January 13, 2010 ESSENCE
The Northern Lights Shed Some Light
JASSMINE MAH
April 2009, Yellowknife, 1:00 am
My heart raced, green haze shim-
mered in the deep black sky..
Pierre, one of CANDAC’s North-
ern Experience Program organizers
kindly drove our group of fifteen
wide-eyed adolescent students out
in flocks to a secluded road-side,
away from the city light-pollution,
where the only light around us was
from the quiet sky above. There we
stood, huddled in thick parkas up to
our chins and down to the tops of
our boots, gazing upwards, silently,
spellbound.
We were united by this shared
amazement, despite having met each
other that same morning and having
come from different regions across
Canada. The aurora danced... it blew
like sheets of luminescent sand in the
wind across the sky. A glowing trail
of smoke from horizon to horizon
spun an ever-changing picture, mys-
tical and mesmerizing. Creation sto-
ries of native tribes’ echoed through
my mind, and how years ago and
years to come mankind shares a
strange appreciation for this beauty
we cannot understand.
What shocked me was the point
where I realized that people, liv-
ing here in Yellowknife, sometimes
grew accustomed to the aurora and
regarded it as something ‘same-old’
that is no extraordinary part of life,
which in a way is true. I think that
this is the result of a mindset that
JULIA HUNTER
Fragments Left Behind
I followed the beaten path, wider
than when ancient feet trod it before
mine. The wind swam between
my limbs. Royal blue and emerald
peacocks dipped in and out of the
fading autumn foliage. I tucked a
slithering strand of hair back behind
my ear. Up here, on the fringe of
Beacon Hill Park, the trees slant with
the weight of the wind. This slope,
once covered in thickets of Scotch
broom, unearthed something sacred
and unnoticed.
Upon this grassy knoll rested an
ancient aboriginal cemetery, sacred
to the Songhees First Nation.
Boulder formations are the only
remnants of prehistoric burial cairns
that originally extended from the
top down the southeast slope. These
circular structures centred a balanced
stack of stone where beneath laid a
shallow grave. There were at least
twenty-three of these cairns when
James Douglas arrived in 1843 to
establish “this perfect Eden” as Fort
Victoria; I counted only three that
remain.
I sat on the outer edge of this sacred
circle and gazed into the distance at
the calm sheet of blue whose temper
could change in a minute. Barges
and sails scattered the vast brine.
Nestled between overgrown grass
and thorns, these fungal graves
were littered with cigarette butts,
broken glass, beer tabs and bottle
caps. The person buried here must
have been important considering the
effort needed to build such a large
11
emerges in our society – that after
having an experience once, there is
no need to experience it again. It’s
this realization that caused a signifi-
cant shift in my perspective. I used to
look outside of my current situation
– in an exotic country, or new places,
new things, in order to experience
beauty and appreciation, while for-
getting about what’s already here.
How could I ever be satisfied if I
“
How could I ever be satisfied if I couldn’t
find the beauty and joy in my everyday life?
couldn’t find beauty and joy in my
everyday life? If we let ourselves
become numb to the world through
our routines, this is always going to
happen. There is so much beauty al-
ready around us, especially here in
British Columbia, and a lot to learn
from being aware of the present, and
a lot of this is easy to miss. When is
the last time you intentionally set
time aside to appreciate something
arrangement. Between the other two
burials, I noticed what seemed to
be a few incomplete circles. Sacred
stones had been removed.
Onward led the flattened path,
through small bent trees and tall
beige grass. The plain where ancient
people once wandered now sheltered
the homeless and reeked with the
hot smell of dog shit. Clumps of off-
white berries clustered the bushes
as the sound of traffic and the flap
of a flag congested my ears. I found
myself crossing Dallas Road into a
green opening strewn with charcoal
crows. A group of crows is called a
that happens every day? Some say
grace, some stop to take a breath, or
even just to take the time to really
say hello to another person in a way
that shows care, and is more than
just a habit. By seeing how much
we already have and by taking in
all there is to, naturally there will be
fewer holes to fill. Appreciation and
joy can then become the norm, rather
than the exception.
”
October 2009, University of
Victoria, 7:00 am
I’m once again filled with the es-
sence of fall as I walk to class. The
trees stand in all their fiery colours -
bursts of auburn, green, and rust,
orange-flecked,
dusted with sun-kissed yellow,
Slightly redder, slightly darker
than yesterday.
Sometimes I wonder if you looked
murder; I felt the significance after
smelling shit in sacred space. Before
me stood a totem pole, it seemed to
touch the clouds. A plaque read “The
World’s Tallest Totem”. A seagull
perched itself at the very top, higher
than the first man- a trash scavenger
at the top of the peeling totem pole.
At Finlayson Point, directly
FRAGMENTS OF AN EGGSHELL BY MILA CZEMERYS
below the hill, the path was now
an asphalt pathway- busy with
bikes and joggers. A green sign
with white reflecting paint warned
that this was now an off-leash
dog area. This point was once the
location of a small native village
close enough whether you could
actually see the colours shifting.
The sun illuminates silhouettes
of leaves-behind-leaves like paper
lanterns, and when the wind hushes
through they flutter like butterflies
anxious to depart. Behind, a patched
and defensive site. Another green
sign read “Camping and Beach Fires
Strictly Prohibited”. The presence of
human graves on Beacon Hill and
archaeological evidence found at
the Point- including house remains,
a defensive trench and midden
contents- indicated the village was
a permanent settlement, not just a
short-term camp.
Kelp came in and out with the tide
as I looked at the expensive homes
now lining the horizon. The sun sank
slowly in the sky and played with
diamonds in the water’s reflection. A
little further on, I stopped to examine
misty sky of crisp air, fresh, but
spiced with the smell of fermenting
leaves, pinecones and grass like wine
PHOTO BY JULIA BENNETT
– rich and warm, sweet yet sharp. It
hits the inside of my nose like the
crunch of a cold apple.
what seemed to be a fragment of an
ocean creatures remains. I found the
golden “Made in China” sticker on
the back. I abandoned my findings
and ventured further into a small
bay where the water was calm. This
must have been where the village
was. I stepped past a blown up
ballpoint before passing a crab shell.
What they ate in abundance we now
call fine dining luxury. Another
whiff of dog shit ambushed my nose
as I noticed between the trees was
another wooden staircase back up to
the road.
Half way up, the staircase broke
off into a dirt path between the trees.
There was a rest point a short way up
where I was lucky enough to find the
leftovers of someone’s McDonalds,
a pair of dirty black socks, and a
child’s soiled brown diaper. The
burn in my thighs faded as I finally
emerged from the incline of shrubs.
I crossed back over the road and
made my way back up the sacred
slope. There was another green
bench a little ways up, this time the
letters A-S-S were spray painted
across it in black. With my eyes to
the ground, I continued up the hill
passing a stained retainer lost in the
grass. I halted myself a couple paces
after and thought that the retainer
resembled the complete top set of
a humans teeth. I wanted to take a
closer look. When I returned to the
same location, I searched for what I
saw only a moment ago in time but
I couldn’t find it. What I had once
walked past and ignored was now
gone forever.