not so much a blog

February 1, 2010. I think.
Sheila is falling asleep beside me; the television is on Cold Case. The lights are off and Ihve just eaten two hazelnut chocolate balls.
I was falling asleep myself, or so the theory went, but my mind was meandering down paths that made me think of writing. Only o fcourse I don't know now about what.
One fo the thmese of the meandersing was my name. many spirits. zil'hal'ay. i was emembering that ceremony, in moricetown in 1992 theresa had brought them, lakota shamans whose ritual required that there be absolutely no light at all in the community hall. i was sitting by myself, i think. theresa was welcomoing them. there was quite a turnout from the village: iw as surprised. outside the door were crhistians with bible sayings about ...oh about heathens or something. maybe the devil. white peole with the bible,s in my memory, but mayb e that is only because i canot reconcile an aboriginal fundamentalist christian.
even though theresa is a catholic...
gordie and uke and the other boys in town put green plastic bags over all the windows. and of courrse it was at night. it must have been summer though, the evenings long outside.
i don't remember much ab out the ritual. they were across the room and at the far end from where i was. i was at the other end, leaning against a post, sitting on the floor. i say a post, but that's not right. i both remember having my back against the wall and that there woere other women behind me, and to make both possible i put in a post.
i do remember the invocation of the grandmothers. and from my left, out ofthe darkness but part of the darkness grew in my mind came voice and vision : many spirits. there was a rustle, like a corn broom brushing against the wall, and nothing more. many spirits.
i am as certain as of any other fact i know that a grandmother was there, among many, an dthat her gift to me was my name.
in the light,after, i was embarrassed by the experience. i felt like the white girls who is sure she is descended from pocahontas. i didn't want to have to explain it.
but i had to tell theresa. this was the gift of my name. i was going to be adopted, and i would get a name. but i had been given my name, i could not spurn the gift, not and be there with any authenticity.
i didn't manage to tell theresa till we were on the road to the airport. i told her the story. and i told her i had been afraid to tell her the story, and why. then i said: i [ \a synapse, memory lacuna/ ]
it was something like this: something like, even if you don't believe me i know it is true. and with that she did believe me. and that is how i got my name.