Being White - Being Aboriginal

I've been reading this somewhat interesting book entitled Being White recently, as I explore issues of race, culture, and identity, and what it really means to be white. So much of white identity and culture is assumed and rarely discussed beyond Stuff White People Like's assertion that because of my pigmentation, I inherently love Wes Anderson movies and moleskine journals. (Okay, yes, this is true). Because I am not content in this lacklustre understanding of self, I have been searching and exploring for more depth and meaning. This journey has brought this book into the forefront, and has challenged my view of self, others, displacement, and implicit/overt racism. While the book is definitely written from a Caucasian-American perspective, it dawned on me that issues of ethnicity wrestled with south of the border, often in unnoticed realms to the predominant culture, are quite lively and subversive here as well. A wall of dominoes began to fall for me as I did an exercise of identifying elements that were foundational in my upbringing. From something as simple as hockey.

My family was a hockey family.

We played hockey, followed hockey, watched hockey.

I learned to play hockey when I was seven.

I learned to play hockey when I was seven in a town called Oshweken.

Oshweken is the main city of the Six Nations of the Grand River Reserve.

This is the largest aboriginal reserve in Canada.

I didn't know what Oshweken meant.

I didn't know what nations comprised the Six Nations.

I grew up in Brantford, beside the largest aboriginal reserve in Canada, learned how to play hockey there, and yet still didn't know anything about the peoples, nations, languages, cultures, beliefs.

So. I'm rectifying this.

I'm owning being a White-French-English-Canadian-Christian, and I'm getting to know my neighbours.

Thee Christmas Mix Tape (2010)

Badgerland Records Presents...

Merry Christmas! If you listen carefully, you'll find Davey Von Stone as he journeys into the far reaches of outer space, with an angelic chorus, helping heal the mechanical heart of a lonely space drone. For real.

I love making Christmas music!

This skin that I am in

There's a new look to the blog, to reflect the new direction of thought, contemplation, reflection, discovery, and musing. I am a caucasian male, born into this skin, this culture, this time, this identity, and I am attempting to make sense of the multi-ethnic, multi-cultural world that I have been blessed into. I have worn these clothes, listened to this music, appreciated these games, enjoyed these stories, and so on, without being able to fully identify what draws it all together. How would I name myself, if given the chance? What happens when you discover that multi-culturalism is not a culture, and living in a multilingual country means nothing if we don't know what the other person is saying to us?

This is what happens: You discover a place of identity crisis. A place with more questions than answers at this point.

And so, I am endeavouring to figure this thing out, with the aid of the Spirit that leads people into new lands, to new peoples, to new foods, with new languages. To confront and name the lies and unbelief that have been woven for centuries into my archetypal reference. To explore and believe that I was made like this on purpose - of this culture, of this colour - made in his image and likeness; in the image and likeness of God.

As were you.

Helene and Jacob - Efter brylluppet

I don't need The Social Network to convince me to leave Facebook

The People's Republic of Gino Reda

I went on a little trip this summer to help run a Conversational-English Immersion Camp. But not everyone knows that a certain someone also went travelling to far off parts with me. Who would have thought that he was so photogenic while not on "That's Hockey"?

Ladies and Gentleman: Gino Reda.

Outside of the hotel in Beijing, Gino stands guard.

Where is he? Yep, paying respects at the Altar of Heaven

Not content to be inactive in the offseason, Gino decides to climb the Great Wall. In record time. Thus begins the legend of Gino Reda amongst the locals.

My roommate in the camp had a pet turtle that roamed the floor day and night. Gino was not shaken.

Enjoying the hospitality and lodgings of the Grasslands.

In one fateful moment, two symbols of great power stood face to face. Only one could stand, and only one did. On that day, men of all ages began to grow moustaches with all the willpower they could muster.

a sacred spoken word

Like a newborn child
I am learning a new language,

and breaking in a fresh pallet.
I have spoken it before, though lost my voice;

lost it in my wanderings

and forgot it in my homecomings.

The tongues of messengers

speaking inaudible or unintelligible librettos,

resonate truer to the harmonious kingdom pitch.

These were familiar - now foreign -

to be discovered anew, in belief,

by a fresh faced novice thrust from the monastery.

Oh! In exalted, exclamative, reflection

I discipline the unruly horses of untamed thoughts.

To focus on the divine an hour,

would be to bring my lost belongings home.

"Oh, simplest of prayers be found on my lips continuously."

Welcome Home Run On

I've been gone for a long time. Feels pretty good to be honest. I'm trying out a new format for the old blog. Curious for comments. The background is the view from my bedroom window at night. It's remarkable really, even though I do not quite enjoy the cement jungle. The new place, around Church and Carlton, is fantastic for hosting students and changes like no other neighbourhood I have ever lived in, depending on the time of day. I said hello to two prostitutes on my walk home last night. Working one minute from my doorstep. Saw another farther down Church St. It's a broken neighbourhood, and it does better hiding it during the day.

First it was Hamilton. Then camp. Then Toronto. Then the one country in the world I never wanted to visit. Now downtown Toronto.

There are so many places that the Spirit has invited me to go to, and never in my old life's wildest dreams did I want or think to go there. There was no desire. But I did, and I found life. My heart changed and I saw resurrection.

So now, in this moment, this is my calling's destination. This is my new home.