2018 "Songs from the Rez" participants, Round Rock in background. Photo by Arlondo Bia.
participant and yoga instructor, Christy Cook, writing under the cha'a'oh (shadehouse) at sunset.
Participant Josiah Contreras with adopted pups, a.k.a "the dingos." After an intensive first time leading this songwriting retreat on Navajo Nation in 2017, my cofacilitator and I shared a lot of fear that there would be no way to replicate the level of depth and sharing that happened in the inaugural year of this retreat. How could we recreate the sense of safety, sharing and exquisite songs that had been written and shared (40 in total) in that first year, and how could we as facilitators bring the same degree of freshness and energy to a second year of cowrites with a brand-new group? And we were right: there was no way to replicate that. Rather, the second year’s group of participants (a brand-new group of ten songwriters with one returnee), from Navajo Nation, Denmark, Indiana, Colorado, New Mexico, California and beyond, brought their own unique voices, perspectives, vulnerabilities and desires, and went even deeper in their writing and level of engagement with this place known as Carson Mesa, or Tó Sikání in Navajo, Many Farms, Navajo Nation, than we could have anticipated or hoped for. Not the same, or better, but completely, and inalterably, different. To witness this was, indeed, a little slice of magic. It’s also about creating space and laying a platform for intercultural and intergenerational dialogue.
This year, for the first time, we had two high school participants, both from the central part of Navajo Nation. The level of hunger, engagement and truth put forth in the cowrites of these two young people, both of whom had never written a song before this retreat, became role models and beacons for the rest of the group of adult songwriters, ranging in age from twenty-two to fifty-five, teaching us to speak (or rearticulate) our own truths. The songs that emerged from these cowrites are exquisite: vulnerable and place-specific, they are windows into what it means to be a young person from a rural place speaking truth to power and laying plans for college, careers, navigating family relations and newfound senses of self.
This year, for the first time, we had two high school participants, both from the central part of Navajo Nation. The level of hunger, engagement and truth put forth in the cowrites of these two young people, both of whom had never written a song before this retreat, became role models and beacons for the rest of the group of adult songwriters, ranging in age from twenty-two to fifty-five, teaching us to speak (or rearticulate) our own truths. The songs that emerged from these cowrites are exquisite: vulnerable and place-specific, they are windows into what it means to be a young person from a rural place speaking truth to power and laying plans for college, careers, navigating family relations and newfound senses of self.
Photo by Ray Landry, courtesy Navajo Times 2018
photo by Ray Landry, courtesy Navajo Times
Photo by Ray Landry, courtesy Navajo Times 2018.
Participant Mette Halling of Copenhagen, Denmark. Photo courtesy of Ray Landry, Navajo Times 2018.
Songwriter and Berklee College of Music professor Pat Pattison says “don’t let the facts get in the way of the truth.” From a songwriting perspective, I take this to mean to not let the details get in the way of the emotional authenticity of the story you are trying to convey in the song you write. But there’s another way to interpret this quote, which is to not let that fact that you’ve never written a song keep you from writing one anyway, and keep you from speaking your truth, loud, clear, and sung in your own newly found voice, when you do it. This is what these students offered to each of us, and role modeled in a most profound way.
As I write this on the Monday morning after the retreat, I remain humbled, deeply grateful, and experiencing the intense withdrawal symptoms one has after leaving a deeply connected group of humanity like the one created on Carson Mesa in this past week. It is one of the most profoundly connective and deeply humanizing experiences I know, and it reminds me as both songwriter and anthropologist why I write songs to begin with: to connect deeply with a small sliver of humanity, to open up broader avenues for intercultural and intergenerational understanding and communication, to heal and speak my own truth, and to break the isolation of my own daily routine by reminding myself there is, indeed, something bigger. And, to this end, we will not only hold a third retreat next May on Carson Mesa again (May 24-31 2019), but also one in Sardinia, Italy, in May of 2020. Ahéhee’, t’áá ano[tso, and e ci aggiorniamo, li!
As I write this on the Monday morning after the retreat, I remain humbled, deeply grateful, and experiencing the intense withdrawal symptoms one has after leaving a deeply connected group of humanity like the one created on Carson Mesa in this past week. It is one of the most profoundly connective and deeply humanizing experiences I know, and it reminds me as both songwriter and anthropologist why I write songs to begin with: to connect deeply with a small sliver of humanity, to open up broader avenues for intercultural and intergenerational understanding and communication, to heal and speak my own truth, and to break the isolation of my own daily routine by reminding myself there is, indeed, something bigger. And, to this end, we will not only hold a third retreat next May on Carson Mesa again (May 24-31 2019), but also one in Sardinia, Italy, in May of 2020. Ahéhee’, t’áá ano[tso, and e ci aggiorniamo, li!
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