We are gestated as the stars are, in a sea of blackness, in the blackness of the womb. First Nations culture elevates blackness. The shaman Beautiful Painted Arrow recalls, “We were taught that if you see a Black man you would say, ‘Oh, he is my grandfather.’”
What gives existence to stars also makes words comprehensible: the space between them.
For us to help someone, we must be beyond the need of help ourselves. We’re not beyond the need of help until the moment arrives when we realize we are sons of God.