We're suspended in grief. I'm reading Radical Hope, ethics in the face of cultural devastation, by Jonathan Lear, about the Crow people. Chief Plenty Coups says after their way of life was cut off and they were put on reservations, nothing happened. It feels like that, like we're living that legacy, cut off by our own culture of domination and land theft and genocide.

I wrote that in a comment on Diana Van Eyk's post about grief and numbness.

I keep thinking, What is our way of life, or What was our way of life?