we gathered in a room decorated, for learners, all indications spring presumptuous; scholars, thee united front unto global unity. exposed here is naivety; a harsh outlook, maybe, maybe that space could hold such knowledge; time tasked to sanitize. the master of ceremonies starts, revealing; reconciliation is in the works – bear with us.
but before that, right hand, left of your chest, face the flag, white, red – the flute and clarinet bellow. fwee-fwee, boo-boo, melody follows, words confiscating, rechristening space, the room follows, collectively chanting; oohhh kkkanada, our home and native land, and so on and so forth…
the master of ceremonies mutates from gusto to somber, dictating a land acknowledgement, learn it as best as you can, the remark hangs. the acknowledgment, that is. swiftly tucked away, scrambled, refusing ingestion, the unpalatable skewed intentions simmer, cream atop milk. the acknowledgment's shadow presses on, and with all might, the master of ceremonies swallows the shadow. miscalculating, equating its essence to the linings of his lips, tip his tongue, proven cage of deceit, the recipe for continued disenfranchising for settlement. now, the master of ceremonies signals for bearing with the lingering emotions of discomfort, the unfulfilled remorse.
outside, plastered on the walls, posters demand justice for indigenous children and families. anyone confused about the land reference please visit; https://www.whose.land/en/ … continues the master of ceremonies, swiftly, failing, yet again shelving nativeness to a past disagreement amongst people; orienting us in the settler present willing to sensitively revisit these historical points of misjudgement.
the masking ceremony commenced, us, initiates uninformed, streamed along. swimming in deceitful swallows we streamed along.
only a few noticed as the mask suffocated the master of ceremonies, all exhibitions, heavily reliant on stolen breath strokes. the mask’s purpose, only partially fulfilled, the disoriented muffled sound escapes it, exposing the nuances within the master of ceremonies’ untamed emotions. for death without life summons impending doom.
through it all land remains, recalling, yearning and grieving for its steward, seas recount their ancient sailors, and the sky refuses to fall at the master of ceremonies’ feet.
nature’s womb holds the stories relinquished to time in memorial. rejected by the land, swallowed by the seas, exposed by the skies, scotched by the sun and blistered by slashing ice – all the master of ceremonies does is bear a contemporary mask.