Eagle, yet I am tortured by the visions given to me.
Ojibwa people seem to have forgotten the blood memories that run so strong in the boy’s veins. In fear of his life he ran from the horror, from his own people, he was ostracized.
He is an emotional banshee. An entangled spirit who is not ready for its journey, it startles me. Then a fleeting painful remembrance, while an alchemy of senses breathes, awaiting their final exhaustion.
I receive a note written on birch bark (from whom or what I do not know) in shaky hand script it reads “you my spirit.” A handful of cedar and tobacco fuel the flame of my sacred prayer.
Men with full-headdress sang. Others beat upon drums. There are canoes and he is... he was happy and proud.
His thoughts screaming questioningly, “Why am I abandoned?” He is flame and the snow is silent. A circle I draw in the dirt is now the moon.
The veiled shield is pierced, this blood plague, its sword, savage, precise and slaughtering people of my kind.
The heavy silences of my thoughts scream their own obscenities convinced of their divinity, it’s an aching beat, thump, thump, thump in collusion with my heart.
Listening to the flames a calmness of spirit enters. My body shivers. Everyone’s pain but my own I feel. White Eagle bleeds and soon comes to understand his worth.
The images, more horrific than the one before. I can’t stop them! A stinging quickness, fog, then blackness overcomes him. The camera rolls and his memories of singing, of canoes and of embellished dress are lost.
I chant, sing and cry seeking guidance from his, from mine, from our ancestors. I am without answers. I sometimes lose the questions. I no longer have courage and the warrior spirit.
I'm adrift in mist walking backwards. He will never again visit his relatives on his reservation. I offer tobacco to grandfathers, to the fire and a prayer to the Great Spirit.
An Eagle appears, circles four-times then disappears. White Eagle, the gentle, innocent and magical Manitou is now on his journey.
s. madison riley
--------------------------------------------------
Self Portrait -"Nanaboozhoo" 5' x 6' - acrylic on canvas.
-----------------------------------------------
Tricksters Veil: The Medicine Man's Dance
This is not ritual, but fear's cruel hand,
Loss unaddressed in this toxic substance land.
Summon your own healing, summon your might,
Societal systems won't bring us light.
I embrace the ancestors, those who've passed,
Their pain, their loss, their shadows cast.
Summoning spirits, to bring us home,
To find peace, no longer to roam.
I must capture your pain, the hurts, take your losses,
Sending them north, where they'll be tossed.
Sweet grass burns, cleansing the air,
Sending your burdens, your sorrows to bear.
Ancient methods, no longer seen, known,
Nanabush embracing Wendigo, unseen, alone.
To face it's weapons, gleaming, the pain the medicine man seizes from you,
as he must, there is no other way,
to see, hear, feel and place within, skin.
I won't let you suffer, not alone,
For our pain, our loss, makes us known.
Embracing ancestors, and you with wind,
Rising to the spirit world, where healing begins.
Tears flow freely, as hearts release,
In the smoke of sweet grass, we find peace.
Supported by friends, loves, and losses dear,
We'll be okay, with spirits near,
I must bring for you, here.
Embraced by ancestors, in love's warm light,
We stand strong, against the night.
No shame, no disconnection,we're valued,
we're real, you won't win,
I've seen your deal. I see you.
s. madison riley
---------------------------------------------
"Echinacea" 5' x 6', acrylic on canvas, pvt. collection.
----------------------------------------------------
Vision Quest: Killing the Innocents
Upon the rocks of Northern Ontario,
he found his place, no easy task, which took him over a week to find. He was well prepared for this fast, this quest into his being, into the world around and through him.
Still, it has been since another lifetime when he last was placed upon the earth to pray and reflect.
It is quiet and protectively oversees water.
His place is surrounded by Bear, Moose, Deer, Raccoon, Martens, Beaver, and Wolf situated in a family of cedar trees not yet touched
by the browning disease of the south.
The ground is solid and high; it is here that he decided to go hungry of food and to be nourished with spirit. He can see the stars and breathe the air.
His name is He Who Sees Among the Clouds.
He prepares the fire,
and sets up his tent in case of rain.
He finds a stone and begins unknowingly doodling in the rock an ancient symbolic image.
Slowly and with care each line etched into the granite, each line taking him hours
before going onto the next.
Grind, grind, his thoughts wonder...
Oh how I miss your eyes of mystery and question.
I weep. Your thighs, your chest, your lips, so willing, so...open, to love.
This is a gift; this vision I shall never let go.
There was this curl in your ear lobe,
A cute thing really, that entranced me to see you
I miss you, I was not allowed into your death, but.
You gave me life. You touched my hand and I
Came. You licked your lips and spoke of...
Art.... and I came.
Truth. Oh, please come back.
Let me know you live, let me know.
You are and were valued somewhere, anywhere.
On to the next line in rock he carves.
It curves a familiar shape connected to the straight line before him. A circle is being created repeatedly etched to last many generations.
He seeks from the wind his path of joy, hope, and truth. He sees very beautiful things around him
not making any sense. His eyes not yet blinded by the travails of life.
The fire he has made is now ember, sparkling and talking in rhythm. More wood is placed upon it,
dead wood, discarded wood giving it a new life it’s ashes to be given to the earth again.
He is whirling like a dervish and becomes a part of the wind and no longer hidden. Singing out to spirit.
Seek only within your heart!
Do not hide.
The hidden have no place in a world of vision!
Your beauty is in you, do not slumber! Awake.
He returns to his task upon the rock, finishing the circle, slowly and with patience.
He looks about him.
The sun is going to sleep and the animals come to visit; first the raccoon
followed by the eagle and bear.
He remembers those elders he saw
while driving in a car with a friend,
the friend and elders long since gone from this world but for a moment saying hello.
What did they want? What did they want to say?
The questions of mysteries
only lead to answers that are not there.
It is dead.
The seeking of answers to the question of why,
cuts one off to joy.
Rejoice
in the mystery he tells himself.
Fly; at first unsure,
he knows he is heavy
then realizes he can control his flight.
He soars!
Spinning fast almost uncontrollably
until he surrounds himself
with bright love light,
he is a protected spirit.
He sees death; a loss so profound the shock streams down his gentle brown skin.
They are all blinded
to beauty, to their own beauty,to the beauty of the earth,to the beauty of their life here with our mother, choosing instead death.
He realizes they will all get their wish.
Their beauty is in what they do.
They do not know this.
They can no longer see beauty.
Their love of life and spirit
is leaving them all.
Their love of spirit helps all.
We are dying.
He sees as he is flying the trees no longer are where they once were, water no longer fit to drink, children buried in unmarked graves in the hundreds covered only with lime.
There is brown air and holes above the earth
going to the stars
ripped by space shuttles and satellites
tearing at its fragility.
The fat greasy white man is eating delicacies which are becoming rarer and rarer still,
while others starve scratching at their skin from the diseases of the street for being divine.
There is an imbalance, He Who Sees Among the Clouds acknowledges as he flies into the world.
The greasy man’s skinny wife; her face that of a grotesque false youth on an aged body happily does “charity” work dripping in diamonds
and the blood of children.
Smiling with flashbulbs flashing,
running for AID$ this week, singing for Salmon next.
Together husband and wife create the morality for others to follow.
Others believe that they too can have what they (their role models) have, unaware of the true costs of
such vulgar humanity.
They follow these role models of human hatred into their own graves smiling and
joyfully singing all the way in a celebration of their own death.
He knows they have no right to take him along on this moat of putrid self-hate.
He Who Sees Among the Clouds cannot swim with them.
They will drown.
Children run upon the burnt fields where joy has departed. Blood soaked fields in drought, harvesting food for the conquerors, while descendants of the defeated live in a hospice of false hope.
On return from flight to his place
he continues his rock etching. Inside the circle drawn
are lines that represent water. This is all that is left of the world until the next beings take their place.
Inebriated by spirit he sings to all.
The moon speaks to him with warm soothing light, the fire needs some more wood,
the insects sing, the birds sleep, the animals mate and he gently lays upon the mother ready for sleep.
He is bothered by the wood spirit that comes to him.
Clawing itself out of the ground its arms are sticks, its face is shadow topped with deer antlers,
its body shaped like a wolf with an enormous phallus, and it laughs loudly.
Laughing it begins to shake.
The wood spirit then quickly turns into a grizzly bear. Its fat and fur jiggling as the bear passes wind, which makes it evolve in hysterics.
The man starts to laugh harder and harder until exhaustion overcomes them both.
Nestled beside the bear he sleeps.
The fire burns.
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------------
"Water" 5' x 6' acrylic on canvas. pvt colection.
-----------------------------------------------
The Seer
In forest glades,
Twinkling spirit lights,
I felt warmth, though my name echoed in the night.
Mountains, forests, grandeur's embraced,
I found myself in nature's story, ages old.
Mammoths, tigers, beavers of great size,
Dragonflies, filled the skies.
Trees, trunks thick, brutal,
As I floated towards a stone, massive..
Once outside, the vision became a cave of...
delight, rested, crested
wondering where.
I heard a sigh, in the quiet.
I wear a gown of old,
Tingling, ringing, losing my balance
In a fog, still, unsure, a burst of sun
showing me God.
What's to come, I listened in hunger
With compassion, I felt numb with thirst.
Silent I remained, attaching myself to the sacred
Futures foreseen, through mystic and false veils.
Danger draws near, my mouth sewn
Pain is my constant companion,
My spirit unable to heave
Dreams consumed by leaves, totems, wind
In every form it takes,
Leaves me haunted, the world breaks.
In a house of stone,
Blinded by faith, yet not alone.
Surrounded by the departed, trying to mend,
A broken world, beyond life's end.
The bear runs, the marten screams,
The eagle flies, revealing truths in beams.
Yet, I'm so tired, so terribly tired,
And darkness conspires. Still.
s. madison riley
-------------------------------------------
--------------------------------------------
Jupiter
The blood washes over me
Their screams, their memories, breathe
I am caught pained, seeking solutions
Relieved for generations
I embrace the voices
I gather their fractures and hunt -
For the guide to dissipate the hurts
To offer sustenance, to quicken a balance
I leave this earthly body
Travel into the ether and find its heart
Asking forgiveness
For you, for me, us, us, all
This tiny speck of darkness still palls over me
No longer with power, it simply reminds me
Of a time long ago, wounds healed and losses gained
Virtually silenced by truth of lifetime gains
Its sunshine rises, its moon rises,
And Jupiter can once again rest
Wrapped in the universes’ cloak
Cold, living, warm, and embraced vastness
Humility overwhelms me, gratitude
Unresolved guilt is not given permission
Shame’s entrance is retired
Granting myself the birthright to be, me this sovereign awakening
Gifted to you, to me, an exquisite rarity
Living enchantment, never drowning in falsehood
Its purity, of simply inhaled, exhaled joy.
s. madison riley
-------------------------------------------
"Mourning" Photograph - b/w print. NFS. (background) "Memories" --------Installation, 100's of works, each feather represents a child who died in the residential school system. collection, Woodland Art Gallery & Museum.
-------------------------------------------------
The Climbing Trees
Time clouds your path
Ancestors speak wisdom
Not always heard
Still … I am embraced by story
Together as tribe
We can overcome the sad
Gently, quietly, with reverance
Until joy reigns
As we are spirit
Accept your weakness
I accept mine
Trees climb towards the grandfather
Our grandmother
Listen, they whisper
Your voice is heard.
Speak again-
Within the medicine lodge
My story
It is our history
Our bones, our blood
Strengthen the house of parliament
It is our duty
To find solace, in this…
Filtered abominations.
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------
When you do evil, you ARE evil. Sorry, but that's how it works.
Genocide
Indigenous cultural genocide can encompass a broad range of actions aimed at erasing or suppressing indigenous cultures, including the erasure of indigenous innovation and achievement on both individual and collective levels. This erasure can take many forms, such as denying credit for indigenous inventions, innovations, or accomplishments, suppressing indigenous knowledge systems, or marginalizing indivdual indigenous contributions to society. By disregarding or actively diminishing individual indigenous innovation and achievement, perpetrators of cultural genocide contribute to the erosion of indigenous identity and cultural autonomy.
This is especially evil, or any act that diminishes the contributions and innovations of someone or theft of these creations of an individual in any form. It's demonic. It attacks the gifts given by God and supresses his glory through his chosen ones.
*Irish Erasure is also very real, so much so there are false histories now taught as fact, which can be seen as acts of cutural genocide.
---------------------------------------------------
"Y.M.C.A." B/W Photo Print, on Glossy 8" x 10". NFS.
Trauma
This spirit of disassociation
is one that helps you cope
with life here on mother earth.
You created it, it’s a part of you
and was created for your protection
and in a way out of love.
This Spirit more than anything says,
I want to survive, I want to live,
I am protecting that little boy/girl
within.
This loving Spirit is one of resiliency.
The disassociation Spirit asks
that you honour it and say hello.
It’s a Spirit, or person that was
(and is no longer), that needs
your protection now.
It’s a Spirit that is deserving
of embrace.
Some of the daily exhaustion
you feel is that Spirit
who has been working so hard
for you for so long,
it’s getting tired and needs you now.
It is a Spirit that has protected you
for so long, and now it’s time
for you to protect it.
As you pray, speak to this loving Spirit
and let her or him know,
that you know they are there.
Thank that Spirit, thank that little boy,
that little girl for all that they have done
for you.
Let them know that from now on
you are going to take care of them.
Find them, love them as they’ve loved
and protected you.
You’re big and strong now.
Love the Spirit that has loved you
for all your life.
And as you carry her or him with you,
know that that takes enormous strength,
compassion and a true connection
to The Great Spirit, Chi-Mantou.
Your ancestors are with you.
s. madison riley
"Sundown" 5' x 6' acrylic on canvas. pvt collection.
-----------------------------------------------
Breathe
Breathing within these walls not of my making,
I see before me an empty sky,
Its flames of struggle, brown and putrid,
Yearning to breathe.
I ponder my creation and the creation of others,
Concluding destruction is now the act of creation.
Life, but deaths, consumed blindly
by those without will, without conscience.
Still, there is a knowing,
A sense of purpose and hope we give over to freely,
In the hope that they, our youth, our children,
Will succeed where we so blatantly failed.
We are cruel to place such a burden upon others
When we, who know better, failed.
We create for these spirits of innocence (unintentionally)
The very tools to embrace our darkest humanity.
Yet all is not lost, nor can it be,
As long as there is a baby that cries,
Couples who love, examples of admiring courage,
And the possibility that tomorrow will come.
I speak of these to my own mind
In a rare moment of silence,
Until I again must visit the other place
And embrace their truths.
I cannot abide much longer this momentary visit
To the shore of this Great Lake,
As the heaviness increases;
Its constriction warning me.
I must move on. I inhale my exhaustion and
exhale its memories and pain
To the aether, which will
once again become dissipated in its sustenance.
I look around once more at the water,
The children playing, the dogs barking,
And sympathetically commune with the Sun,
Who in all its immense power.
Tries desperately to break through a deceptively beautiful haze.
Created as we all are to be; to be,
I must go forward in exaltation of all that is,
Could be, and once was.
Silently touching in gentle mists not quite felt,
And smooth single raindrops that appear when the sky is blue,
and the sun shines,
Provoking only a momentary time still.
I float through the squishy squashy offal
Of religious fanaticisms, exclusions motivated by hate,
Stupidity, and spiritual sicknesses of such rot.
I speed my pace through this sewer-like inhumanity of ignorance,
I sense it is engulfed by politics of non-consequence,
Run by the empty gluttonous guts.
There will be a tomorrow...
But today I travel and rest upon a bench,
Gazing at a painting with colors vibrant and stories all around.
It is a painting of 'Madonna and Child'.
By Native American artist Norval Morrisseau,
Clearly done during his Christian period
In which he sought a badly needed peace never granted.
It is this peace that I struggle for so long
To offer those who cannot any longer hear its voice.
So encumbered are they all about me
As the young man beside me on the bench is.
Deep with worry frowning while lost in thought,
I whisper gently; kindness,
Tenderly attempting to remove fear to make room for love.
So many people hate themselves now.
So many people feel without power,
So many believe they are alone without purpose,
Without direction, and disconnected to all.
He is contemplating suicide.
As it seems a logical.
But he doesn’t know how much more he has in his future.
How could he know?
I see him with children, I see him laughing again,
I see him strong and free,
Connected again to the world that he is to change.
And change he will, eventually finding his truth.
But right now he sees nothing, no hope, no future,
Until at just the right moment he lifts his eyes
And directs them towards that young woman,
A stranger to him but shining like crystal.
Who also is without purpose and seeks to be; simply to be.
His thoughts change, he sees hope,
and he walks over to her.
Creating again I do a scene of purity,
For there is no other role, no other source
for me but to be.
I fly without the wind,
Without the sense that once dictated my very self,
For now I no longer believe this rule,
This dream not of my making.
I create my own.
In rhythm I breathe trying to catch the earth’s heave
And I notice she is heavy, she is struggling
more and more each day upon each new visit.
The water is brown, gooey, and sick.
The air is moist with unknown particulate.
The people walk around with heads down,
ashamed at their deeds not yet done.
Who no longer have the strength,
Or the thoughts to heal themselves let alone the earth.
I see the wars and fears upon their faces,
Their ignorance and cowardice rewarded.
While their masters they’ve never met huddle,
Slurping, gurgling, giggling at their power,
Rubbing their hands together
in anticipation of an eventual prize.
While all wilts, this pestilence thrives
Eating upon your fears, your hopes, and your dreams.
Stripping you of your love, of power, your humanity,
And your path to God.
This is the “other” which from time to time I battle,
With you in mind. I’m trying to create this balance
So as not to disrupt the closing of wounds
And prevent the dimming of light.
That will guide you through darkness.
There can be a peace, as we are all around
to ensure this balance,
But you must be at peace traveling that path of glory.
Which will allow you your moment,
Your truth never to be taken and never to be sold.
I cry over this playground of bullies
And see the little one in the corner alone.
And sensitive, who listens to medicinal trees singing to him,
And who freely speaks to the Sun and the Moon,
But at a great personal cost.
For 500 years the dead and the dying have tried to kill him.
To be close to nature, to our humbleness is to be human,
is to be spiritual,
And you have left nature and now she is leaving you.
But she is forgiving and will embrace your nurturing.
Embrace her and you will embrace yourself;
Never to be alone, never to be confused and never to be lost.
s. madison riley
---------------------------------------------
"Self-portrait" 8" x 10", B/W print. ---Your life IS the prayer.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The Arrow
The chariot reigns
supreme
not quite reaching the worlds edges
alone
a single rider, urgent in the blood
soon to pierce an arrow,
through the
sun, to stop the day from departure
s. madison riley
---------------------------------------------
"Cedar" 5'x 6' acrylic on canvas. pvt.collecton.
=============================
Burning
Combing among this sea of drought, harvesting the vestiges of what could be, a flock of lost hopes flying above.
Scratching, grinding upon its malaise, the hate burning my hands, my fingers, my skin, until I glimpse a joyful reflection, saying hello.
I retrieve this gift, examine it to observe, a vulgarity, a trick to disregard my humanity.
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------------------
This is Chuck just walking away from an opponent. He never lost a single fight that I recall. I never missed attending a single professional bout of his.
Hello in There
Above is Chuck, walking away from one of his opponents in one of his many professional bouts.I never missed a single fight of his.
He was alone in Canada at only 20 years old when I first met him, and he had no friends or family in the country. One day, at the gym, I said hello.
He had been in Canada for about 6 months by then and he was very sad. He told me I was the only person who had greeted him since his arrival.
Chuck looked very fit, perhaps intimidating and determined and was coming from Nigeria, but I just saw a boy with eyes full of longing.
For years after, I assisted him as much as I could. He's like a second son to me. He's very gentle, kind, compassionate, respectful and a man with solid critical thinking skills.
Yet, without my first hello, his path may have gone a very different way, rightfully so, as he was treated very badly and in terribly racist ways by some very specific type of people as well.
Today, I couldn't be more proud of him and his achievements and he has independently achieved a great deal. He owns property outright and has a family with children and is very happy. Some people don't need very much, just a little pat on the back, or someone, anyone who cares and they're off to the races. He is one of those people and obviously I still care.
--------------------------------------------------------
"Dandelion", 5'x6' acrylic on canvas, pvt collection.
==============================
The Earthquake in my Bones
her voice is heard
still...
be still
listen,
she moves in the wind
within a song,
gentle drum beating
our mother
her voice is heard
prayer...
life is the prayer
pray,
despair the price
in our dreams
memories,
the child’s eyes
her voice is heard
pain...
she has no pain
she offers spirit power
ceremony and home
empowerment,
this her clarion call
her voice is heard
silent...
a stronger love
empowered,
guiding us now
you will not silence her
she will not be silenced
she is here
s. madison riley
----------------------------------------------
This is one of the songs on my gym workout playlist. Hope you enjoy. I simply could not imagine my life without the gym, (or cycling) it has saved me more times than I can count. You don't have to be a superstar fitness person, I'm most certainly not that, or perfect in everything you eat, but regular exercise has proven to be of amazing value for our overall well-being. I know the world is now all about celebrating the un-healthy, de-humanization and brutalism but don't fall for it. You are sacred. Do not deny the sacred, including your body, it's the temple. Do the best you can and remember we all fail, but as long as we keep getting back up it usually ends up just fine.
--------------------------------------------------------
I need to do more Art, more writing, more painting, I have a need, not a want, but a need to create. I must create. Life gets in the way of so many things sometimes. There IS beauty and I think you can create beauty even in a world that enforces and demands ugly. Here's some of my work, from "The Medicine Series". Red Clover, Sweet Grass and Sage.
----------------------------------------------------
The Quest
In the photo on the left, you'll see me braving the icy expanses of the Arctic. That journey was just one chapter in my lifelong quest for knowledge and connection with other Native healers. Embarking on this path at a very young age, I've dedicated at least four plus decades to exploring and learning, a testament to the demanding nature of a healer's journey. Whether you refer to it as the work of a Medicine Man, a Healer, Holy Man or use the modern term "Shaman" (though it's not a term used by the Ojibwa or Celtic cultures), the commitment is profound and often leads one far from home for weeks, months, or in my case, years.
This particular snapshot captures more than just a moment; it tells the story of adventure and the lengths I went to in my search for deeper understanding. Standing there, far from the safety of the village, with the ever-present risk of encountering polar bears—yes, the only bears in Canada known to see humans as a potential meal—it was a stark reminder of the unpredictability and dangers that come with such quests. The men with shotguns were there as a necessary precaution, highlighting the reality of the environment where polar bears roam.
But beyond the immediate thrill and danger, what stays with me most are the insights and revelations gained from such experiences. The Arctic, with all its mystery and challenge, reshaped my understanding of the world, its history, and the essence of human progress in ways that words can scarcely capture. There are discoveries and lessons that remain unspeakable, knowledge so rare and profound that it's shared by only a few.
Reflecting on it all, I can confidently say the journey was more than worth it. It's these experiences that enriched my life, broadening my horizons beyond the imaginable.
---------------------------------------------------
This photo? If you know, you know.
===============================
Confusing Hand
creeping
upon this golden star
I call you
the never ending blemish of shame
not yours to burden
until a painful
revival of times past
those of the future of what can
what will
and what could be
trespassing
interfering with your known world
your safe self
still
I cannot recall your confusing hand
reaching with intent
s. madison riley
------------------------------------------------
