Tag: art

Living Between Two Worlds

Honoring tradition while walking forward

There is a quiet tension that many of us feel but don’t always talk about. We are living between two worlds.

One world is built from tradition — from the voices of our elders, from the stories passed down around kitchen tables, from the knowledge that came long before we were born. It is the world that shaped our identity. It tells us who we are, where we come from, and what we carry forward.

The other world is modern, fast, and constantly shifting. It runs on technology, deadlines, opportunity, and adaptation. It asks us to move quickly, to compete, to evolve, and to take advantage of what is in front of us.

And sometimes, standing in the middle of those two worlds can feel like being pulled in opposite directions.

But I’ve been thinking: maybe the goal isn’t to choose one over the other. Maybe the real work of our generation is learning how to hold both at the same time.

We don’t have to abandon tradition to succeed in a modern world. And we don’t have to reject progress to honor our culture. The strength comes from merging the two with intention — with love, honor, and respect.

Tradition is not a cage. It’s a compass.

It doesn’t exist to keep us stuck in the past. It exists to guide how we move forward. The teachings of our culture — respect for community, respect for land, respect for elders, respect for one another — are not outdated values. If anything, they are exactly what the modern world is starving for.

Working in today’s world doesn’t mean leaving our identity behind. It means carrying it with us into every space we enter. It means remembering that success is not just measured by money or status, but by how we treat people and how we contribute to something bigger than ourselves.

When we tap into what is in front of us — new tools, new careers, new ideas — we’re not betraying tradition. We are expanding the story. We are proving that culture is not fragile. It is alive. It grows with us.

The key is intention.

If we walk forward without forgetting who we are, modern life becomes an extension of tradition, not a replacement for it. Every opportunity becomes a chance to represent our values. Every success becomes something we carry back to the community, not something we keep for ourselves.

That’s where the merge happens.

It happens when we pursue growth without losing humility.
When we chase opportunity without forgetting gratitude.
When we innovate while honoring wisdom that came before us.

We are not meant to live divided. We are meant to be bridges.

Bridges between generations.
Bridges between old knowledge and new tools.
Bridges between where we come from and where we are going.

And maybe that is one of the most important roles we can play — to show that tradition and modern life are not enemies. They are partners. They can walk side by side.

If we lead with love, honor, and respect, we don’t lose anything. We gain a fuller way of living.

We become proof that culture is not something you leave behind to succeed. It is the foundation that makes success meaningful.

And that might be the real balance we are searching for.

Not choosing one world over the other —
but learning how to stand strong in both.

— Alex

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Rediscovering My Roots: A Tsimpsean Journey

“Rediscovering Heritage: A Journey of Tsimpsean Pride and Culture”

My name is Alex Atkinson Jr., and I am proud to be a member of the Tsimpsean people, with the Killer Whale as my crest. My journey of discovering our rich heritage and roots has been both a deeply personal and communal experience, filled with moments that have shaped my understanding of who I am and where I come from.

Growing up in Metlakatla, Alaska, I was surrounded by the stories and traditions of our people, yet there was a gap that longed to be filled—the absence of our language in our schools. It wasn’t until I graduated that our language was reintroduced into the school system. I am profoundly thankful for this change, as it represents a new generation that is now learning and embracing our culture, stories, songs, and dances. This revival is like a soothing balm for my soul, a connection to my ancestors that I had yearned for.

Whenever I attend a gathering and hear our traditional songs, or see the pride and joy on the faces of those singing and dancing, it stirs something indescribable within me. These moments often bring tears to my eyes—tears of pride, joy, and a heartfelt recognition of our enduring spirit. It’s a sensation that words can hardly capture, a profound sense of belonging and heritage.

I vividly remember my grandparents speaking our language, their voices weaving the sounds of our ancestors into everyday conversation. As a child, I was always fascinated by this, and it planted a seed of curiosity and respect for our linguistic heritage. Today, I am determined to learn our language, to honor those who came before us, and to ensure that this vital part of our identity is preserved and passed down.

The songs, dances, and stories of our people are not just cultural artifacts; they are living expressions of our history and values. They teach us about resilience, community, and the natural world. By embracing these traditions, I feel connected to my roots and empowered to walk in the footsteps of my ancestors, honoring their legacy with every step.

It is my hope and mission to continue this journey of learning and sharing. I want to see our language flourish, to hear it spoken by young and old alike, and to witness the continued celebration of our culture through song and dance. This journey is not just mine; it is a collective effort to remember and honor the trails blazed by those who came before us.

In doing so, we ensure that the wisdom and beauty of the Tsimpsean people endure for generations to come. It is an honor to be part of this community, and I am committed to upholding the values and traditions that define us. My journey of discovery is a testament to the strength of our heritage and the unbreakable bonds that connect us all.

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Live with a Passion

“Rooted in Kindness: Clara’s Blooming Legacy”

In a small, sunlit town, there was a woman named Clara. Clara’s passion wasn’t rooted in grandiose dreams or lofty ambitions, but in the simple yet profound joy of connecting with her community. Every morning, she’d rise with the dawn, her heart alight with purpose.

Clara’s garden was her sanctuary. She tended to it with care, growing vibrant vegetables and fragrant flowers. Her passion for gardening was more than a hobby; it was her way of giving back. On weekends, she’d host free gardening workshops, teaching neighbors how to cultivate their own patches of green. The town’s once-barren yards soon blossomed into a tapestry of colors, a testament to Clara’s quiet, steadfast influence.

Her kitchen became a hub of activity. Clara’s cooking, inspired by the garden’s yield, brought people together. She organized community dinners, where laughter mingled with the aroma of home-cooked meals. These gatherings were more than just meals; they were a celebration of unity, each plate a canvas of Clara’s love.

But it wasn’t just her green thumb or culinary skills that made Clara special. It was her unwavering belief in the power of kindness. She volunteered at the local school, helping kids with their homework, teaching them the values of empathy and cooperation. She was the listening ear for anyone who needed to talk, the reassuring presence in times of trouble.

One year, the town faced a harsh winter. Supplies ran low, and spirits dipped. Clara didn’t falter. She rallied the community, organizing drives to collect food and warm clothing. Her passion for making a difference ignited a spark in others. Together, they created a support network that ensured no one went without.

Years passed, and Clara’s influence grew like the roots of her cherished plants, deep and enduring. The town thrived, not just because of the gardens or the shared meals, but because of the sense of belonging she fostered. Clara’s life was a testament to the impact of living with passion, demonstrating that even the smallest acts of kindness could reverberate, making the world a warmer, more beautiful place.

In the end, Clara didn’t just live; she inspired those around her to live passionately, to embrace their own potential for making a positive impact. And in that small, sunlit town, her legacy of love and community lived on, a bright thread woven into the fabric of their lives.

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Wings of the Alaskan Dawn

“Wings of the Alaskan Dawn”

In the heart of Southeast Alaska, where glaciers kiss the sea and ancient forests breathe, an eagle named Keta soared. Her eyes, sharp as the north wind, witnessed a world few could fathom.

Dawn’s Awakening:

  • Each morning, Keta perched atop a towering spruce. The sun, a molten gold disk, painted the fjords below. She stretched her wings, feeling the pulse of life—the heartbeat of the wilderness.

The Dance of Salmon:

  • Keta’s hunger led her to the Chilkat River. There, thousands of herring danced—a silver symphony. She spiraled down, talons outstretched, plucking fish from the water. Their oily richness sustained her.

Nest of Dreams:

  • High in the forest canopy, Keta and her mate wove a nest—a fortress of twigs and moss. They shared the labor, their love evident in every twig placed. Two eggs nestled within—a promise of tomorrow.

Guardian of the Tides:

  • Keta patrolled the coastline. She watched over sea otters, their fur like liquid amber. When danger approached—a rogue eagle or a hungry wolf—she screamed defiance, wings flaring.

The Storm’s Lament:

  • One tempestuous night, rain lashed the forest. Keta clung to her nest, feathers plastered. Lightning split the sky, and she wondered if her fragile home would survive. But it did—a testament to resilience.

The Solitude of Peaks:

  • Sometimes, Keta ascended to snow-capped summits. There, she communed with the spirits of ancestors. They whispered secrets—the ebb and flow of glaciers, the language of stars.

The Gift of Flight:

  • Keta reveled in her wingspan—7.5 feet of freedom. She rode thermals, touched the edge of heaven. She knew that flight was more than physics; it was poetry etched in air.

The Circle of Seasons:

  • As autumn painted leaves crimson, Keta’s chicks hatched. She fed them morsels of salmon, teaching them to soar. Winter came, and they huddled together, warmth in their feathers.

A Silent Goodbye:

  • One day, Keta’s mate didn’t return. She mourned, her cry echoing across fjords. Alone, she faced the bitter cold. But life flowed—a river of endings and beginnings.

Legacy in the Wind:

  • Keta’s white head gleamed against the midnight sky. She knew her time neared. She spread her wings, catching the wind. Her chicks watched, hearts heavy yet hopeful.

And so, as the Alaskan dawn painted the world anew, Keta soared—a guardian, a poet, a witness to eternity.

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The Beautiful Culture of my People….

I’m delighted to be home in Metlakatla, and am enjoying learning about the Tsimshian heritage! My Heritage… Our culture is truly captivating, and their stories resonate across generations.

Today, the Tsimshian people honor their rich cultural heritage through various practices and celebrations. Here are some ways they continue to embrace their traditions:

  1. Potlatch (Yaawk):
  1. Carvings and Totem Poles:
  2. Community Ceremonial Feasts:
  1. Language and Art Revival:

Their commitment to heritage ensures that the Tsimshian legacy endures, connecting past, present, and future.

The Tsimshian people have a profound connection with nature, shaped by their coastal environment and rich cultural heritage. Here are some aspects of their relationship with the natural world:

  1. Resource Harvesting:
  2. Spiritual Tradition:
  3. Genetic Resilience:
  4. Matrilineal Kinship System:

In summary, the Tsimshian’s deep respect for nature, their spiritual beliefs, and their genetic resilience all contribute to their enduring connection with the natural world. 

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To Write or NOT To Write…

In the quiet of dawn, ink meets paper, A dance of thoughts, dreams, and whispers. Should I weave tales of skies and stars, Or let silence reign, untouched by scars?

To write is to breathe life into the void, To paint emotions with words, unalloyed. Yet hesitation lingers, like morning dew, As I ponder the canvas, both old and new.

The pen hesitates, then dances free, Tracing arcs of longing, hope, and glee. For in each stroke, a universe unfurls, A symphony of syllables, a map of worlds.

So write, my friend, with courage and grace, Let your heart spill ink across time and space. For words are bridges, connecting souls, And healing awaits where creativity unfolds.

Wings of Imagination

In the quiet of twilight, dreams take flight, On wings of imagination, they soar to height. They flutter like butterflies, delicate and free, Across the canvas of our minds, a symphony.

The moon whispers secrets to the stars, As ink spills from constellations afar. Each word a feather, light as a sigh, Weaving tales of wonder, reaching high.

The poet’s heart, a compass unswayed, Guided by stardust, across galaxies sprayed. In verses, we find solace, courage, and grace, A sanctuary where time and space embrace.

So let your thoughts dance, unfurl, and play, Compose your universe, night into day. For within your words lies magic untold, And poetry, my friend, is life’s pure gold.

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The Totem Carvers Tale

The Totem Carver’s Tale

In the heart of the Pacific Northwest, where ancient forests whispered secrets and mist clung to towering cedars, there lived a totem carver named Kaya. Her hands bore the calluses of countless chisel strokes, and her eyes held the wisdom of generations.

Kaya’s modest cabin stood near the edge of the forest, overlooking the gray expanse of the Salish Sea. Each morning, she would step outside, breathe in the salt-laden air, and greet the cedar trees as if they were old friends. The totem poles that dotted the landscape told stories—of ancestors, animals, and the spirit world. Kaya longed to add her own tale to their silent ranks.

One stormy evening, as rain drummed on the roof, Kaya dreamt of a great raven. Its obsidian feathers shimmered, and its eyes held the secrets of the universe. The raven spoke in a language only Kaya understood, urging her to carve a totem that would bridge the mortal realm and the beyond.

Guided by her vision, Kaya selected a massive cedar log—the heartwood of a fallen giant. She set to work, her chisel biting into the wood like a hungry bear. She carved the raven first, its wings outstretched, ready to take flight. Next came the salmon, leaping upstream—a symbol of resilience and determination. And finally, the moon-faced owl, guardian of the night.

Days blurred into weeks, and Kaya lost herself in the rhythm of creation. She sang old songs, invoking the spirits of her ancestors. The totem seemed to come alive under her touch, its figures dancing with hidden purpose. Yet, as she worked, Kaya wondered: What story did the raven wish to tell? What ancient pact had she unwittingly sealed?

One moonless night, the raven returned. It perched atop the half-carved totem, its eyes gleaming. “Finish it,” it croaked. “Only then will you understand.”

Kaya worked feverishly, her fingers bleeding, her heart racing. The totem took shape—the raven’s wings merging with the salmon’s tail, the owl’s eyes reflecting the moon’s silver glow. And at the pinnacle, she carved herself—a woman with eyes wide open, seeking answers.

As the last stroke fell, the totem shuddered. The forest held its breath. Kaya stepped back, her breath misting in the cold air. The raven’s beak opened, and it spoke: “You are part of this now. Your story etched into cedar, your spirit entwined with ours.”

And so, Kaya became both carver and carved. She stood beside her creation, feeling the weight of centuries. The totem pulsed with life, its ancient voices whispering through the rings of time. Kaya’s eyes met the owl’s, and she glimpsed eternity.

From that day on, Kaya wandered the forest, her footsteps echoing those of her totem. She listened to the wind, deciphered the rustle of leaves, and danced with the shadows. The villagers marveled at her newfound wisdom, unaware that she was but a vessel—a living story told in wood.

And when Kaya’s time drew near, she lay down beside her totem. The raven perched on her chest, its feathers merging with hers. As her breath faded, the totem absorbed her essence, and she became one with the ancient cedar.

To this day, travelers pause by Kaya’s totem, tracing the contours of her face. They hear her laughter in the wind, taste her tears in the rain. And sometimes, just before dawn, the raven takes flight, soaring toward the horizon, carrying Kaya’s spirit to realms beyond.

And so, the Totem Carver’s tale lives on—a whispered secret in the heart of the forest, waiting for another dreamer to listen and carve their truth into the wood.

Note: This fictional story draws inspiration from Native American folklore and the rich tradition of totem poles. 

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