Joy Harjo has a lifetime of experience with the burden of shame, and possesses full knowledge of historical trauma, not just the tribal history but her personal history. Right from the start of the new memoir, Poet Warrior, her theme is, “Let go that which has burdened your family … or disturbed your soul (3).” When she faced the legacy of shame, “it can linger for years, generations (29),” in this instance, from physical abuse by her father, she found a transcendent courage and a way out. How does she achieve this transcendence? “Grow poetry in the debris left behind by rage (47).” Many things were tried before she came to be a poet, a nursing career, alcohol to deaden the pain, church (which she left).
I’ve often seen elements of magical realism in Joy’s writing, a style associated more with the Latin writers such as Isabel Allende and Gabriel Marquez, supernatural phenomena presented in an otherwise real world setting; “she called on the panther,” climbed on its back (90); and fought abduction by demons with the help of a Four Corners medicine man (116); she has a meeting with the Council “made up essentially of Old Ones” when she arrives at a crossroads in her life (144).
This book is a good source for obtaining a good understanding of Native American spiritual traditions. One that is nearly universal, a part of my northern Canadian Ojibwe heritage, is “the fire inside.” “Tend your relationship with the Creator, begin every morning tending this fire… (76),” guidance that echoes almost word for word what Manitoulin Island Ojibwe elder Lillian taught us, “Each of us carries a fire within. Whether it’s through the knowledge we have, or through our experiences and associations, we are responsible for maintaining that fire.” Her parents would say, at the end of the day, “My daughter, how is your fire burning?”
This spirituality is a more personal one, an inner relationship of communion with the Spirit or the Creator, quite distinct from ritual observances like the Sun Dance or the sweat lodge which both often involve physical endurance, an ordeal of suffering.
She also tells the reader of the Muskoke-Creek tribe’s version of the seven Original Instructions, a tradition shared by many tribes. Who gave them is lost in ancient legend although they originate with Creator.
Joy’s wisdom, poetry and her memoir help me deal with the shame unhealed in my family. I myself have often buried it and it has not been confronted honestly in a healing way. But it is no good burying it. To have more love, to learn how to love more deeply and sincerely, we have to let the shame flow out of our hearts, not remain stagnating in a deep well blocked by stones. Growing “poetry in the debris” has also become a way for me to transcend the shame.