2016

While everyone is cursing the year and posting entertaining and murderoius pictures about killing 2016, I'm cheering them on and smiling, but also quietly hiding, because I view the past year differently. It felt like a gift to me.   I am saddened by the deaths and feel fear and heartbreak for my country, but I feel completely different inside than I did a year ago, and that feels great.  I made some big changes at the end of 2015.  I shifted my attention away from things that were draining or unfufiling (my day job), and turned toward what most mattered to me at the time, my creative career and a spiritual school that I honestly didn't really know anything about, other then my soul called me to it.  

The year has been a deep dive into the unknown, and into the uncomfortable.  I spent a lot of time alone, I felt lonely at times,  disconnected, I shared my wiritng and creative works with others and it felt like nobody cared, I spent hours in 7-inch stripper heels, I puked my guts up in an Auyuaska, froze my ass off in North Dakota, spent a lot of money, I was celibate (most of the time), fell in love with a former priest who's actually dead (as it turns out), hurt my family, let down friends, and doubted my abilities, my purpose, and my dreams.  But, or And, experienced more magic than I thought was possible. 

It's been a year of devotion, practice, bringing ritual into daily life, traveling to foreign places, exploring ancient lands, filmmaking, producing, a year of meeting many many incredible people, collaboration, rising up, documenting and sharing my experiences, teaching, prayer, soul friendships, activism, animal magic, connection, witnessing the power of women, trusting myself, and trusting the world.  For the first time I experienced what it feels like to feel surrounded by support (from people, animals, trees, spirit) and taken care of.  And, also what it feels like to know that everything I need is in me.  

The year felt like a gift because it was, and because of that I started living life like gift it is.  I am grateful to be alive and feel more real and true to who I am deep down (though I still doubt like crazy). I don't know what 2017 brings, but I am going to keep following my heart and taking time to feel, listen, and be still, and I'll grow with it.  People can change, and so can the world.  And, I'm in it every step of the way.  And, in the words off that dead preist I love, "you're going to be all right.  And, in fact, this light is already coming to you."  Peace out, 2016. Adele! And, again. 

Standing Rock - The Road Home

The car is empty, but my heart if full, emotions overflowing. I'm exhausted, inspired, overwhelmed, hardened, bright, grateful. 

Standing Rock: Donations

Not including Gas, my hotel in Rapid city, my personal food, and the clothes I brought home with me, my GoFundMe supporters and I donated $4,145.94 worth of supplies to the Standing Rock Sioux and the Oceti Sakowin Camp.

BREAKDOWN:

GEAR:                                      MEDICAL:                          FOOD:                     

LlBean: $722.50.                      CVS: 86.55.                       Menards: 76.23.             

REI: 1,357.12.                             Walgreens: 81.21.              Walmart: 122.33.           

Patagonia: 612.00.                                                             Hay Guy: 100

Cabela's: 134.00

TRANSPORTATION: 

Enterprise: 866.00 (before taxes) 

TOTAL:  4,145.94

SUPPLIES

15 Bushels of Firewood

Canned Vegetables

Chicken Broth

Potatoes

Onions

Carrots

Bread

13 Gallons Water

Energy Bars

Trail Mix

Dried veggies

1 XL Bag Dog Food

1 Round Bail of Hay

First Aid Kit

Bandaids

Hot Packs

Emergen-C

Feminine Wipes

Antibacterial Wipes

Medications

Feminine products

Mace healing spray

GEAR:

1 Winter Tent

1 Sub Zero Sleeping Bag

1 Sleeping back liner

2 Winter snow gloves w/liners

2 Insulated Sleeping Pads

2 Pillows

1 Tarp

2 Insulated Large Camel Backs

Extra Tent Pegs

Hammer

Matches

Batteries

Cook ware

Utensils

Water boiling machine

Thermos for Food and Beverages

3 Quick Dry Towels

Cooking Fuel/Propane

1 Blanket

1 External Phone Battery

CLOTHES:

2 Winter Hats

2 Thermal Underwear Sets

1 Fleece Jacket

2 Bandannas

1 Fleece Pants

1 Outer Wind Pant

2 Neck Warmers

1 Rolling Suitcase

Standing Rock: Journal Entry 4

Things turn quickly here. I've met some soul sisters and they had me over to their camp for dinner. They had a full stove and real vegetables. And, an assortment of tea! I hope to know these some for an long time.  

Of course, shortly before wirtiting this, and before I gave myself a clothed bath with my wipes (too clold to remove my clothes), I took a downward spin.  The fog was thick tonight.  I was on a high from the day, from making friends, and my great dinner in the dark with them.  I walked home briskly, because the cold was stiffening everything and my hot packs had died out. I knew where I was going, and I feel comfortable in the camp now. I feel connected to the land, the people, and have started doing construction, so I also feel more helpful. 

Fog is a funny creature. It's a metaphor or symbol for something I haven't yet figured out.  I knew where I was and where I was going, but it happened upon me that I had been walking a long time. The narrow tube of my flashlight, lighting up the grey particals, took on an eerie tone. I looked back, beginning to panic. Searching for my land posts- Medial Hill, The Big White Dome, The River- But they looked too far away, and then everything distorted even more. There's no one to call, no service anyway, don't even have battery because of the cold and the damn surveilence planes.  Is that the river, or the little side river? I don't recognize any of these tents. People die in the fog.  I remember all those stories from school, or from the Bible, where people died from Exposure.  Everything felt unknown. Each tent, the distant voices felt sharp, and unfriendly. And I remembered that movie my mother made me watch one Christmas about the little girl who has to sell matches to people on the street in London.  I think she died out in the cold. I got mad at myself for thinking I knew more than I did. And I questioned everything, including the level of trouble I was actually in. And, then I stoped.

I walked back to the main road, back the River. I retraced my steps, until I was somewhere sort of familiar. Then I walk the long way around. I walked slowly, without hubris. I would not panic again. But it was a long time, and nothing at this point in the night looked familiar. And, all of sudden, I saw the White Buffalo, my white rental SUV, and thenI could feel my heart once again, and felt silly for getting so panicked. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I whispered all the way into the car. 

In the span of 1/2 a day, caravans and caravans of new people entered the camp, and set up shop in my region.  My car was in the exact same place it always was, and in the same place I knew, the place just looked different. 

Video Update 2

Standing Rock: Video Update

Standing Rock: Night 2, Journal Entry

I've learned a lot today.  And I'm starting to understand the immensity of the foundation of this camp and all the cultures and groups who are here. I'm still so freezing, so I cant tell if I'm making any sense. That doesn't matter anyway. Who will read this but me? I walked all over the grounds, up and down every road, past every tent and camp compound... I'm supposed to be praying in solitude.  Women on their period are though to be extremely powerful, and are not to come near the fires or food so as not to take the prayers away from others.  I need to be stronger tomorrow to just sit, but I couldn't today. I wanted to get warm and so I walked, I walked and picked up trash. 

I want to write about all I learned today and the the people I met, I want to remember how blessed I feel to be here, because I do, it's an incredible feeling.  But, the sun has set and I'm haunted by how cold it was waking up this morning.  Locked in my sleeping bag as the zipper was frozen over.  The sounds of everyone coughing. The smells of that smell that's everywhere at night, that chemical smell. Maybe it's the oil or the fires, but it's everywhere, in everything.  And, I remember the battle in the sleeping bag. I huddle to the bottom for warmth, but then the bag touches my face. Oh, the feeling of that ice cold nylon, and the dampness from my breath. And the chemical smell, again. 

The sun has set and the cheering and hollering begins. Mini Wiconi! It feels wild at night, wild for others, but trapped for me, but only trapped by my mind, which will shift again when the sun comes out tomorrow afternoon. 

Standing Rock: Night 1 Journal Entry

I made it to Standing Rock. It's cold. Maybe not comparing to how it is in January, but its too cold for  comparasons to matter.  It feels cold, and that's a far as I can see.  There's something about the cold when you don't have anywhere to escape to, no home or shelter, nowhere to go inside.  It becomes bigger than it is, it's anthropomorphicized (word?), it's a character in a novel, even more, the antagonist, the lone soldier always surrounded by cavalry.

And, then, there are all these people, strangers. Who are they? What do their smiles really mean? Am I paying enough attention? I came her after people told me stories about everything bad, everything to be afraid of- colonialism, tensions between the native americans and the white people, they don't want you there, make sure you cary mase, (I forgot to get a tent security system, I even forgot the bell for the zipper, not that I'd hear it with my ear plugs), desperate characters, the poverty on the reservations... They were scared, and I took it on.  I've been scared the entire first day.       

Even whith Ron, the man on a horse, back lit by the sun, I listened alertly, searching for the hidden meaning is his words and looks into my car and at my stuff. The whole time he was telling me about the camp, telling me to keep my car locked at all times, telling me of the friends he made last week from California, offering me something for my tent, and I just wanted him gone.  I didn't want to be the dumb girl who let herself be a target.

I came here on edge, how can I soften?  I think everyone here really does just want help or say hi. I don't want to be afraid, it blocks the god in everything. Oops, I meant "the good."  Maybe I mean both. I'm counting the minutes while I write ubntil its a reasonable time to go to sleep. That's another thing about the cold- when the sun sets, the day really feels over.  I pray I will be able to sleep. I depart my first night lonely, tired, and curious.

Standing Rock: 1st Sight - Oceti Sakowin Camp

Shortly after this photo, I entered camp and within 10 minutes donated everything (other than my own survival gear) to indigenous groups who have been protecting the water since summer, and who plan to stay through the winter, including the Indigenous Youth Association and the Pueblo camp.  Before sunset, I set up my tent and met a beautiful Apoloosa horse from the Standing Rock Reservation, named Red Cloud.  His owner, Ron, was agrivated at his nephew for riding the horse to hard earlier. Together we dried sweat of the horse and he gave me the run-down of the camp.  He also gave me an extra tarp for my tent. A few days later, I handed the tarp back to him, along with my tent, and moved into my car, for warmth. Thank you, Ron. 

Standing Rock: North Dakota

Standing Rock: Onward!

Hitting the highway, at last.  

Standing Rock: Donations

Filled up the rental car with Food, Firewood, Medical Supplies, Dog Food, and other Donations.  I'll send out a final list when I return of all that was donated. 

Standing Rock: Rapid City - gear gathering

Buying fuel and firewood to donate at this Costco-size hunting store. Those animals are not paintings.  :(  Notice the woman at the bottom, for scale. 

Standing Rock: Rapid City Arrival

I'm the only woman in the South Dakota, Rapid City airport, and every single man here is toting a rifle or shot gun. I can't tell which because they are in these reeeeeeally long metal cases. But, they're in there (I asked). Anyway, between this election, flashes of The Most Dangerous Game movie,  and the Bee Gee's, "Staying Alive," that randomly started playing on my shuffle playlist, I'm on edge. 

I did strike up a convo, with one man, Jeff (or perhaps Geoff), and I learned that white tail deers are different from this other kind of deer (that I forget the name of), and Caribou meat is sweeter than Elk meat, because Caribou eat berries on the mountain ridges. 👌

(Bye bye caribou 😢)

Standing Rock Prep

Camping Supplies/Donantions Ready!  

Ace Stands w/ Standing Rock: Letter to Donors

Dear friends, family, and all who sent your support and love-

Thank you.

After the election, I lost hope for our planet and for this mission.  But, then I saw you- your words, your funding, your hearts, and it brought me to tears, healing and rejuvenating tears. 

On my own, I would have given up, but I leave tomorrow for Standing Rock with supplies, donations, and a renewed determination to go where we are needed, to speak and sing with those whose voices are unheard, to stand and support those who have been standing ( with every issue, and in every region), to see and feel what may be heartbreaking, knowing that we will not crumble, and to trust that together we have the power to change, to heal, to protect, and to love. 

Thank you for supporting and believing in me.  I go in service, and in your honor.

I may not have reception or wifi, but I will do my best to update you as I go, and when I return, through my facebook, instagram @tuberosejones, and on my website's blog www.cartterevans.com

With fierce love,

Cartter Evans/ Ace

Mini Multi Film

Thank you New Hampshire, and thank you Unknown Mortal Orchestra, for your inspiration.  

Ophelia pt. 2

Ophelia leans forward at the edge of the pier, wrapping her hands around the rusted bars, the cold railing pressed against her back. Behind her, the lights of the carnival rides, and laughter muffles the air.  It is distant, but also mocking, and doesn't match her screams, from inside, that once were real, and now, too, have faded into background. And tonight, as if out of her body, far out, away from her mind, she stands, aware only of sensation.  The sensation of now, of the subtle rumbling under her feet and vibrating metal under her hands.  She grips tightly, then loosening every now and then, like a rythem, or a beat.  And the shaking wooden planks under her feet, oh she wants to feel them.  She kicked her boot off and flings them behind her, back with the rest of everyhting else.  She grips her toes over the edge of the last wood plank. She feels the course, aged wood, and presses into the sharply frayed parts, as if searching for a splinter, now, hoping to wake up, to feel alive again. Leaning further forward, she leaves the cold bars behind her, out to the wild darkness beyod and below.  Each coming wave battles the creaky wooden columns, and shakes her gripping hands and the railing behind.  Ahead, the darkness, her fear, the unknown, the dangerous water, the scraping wind, nothing, and everything.  

She yearns desperately to feel the splash of the crashing waves below, and the sting of the wild salt water on her skin.  She's too high up.  As she leans out further into darkness, a smile rises up from deep within her soul, from that part of her that always feels a little trapped inside her human skin. The part of her that knows it's meant to fly.  And, for a few moments, she is the wind, the earth, the ocean and the night stars, she is everything she knows and all she imagines, and knows too.  She is connected to that greater world, that larger whole, and she feels more connection to the void ahead then to anything behind her.  She is gone from her body and her story.  She takes place amongst the stars.  And, there it is, opening her eyes, that familiar star that always stood out from the rest, the one she can spot anywhere.  The one that stops her in her tracks, pauses her thoughts, and in feeling it see her, she often cries.  She does cry.  And, then, after a few moments, yet also suddenly, her mind and body snatch her back to them, choking off her tears. And she is once again just a girl, teetering at the edge of the pier, looking up to the stars so far away.  Still staring at that one particular, intimate point of light, "Do you feel this way too? I'm sorry I'm not there with you. But, I'm here, and if you feel alone, trust that you are not."                          

The noise from the rides and the people swarm back around her and into her, pounding like a headache, and she feels her skin shiver with each burst of cold air.  And the once mysterious waves below, now look dark and cruel, and filled with danger.  And, she is no longer someone who can fly.  She remembers that she is a girl, a delicate girl, with a broken heart, who's lost all she thinks ever exited in her, and in the world.  And she cannot fly.  She will fall. And it won't feel freeing, or joyous, or light, it will feel cold, and alone, and hopeless.  But, this is where she is.  This is where her life and her choices have led her, to the very end, the edge of the pier, outside the protection of the railing, outside of fantasy, at the very last edge, the splintery, rumbling plank under the arches of her feet. 

Ophelia, pt. 1

Ophelia blooms like the summer and spring.  She blossoms with life, and spins her body and heart, bright.  She is trapped inside a frozen world, spinnning and spinning to keep warm, and to stay alive- to keep the sun shining.  So fast she spins, she falls and grabs, grasping onto others for comfort and balance.  She steadies and returns upright, her face searching for the young sunlight.  Playing over and over the memory of that year she ate a clementine with her love, in the field, before the storm.  Desperately grasping at the sweet and sharp, almost painful sting of the fruit. What did it taste like? Who bit in first? Don't go, please no. Where is he?

She spins again, with the wind of memories, slowly at first, then quickly growing darker and dark, sweeping up the dust and the crud, the faces of those around her, their happy eyes and judging laughter.  Their sneer-cringing noses and mouths, turning away and then back. She falls. Into her anger, Oh Anger!  It has not fear, though it does.  Her swirling wind becoming dark and cutting, sharp against those she pushes away, then clutches.  Her fingers, they are too stiff from her rigid mind. And, her legs, too rickety from her tired heart. She falls deep and fast, but the ground doesn't come- it has left her, like everything else. She is done.  Even the petals she carried and threw, even the soft, bright, warm-scented ashes of love she once held, they are gone.  Where is she now? She doesn't know. 

And all the faces she loved and knew, her faces, mixed in with those she ran after- all stuck together now, in the dirty storm, tattered and unrecognizable, like her spirit.  She reaches in to pull out her greatness, her strength, her unwavering heart that so many now scoff at, but it's hers, and it's beautiful, and she needs to find it.  Desperate to re-create control, she searches into the depths, into the trash can of- No, no, no! Don't say it like that! Please, you mustn't say it like that.

It's finally quiet. No, it's just dark. I'm tired. Alone on a stage, with a cruel white light, revealing everything, all of it. A girl is sitting, surrounded by scuff marks and sand, maybe dirt. Puddles of old soda water and the sticky smell of beer. All alone, save for the ashes from memories of a beautiful garden. Memories of a beautiful girl, and the love she desperately wanted to be beautiful too.  All of it, dirtied by gravity and cut-up from pain. It's quiet now, as she lay.