~ Orannhawk ~
Nothing is the same. This was a comment

made to me some time ago. The words sat

precariously on the edge of complaint and

despair, voiced as if the appellation would

lend credibility to the thought. Nonetheless,

the concept of everything remaining the

same is simply not realistic.
The wind blows and a limb falls. Is the tree still a tree, even with the loss of the branch and errant leaves taking flight? Obviously, despite the alteration, it remains a tree.
Loss is something each of us experiences. The extent of loss can range from negligible to outright debilitating devastation. It changes you. It changes the landscape of your life, your sense of self, of connection, reliance and stability. One could feasibly follow the same footsteps, emulate the same choices and nonetheless, it would not be the same as before.
I can hunt and field dress a deer as my Papaw and my Mom and Dad taught me. I can make a mean batch of hot water cornbread from my  grandmother’s recipe. It is similar, but it is not the same. It is my skill, honed by their lessons and experiences, blended into my own. It cannot be the same. Papaw and my Dad were expert marksmen with uncanny proficiency and my Mom held her own, often out hunting them both. I am the product of their experiences, melded and shaped by my own hand and choices.
Nothing is the same. The conquest of this once free, wild and wonderful land left an entire culture torn; traditions and beliefs categorized as demonic, backwards and our people labeled uncivilized heathens. It changed the landscape of our minds and our land, stripping away the resources, the beauty, and the reality of a time before mass production, pollution, politics, greed, warmongers and big brother’s eyes watching. 
Always watching.
The lamentation over change becomes the wail devoid of reasonable thought.
Nothing is the same. Change can be the opportunity to create, to reclaim who we are, to reformat the broken and rebuild, to embrace the strengths of the past and keep moving forward. Change can bring choices.
It does seem at times to be a constant uphill battle without any relief in sight. The battles for better education and health care, equality and spiritual and cultural freedom are ongoing. Misappropriation continues, as does alcoholism and substance abuse, rape, child abuse and neglect, racism and damnation.
Is it cause to simply give in and give up? Hell no!
Daily news reports are forcing the accountability of abusers, with names and photos and details. Because nothing is the same. We have the ability and the right to speak up, to have our voices heard. The whispers could now be a yell, the echo reverberating worldwide. We see the need for change and we braid up. From one generation to the next, we warrior up. The Old Ones would expect nothing less.
Nothing is the same. Continually bemoaning this fact does not change the outcome, it simply makes one miserable. The lesson is undetected, and any possible changes for the better, ignored. When my Papaw walked on to be with the Old Ones, everything changed for me. He spoke of the changes, giving me time to accept what he saw coming. In my grief, I fought the change, unable at the time to cope with the enormity of my loss. In time, I found solace in the change, through all he taught and shared with me.
The winds blew and a limb fell. I watched the leaves spinning upward in the gust, spiraling and drifting to the ground, gathering like wayward children. Altered, yet … still a tree.

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