Wednesday, December 27, 2017

NOODIN ~ Cultural Story Teller, Educator, Speaker, Author

James B Beard aka Noodin

Cultural Story Teller, Educator, Speaker, Author 

You are invited to visit my site.

 I hope you will enjoy the books and services offered here:  James B Beard aka Noodin @ www.northeastcultural.com




Behind me, in the photo, is the Grand Monadnock Mountain. It is the most climbed mountain in the Americas with more than 100,000 climbers each year. It is more than that. It is a spiritual gathering place for people. I often refer to her as Mona and she is my friend. Her Native American name is moniadenak and means At Silver Mountain. I live here on this mountain at Monadnock State Park. In the park I am a Park Ranger, Interpreter/story teller, Camp Host and Wilderness Responder. I maintain an area of the park to honor this special place with a ceremonial fire, medicine healing lodge and areas for native and cultural gatherings. These things are done to protect Mona.

My first book, White Mocs on the Red Road ~ Walking Sprit in a Native Way, is uniquely presented to aid people in gaining insight to the mysteries of the Elder teachings of the Traditional Native American.



Articles I write are about experiences that have occurred as I walk this path called life. These experiences are enhanced by the influence of Native American traditional teachings.

Storytelling at Grand Monadnock
As a Story Teller I offer insight to cultural values and personal ethics to aid people in finding ways to improve their lives. The intent of my work is to encourage awareness of cultural enrichment and protection of the environment.


My white heritage is enhanced by ancient teachings we all once had. I walk a red road in order to better understand the original teachings of all people. You are welcome to visit me at Monadnock State Park in Jaffrey, New Hampshire on Mt. Monadnock.


Article by James B Beard aka Noodin



James B. Beard aka Noodin is the author of  "White Mocs on the Red Road ~ Walking Spirit in a Native Way". Uniquely presented to aid people in gaining insight to the mysteries of the Elder teachings of the Traditional Native American.

You can own this book electronically (click) >>> EbookIbookNook BookKindle Fire



Sunday, December 24, 2017

Spirit is always with us!

LOOK ! LISTEN ! FEEL ! SENSE !

 

DID THAT JUST HAPPEN ?

Spirit is always with us! You already know this.  I do not know a whole lot and certainly do not hold pretense that I understand the presence of Spirit. I am only a man walking a journey in this realm.



I do know this. There are moments when Spirit chooses to appear to us and, for me, they are not happenstance. I believe that Spirit will show a sign or act as a guide in a time when there is need. Our task becomes a challenge to understand the message.


Many years ago when I was still a young father in my late twenties I had such a visit, or I should say, my second oldest daughter had a visit. It was around midnight and everything was silent through the house. My oldest daughter was ten and sleeping soundly in her room. I awoke and went to the bathroom. Our bedroom had a bathroom connected to the master bedroom and, knowing my way, I did not use a light. As I re-entered the master bedroom I noticed the whole room was filled with light. Not a light of lamps but almost like daylight only with a white hew. My wife awoke and said to turn the lights off. I answered that I did not have any lights on. At that moment I could see a light coming toward me down the hallway from my youngest daughter’s bedroom. She was three at the time. It was like a white globe and put out a tremendous amount of light. My three year old was following it toward our room. As my daughter approached me the light disappeared. I picked up my young one and put her back in her bed. The next morning, sitting in the kitchen having my morning coffee, I asked my wife if she remembered the light in the room. She did not but she remembered my being up and moving around. I told her what I had witnessed and we kind of put the incident aside with no real answers. The existence of Spirit was not a reality in my world at that time in my life. My daughter had no memory of the incident either. I often have remembered that moment and thought my daughter seemed to have some sort of a Spirit presence watching over her. Maybe she was visited by an ancestor or angel or Spirit friend. Kids sometimes tell of these things.



Last summer my daughter, now in her mid thirties, was out biking on a path in the foothills in Colorado. She loves to do marathon bike rides among many other outdoor activities. Her one big hang up in this world is snakes. She hates them and cannot even stay in a room if there is a picture of one on TV or in a magazine. Not an unusual thing to fear snakes. While she was riding she came down a path and around a turn. On the path in front of her was a large rattle snake lying across the path. She posted this incident on Facebook that day. “I ran into a snake on the path today but I am okay”. I read her post and knowing of her fear I immediately phoned her to make sure she was okay. She asked me if I remembered the ball of light I had witnessed when she was a little girl. When I affirmed the memory she told me, “When I turned the corner and saw the snake, a ball of white light appeared and guided me past the snake.” Thank you Spirit for what you do watching over my little girl.
 
We presume we know so much when we actually know so little.
Article by James B Beard aka Noodin




James B. Beard aka Noodin is the author of  "White Mocs on the Red Road ~ Walking Spirit in a Native Way". Uniquely presented to aid people in gaining insight to the mysteries of the Elder teachings of the Traditional Native American.

You can own this book electronically (click) >>> EbookIbookNook BookKindle Fire

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

You can say!


Poem By James B.Beard aka Noodin





You can say you are a man or a woman
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are white, red, yellow or black
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are a republican or a democrat
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are a soldier or a nurse
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are a christian or a buddhist
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are blue collar or white collar
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are a farmer or a priest
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are pretty or ugly
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are rich or poor
That’s not who you are.

You can say you are one with the creation
That is who you are.

No more! No less!.




James B. Beard aka Noodin is the author of  "White Mocs on the Red Road ~ Walking Spirit in a Native Way". Uniquely presented to aid people in gaining insight to the mysteries of the Elder teachings of the Traditional Native American.

You can own this book electronically (click) >>> EbookIbookNook BookKindle Fire

Saturday, December 16, 2017

Angus of Manitoulin Island


This is what he told me!


Author James B Beard a.k.a. Noodin

Nishnung and I were traveling to see Gordy Wenshiban at Sheguiandah First Nation on Manitoulin Island in Ontario Canada. We drove most of the night from The Grand Monadnock in New Hampshire and arrived just before sunrise. Gordy invited Nishnung to be the chief fire keeper for a traditional powwow that he was hosting. We were just in time to light the fire. Some of the Elders were already at the fire area waiting as we entered. I smudged the area and the people with sage and helped a man named John to prepare the fire for lighting. Nishnung and Gordy led the ceremony and the fire was lit. My work would be to help take care of the fire for the next four days.

People began to arrive and would come by the Fire to offer their prayers in tobacco to the creator and spirit world. Many of them spoke only Ojibwe as they came by. This place is a traditional community and the language of the people is still spoken here.    Nishnung knew almost everyone as they came. I had only visited this community one time before and only knew a few of the people. The other fire keeper working with me would be John Keon. John and I spent most of the day and much of the night talking and coming to know each other. We would take turns resting while keeping the sacred fire.

On the morning of the second day more people began to come by. Many were from neighboring communities and others were Metis people. The Metis are a people of French ancestry that came into the Ojibwe tribes as far back as the 1500s. They were French Portage and trappers who came to live amongst the Ojibwe people.

At about noon a van pulled up near the fire. A powered wheelchair was unloaded and an old Man got out of the van and into the chair. All of the people nearby came up to greet him. Only the Ojibway language was spoken. He was obviously a very respected elder of the community.

I asked John who that man was. He told me that is Angus and he is in his 90s. I could tell by the way the people honored him that he was indeed a highly respected elder. Many of the old elders avoid contact with light-skinned people from the outside so I kept my distance.

At the grand entry Angus would be the lead elder in the entry dance. Lead dancers came in first Carrying tribal staffs with Eagle feathers instead of flags. This is the old way!

I avoided coming near where Angus was for the rest of the day out of respect for his traditional ways. He must have stayed in one of the tipis’ during the night.

I was on the fire that night and was thirsty so I went over to where there was a water spicket to get a drink. It was right at sunrise and next to the spicket was an electrical outlet. As I was getting my water Angus came up behind me in his electric wheelchair and plugged it in to the electrical outlet.
I turned to him and said Boozhoo, (hello). He answered mino gezheb, (good morning). Aunnii azhinikazug, (who are you?). I answered Noodin indizhinikaz, My name is wind.
There was a silence for a moment. My Language fluency in Ojibwe is limited and I did not want to offend him by speaking English.

Angus then spoke to me in English and began to tell me a story.

“When I was a boy I lived here with my two older brothers, my younger sister and my mother and father. We followed the old ways. In those times many of the people we’re becoming Christians. All of the people were told that they needed to follow the Christian faith of the Catholic long black robes. Periodically, the Christians would do an inspection of the homes of the traditional people. They would look to see if the homes were habitable and if they found anything wrong they would take the children away. One time they came to my home and took my two older brothers away. Later they came back and they took my father away. I could not understand. We were happy together.

A year later The long black robes came by again and this time they took my sister and me. I was about eight years old at that time. They took us to a big stone building on the mainland they said was a school. I could not speak English at the time, I only spoke Ojibwe.

We were gathered in a large hall with many other children from different communities. We were told to take all of our clothing off and to put it in a pile in front of us. The boys and girls did this together.          They then hosed us down and washed us. Then they lined us up standing there naked and a nun started talking to us in  English. Most of us could not understand what she was saying. Those that could understand told us that we were only to talk English and we would be given new clothes and a new name. We would cross the great hall to a table at the end of the hall and then a nun would hand us our new clothes. And we were led to another room and a nun cut all of our hair off. I remember crying and being afraid to say anything. I said miigwich, (thank you) and the nun swatted at me and said use only English.

The next day they brought all of us out in front of the big stone building. In front of us laid all the clothing and items that we had brought along with the hair they had cut off of us. The black long robe started talking to us and lit the pile on fire as we watched. Then they lined us up and gave each of us English names.

It was a long time before I could speak English or understand it. One day they heard me say something in Ojibwe to a friend. The nun grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into a room. She tied me down on a table and beat me with a willow stick. She yelled at me and kept me there for a few days. They did terrible things and I wished I was dead.

One time I was in the schoolyard playing with my friends. I heard someone call out my name in Ojibwe. The voice came from far away. There was another brick building on the other side of the field. It was said to hold the crazy people. It was an insane asylum. I looked in that direction and saw a man looking through a window that had bars on it. The man was my father. That was the last time I ever saw him. They said he was crazy because he would not give up his old ways.

After I left that place I went to Toronto and did odd jobs. I couldn’t understand Ojibwe anymore. I could only speak English. I drank a lot so after awhile I couldn’t work. I spent those years living on the street. Sometimes people would try to get me sober but it never lasted very long. Then a few years ago I came back here. Gradually I got my language back and stayed sober.”

While he spoke I didn’t say a word. He looked at me and said mino giizhigud, (it is a good day). I answered Gegit, (definitely) mino giizhigud, (it is a good day).

He turned his wheel chair around and went up the path.

“To be centered is to stand alone together” Noodin