Naqdeltani: Remembering What We Already Know
March 5, 2025
Our teaching team and I recently returned from an incredible, heart-expanding time in Alaska. We were invited to lead a retreat by Qizhjeh Vena Alaska, the Dena'ina Tribal Council, and elders in their community. We learned, played, and left with our hearts overflowing.
We stayed in camp, sleeping in bunk beds, with the bathhouse in a separate building. We laughed about navigating freezing middle-of-the-night bathroom runs, but by the end, none of us wanted to leave. Waking up by a breathtaking frozen lake, with mountains in view, felt magical.
What made this experience special were the connections. Sharing an understanding of the mind and tapping into Naqdeltani—the "breath of life," as they say—resonated deeply. It felt like ancient knowledge, something alive within all of us but often buried under trauma, life’s challenges, and the weight of our own thinking.
For me, this experience was transformative. Sitting in group, in the steam hut, around the fire, late into the night listening to stories—it felt sacred; timeless. It reminded me why I do this work, why connection matters, and why hope is never lost. While we were there to share, we received so much in return. The wisdom in that room was humbling. It was an honor to be there with their community and our amazing team.
Yet, alongside the wonder, I must also speak honestly about the deep pain that marked our journey. As the only white woman among us, I faced my own reckoning while witnessing the lasting impact of colonialism and missionary work on the Dena'ina Tribe and the broader Native community.
Living on mainland America, I often feel detached from the land and the wisdom of Indigenous peoples. In Alaska, I reconnected with nature and myself in a way that felt sacred. We heard ancestral stories that uplifted us and revealed harsh realities—land grabs, deceit, and the devastation wrought by government and missionaries who denounced native language, dance, song, and spirituality as evil. These stories uncovered layers of deep loss, though I know they only scratch the surface of the pain endured.
My perspective may seem unrefined compared to the extensive narratives I’ve encountered about American and Native American histories, but nothing I had read or heard fully captured the profound impact of colonialism and the challenges brought by religious influence. This reflection isn’t an indictment of any one group but an acknowledgment of America’s complex, painful history—a story that challenges us all to confront truths and work toward healing.
Over the past 25 years, I’ve spent 18 in America. My work within the prison system and communities facing challenges has shown me the complexities of our country’s history—its struggles with inequality and injustice—while also revealing my own blind spots. Yet, I’ve also witnessed incredible beauty, resilience, and love. I’ve been called in and called out more times than I can count. It’s hard, but I’ve learned to embrace my humanness, knowing I can only grow by confronting what I don’t yet understand. I don’t want to be part of the problem; I want to be part of the solution.
My time in Alaska revealed another layer of America’s complexity. Yet, in acknowledging these wounds, I remain hopeful. By embracing our shared humanity and learning from our past, we can forge a future of healing, understanding, and unity.
“One moment can change a day, one day can change a life, and one life can change the world.” — Buddha