In and Through, Towards the Source

UPDATED - MARCH 14, 2021

I often lived climbing up, and diving off the many landscapes which make up the fringes of total experience. Here, on the far outside is where I thought all forms of experience lay. However, in the last year, I have slowly been making my way towards the center of where all of my felt experience comes from. The exploration of my inner landscape mirrored my exploration of my journey into new outer landscapes.

As we launched out boat from the medicine camp at Xeni Gwet’in First Nations, the first direction we point our boat towards was the western east-facing mountains. On the mountains were remnants of a wildfire in the early 2000s that stripped away most of the trees. Dried, skinny poles of once thick, green towers of life now cover most of them mountain. However, a beautiful display of rejuvenation is simultaneously occurring; a new generation of trees are growing alongside their charred ancestors. Integrity, determination, and possibly Tsilhqot’in stubbornness are now more visible than ever on the side of a mountain facing where the sun rises.

Continuing our journey down the nearly 70 kilometre lake, we witnessed the rising saturation of life, which took shape in new species of trees, larger rock faces, and of course the brightening of the beautiful turquoise water beneath us. I felt as if our Mother Earth created these wondrous displays in a trance of ultimate creativity, spinning around, singing, “how blue can I make this blue?”, “how green can I make these greens?”, and “”how big can I make these mountains?” As we traveled further, I saw the seamless addition of tree species. Beautiful neon green Hemlocks began to neighbour giant Firs, Cottonwoods, and Aspens. Crisscrossing the green textures were crystalline streams of fresh glacier water. Sprinkled throughout the lake are small streams where different water begin to mix. However, the larger the stream, the more nutrients it brings, bringing the mixing event to a colorful display of underwater foggy concurrence.

For our drinking water, we boated up towards a a gentle creek, and I held it under the many little waterfalls peaking out of the foliage. Such freedom to lean out and fill a water jug with crystal-clear water.

It was a gentle, warm sunset when we reached the island. Walking out from the trees from the north-facing side of the island towards the south-facing side, I was astonished at what I saw. The resting winds gave way to the wholly experience of hearing the moment my breath was taken aback. Two, massive glaciers sit nestled in the background of a crest of smaller mountains at lake-level. The striking visual kaleidoscope of dark, rocky alpine, white and blue glaciers, green foliage, and turquoise blue water is an image that will forever be imprinted into my spirit.

This is the location where our Tsilhqot’in live-giving systems is saturated most.

The Source.

Looking south.

The northern glacier sits highest, and has more water at its peak, sites facing east and south. The southern glacier, though, has a peculiar formation. The mountain is split and carved directly down the middle. A striking example of the slowly-streaming wall’s of frozen potential.

However, the glaciers are but only 1% of the breath-taking visual stimuli that is visible from the island. Each shore of the island brings in a new, gigantic show of our Mother Nature’s creativity. On the east-facing shore, you’ll see a mountain with scars of land and rockslides, looking north you will see the 50 kilometers of water and valleys that make up the typography. Looking south you will see more alpine and hints of glacial topped mountains.

the spirit of the land merges with my spirit, and I feel like I am coming home.

Looking northwest.

Looking east.

We were told the story of the inception of the medicine camp on the island. Gilbert Solomon, along with Edmund Faubert and his son David, spent years building the infrastructure for ceremonies. They, with very little help of machinery, built fences, an outhouse, a sweatlodge, firepits, and a tent to hold food and bunkbeds. One of the ceremonial spaces, the sweatlodge, is situated near the shore of the glacier-facing side of the island. The sweatlodge’s door faces directly towards the glaciers, channeling the power of the Tsilhqot’in’s Source directly. Dotted throughout the island are two fire pits, each of which are supported by walls of rocks. The camp’s energy is mirrored but the amount of work it would have been to create such a place. Every single rock placed with intention, the direction of every entrance, the location of ceremonial sites. All in place for appreciation of the sacred.

On another trip to the island in the following weeks, Gilbert taught us something that forever changed my relationship with the world. We stopped the boat in front of a glacial stream. The bright, turqouise blues we were so used to floating over met a cloudy grey fog in the water. Gilbert’s granddaughters couldn’t believe how water could change so drastically. And as his granddaughters were in awe, he would say something that would change my entire perception of what our Tsilhqot’in identity is. “‘Tsi,’” he began, “means ‘rock. ‘Lhut’ means ‘glacier’, ‘Qoz’ means ‘mixing of the water’, and ‘t’in’ means ‘people of’’. Tsilhqot’in is an amalgamation of four different words that creates the phrase:

PEOPLE OF THE GLACIAL ROCK MIXING IN THE WATER.

For most of my life, I was told that Tsilhqot’in only meant “people of the river”, however, that too, was an outer-rim, surface-level understanding of our own identity. Gilbert continued to explain why we were named this name. He continued by stating that the fresh water meets the fishing eating the minerals from the glacier. In in one spot of constant change and replenishment, we have food and water.

Every instance afterwards, when we would pass through the Tsilhqoz, I would power my arm into the water, and wait until the foggy grey, moving slow as clouds, reaches my arms. In that moment, I have never failed to feel alone, because in those spots, where the glacial rock mixes in the water, is where we come from.

I believe we need to go to the source of our inner landscape in order to truly see the outer landscape for what it is; paradoxically, it is also our inner landscape. When our next generations physically see, smell, and touch the space where our identity comes from, we will see why it is so important to the life-giving systems of our culture. And therefore, we give our entire existence a meaning: to honour and protect these sacred places.

Honor with ceremony. Protect with sacrifice.

We cannot protect and honor something in which we haven’t felt existential meaning from, let alone see pictures of.

As Tsilhqoxt’in people, we need to make it an annual tradition to have ceremonies and camps on the island. It needs to be accessible for elders and families with young children. We need to create the infrastructure while embodying the reason we’re sacrificing ourselves to do this:

meaning, healing, and building.

Trails to new ceremonial sites by the waterfalls and glaciers need to be built, and these sites to be accessible to as many Tsilhqot'ins as possible.

Imagine now, boat by boat, new generations of Tsilhqot’in hearing the same story I heard from Gilbert, while wading their arms in the water that is them. Imagine now, an inspired generation of Tsilhqot’in youth creating a movement to protect and solely manage every peak that graciously and unconditionally provides water to Tsilhqox Biny (Chilko Lake). These youth will be powered by the newfound passion for ceremony on our lands, the sacred plant medicines, and the rejuvenation of Tsilhqot’in identity. Imagine now, a forest healing from a fire.

Let’s discover this future. Together.

Gilbert Solomon bringing his granddaughters to dadaben nu (medicine island) for the first time.

Gilbert singing to Lhut.

Edmund Faubert showing Lisa Charleyboy, Helen Haig-Brown, and Clayton the phenomenal rock walls that face Tsilhqox Biny.