Listening to the Waters: Reflections on Indigenous Peoples Day

As Indigenous Peoples Day approaches, I find myself thinking about water.

Not just the water that flows through our rivers, lakes and streams, but the water that lives within us. The water that carried each of us into this world. The water that holds our memories, our emotions and our stories.

Listen*:

This year, a beautiful painting created by my colleague Connor Sarazin has stayed with me. It depicts the Water Horse, known in some Anishinaabe teachings as Mishipeshu, the Great Lynx — a powerful being connected to the deep waters of the Great Lakes. Stories of Mishipeshu have been carried through generations by Anishinaabe peoples, reminding us that water is not simply a resource. Water is alive. Water is powerful. Water deserves respect.

Growing up, many of us were taught to see water as something we use. We drink it, wash with it, travel across it. Indigenous teachings invite us to see something more. Water is a relative. Water has spirit. Water remembers.

Perhaps that is why being near water can stir something deep within us.

How many times have you stood beside a lake and felt your shoulders soften? How many tears have been shed beside a river? How many prayers have been carried away on the current?

Water and emotion have always felt connected to me. Both are meant to move. When water becomes stagnant, it loses its vitality. The same can happen within us when grief, anger or fear become trapped inside. Healing often begins when things start flowing again.

As Indigenous women, many of us carry teachings about our sacred relationship with water. Across many Nations, women have long held responsibilities as water carriers and protectors. This connection is often linked to the life-giving waters of the womb. Before each of us took our first breath, we were held in water. We floated in it. We were formed by it. Our first home was water.

When we care for water, we care for the source of life itself.

As I sat with Connor’s painting, I found myself thinking not only about water, but about the horse itself.

For many Indigenous Peoples, horses carry deep significance. They are often associated with freedom, strength, partnership, healing and sovereignty. Horses have accompanied our peoples through times of survival and change. They remind us of movement, resilience and our connection to the land. There is something powerful about standing beside a horse and feeling its presence – its quiet strength, its intelligence and its ability to communicate without words.

When I look at the Water Horse, I find myself reflecting on the ways water and horses share similar teachings. Neither can truly be controlled. Both ask us to enter into relationship rather than domination. Both carry immense power balanced by grace. Both teach us about trust.

The horse often symbolizes freedom of spirit, while water teaches us the importance of flow. Together, they remind us that healing is not about standing still. It is about moving forward, finding our way around obstacles and remembering who we are. In many ways, the Water Horse feels like a meeting place between the strength of the land and the wisdom of the waters – a powerful reminder of the sovereignty, resilience and spirit that Indigenous Peoples continue to carry today.

Today, Indigenous women and Two-Spirit people continue to stand on the front lines as water protectors. They walk for the water. They pray for the water. They speak for the water when others refuse to listen. Their work reminds us that protecting water is not only an environmental issue. It is a sacred responsibility.

The story of Mishipeshu also reminds us that water is not something to conquer. In many tellings, Mishipeshu represents the immense power that lives beneath the surface — forces that deserve humility and respect. The deep waters hold mysteries we may never fully understand. Perhaps that is the lesson.

Not everything is meant to be controlled.
Some things are meant to be honoured.

On this Indigenous Peoples Day, I think about the waters that connect us all.

The water flowing through our bodies.
The water flowing through our territories.
The water that carried our ancestors and will carry future generations.

I think about the grandmothers who sang to the water, the women who continue to walk for it and the young people who will inherit the responsibility of protecting it.

And I think about how healing begins when we remember our relationship.

To the land.
To one another.
To the waters.

Maybe Indigenous Peoples Day is not only a day to celebrate Indigenous cultures, languages and histories. Maybe it is also an invitation.

An invitation to listen.
To slow down long enough to hear the river speak.
To remember that water is alive.
To remember that we belong to it just as much as it belongs to us.
And to give thanks for the waters that continue to carry us home.

By Brandi Bilodeau – Indigenous Rights Coordinator

* Audio disclosure: This audio features a locally-run AI voiceover.