The Humility of Coming Down to Earth

 

I recently attended an art exhibition with the theme of Humility.  Anishinaabeg artist Paul Shilling working with the Orillia District Arts Council and three other artists from diverse cultural backgrounds has created seven events on each of the Seven Grandfather Teachings of the Anishinaabeg called A Visual Reconciliation.   These teachings are (in no particular order) Courage, Humility, Truth, Wisdom, Love, Honesty and Respect. 

At the event, the four artists, Ted Fullerton, Julie Tian, Xavier Fernandes and Paul Shilling each spoke about the pieces of art they had created just for this event which focused on Humility.  Then there was space for questions and later a time to mingle and have discussions.  I have older ears and the sound system wasn’t as good as it could be in the gallery space so I missed some of what was said.  However, I did hear some of the questions from the audience and that is what stuck out for me.

Some non-Indigenous participants seemed to be having difficulty with the word humility.  A few spoke about not wanting to “lower themselves” and some explained that they had a strong connection between the words “humility” and “humiliation” and so they had trouble embracing this Grandfather teaching.  Artist Xavier Fernandes said that humility is “not to think less of yourself, but to think of yourself less.”  Some members of the audience hoped that the word humility in Anishinaabemowin wouldn’t mean to lower oneself. 

I came home and did some research.  In the Nishnaabemwin on-line dictionary https://dictionary.nishnaabemwin.atlas-ling.ca/#/help the verb dbasebdiza is defined as “to be humble, think lowly of oneself. From this root comes the word Dabasendizowin or Humility.  On the program for the event, Humility was described in this way: “This teaching brings home that you are a sacred part of creation and allows you to carry your pride with your people and praise the accomplishments of all.  Humility will teach you to find a balance within yourself for all creation.”

I looked up the English word humility in several on-line dictionaries and found the definition “to be humble”.  So I looked up humble and found that it is derived from the Latin word humus meaning ground which later became humilis  which meant low or lowly.  This became humble in Middle English.

The word humiliation is defined as “to make someone feel ashamed or lose respect for himself or herself.”  Perhaps this is an enforced humbling at the hands of another.  No wonder people have an aversion to the word humiliation, I thought.

I pondered these words looking for a way to reconcile these varied points of view that emerged from our shared space.  I frequently describe the dominant worldview of competition and hierarchy by making the shape of a pyramid with my hands.  In this worldview, one is supposed to climb to the top of the pyramid through hard work and seemingly any means available including pushing others down to find space at the tiny top.  In this worldview, “lowering oneself” is a kind of social suicide.  You’ll never get ahead this way in this paradigm.

However, in an Indigenous worldview the interconnectedness of all of life requires a different set of actions.  The Anishinaabeg definition on the event program speaks of “praising the accomplishments of all.”  Instead of climbing on top of people, you are lifting them up.

In the worldview of the pyramid, one gets farther and farther away from the Earth and other life forms, the higher one climbs.  One is less guided by all our other relations that we share Earth with.  So, humility could mean coming back to Earth in order to achieve balance.  Being knocked off the top could be humiliating.  Choosing to lower oneself back to the ground would be humility.

The monotheistic religions speak of God giving man dominion over the Earth and everything on it.  This creates an automatic pyramid.  This basic worldview was then extended to humans in which some humans are higher than others.  Colonization was born from this worldview.  And we all know how this worldview of “dominion over” is threatening life itself.  It is a kind of suicide.

Realizing that we come from the Earth, we are a part of the Earth and coming back to Earth is an act of humility.  Working from our place within the vast interconnectedness of life and sharing our gifts there is also humility.  The predominant pyramid worldview is not sustainable.  We are waking up to that.  The generous sharing of the Grandfather Teachings is a lifeline to us.  It is a model of sustainability that leads to life.

At the event, I observed people engaging and wrestling with worldviews.  I came home and did the same.  Perhaps this is what turning from death to life looks like.

Cosmic Ash Bridges the Circles of Existence

 

Once upon a time, the Ash trees used to tower over the Oaks in the lands of the Celts. They were Fraxinus excelsior or European Ash.  In many European cultures, the Cosmic Ash was a World Tree.  The Norse legends talked about Yggdrasil, the tree of Odin which spans the Universe.  The roots of Yggdrasil were in the underworld, the trunk was in the Earthly realm and the branches supported the heavens. Ash was the bridge that connected them.

 For the Celts, Ash was a Chieftain tree and in the Ogham script, it represented Nuin or the letter N and was the tree of what we now think of as the month of March.   “In Celtic cosmology in particular, Ash connects the three circles of existence – Abred, Gwynedd and Ceugant … or past, present and future.” (Liz and Colin Murray, p. 32)   Once again, Ash provides a bridge or a pathway that connects what appears to be separate.

The Teutons had great reverence for the Ash tree and after the Germanic tribes entered Britain, the Ash replaced the Birch as the maypole and became a symbol of the sun and the phallus of the god round which the “sacred dance of life takes place.” (Jaqueline Memory Paterson, p. 158)

Ash wood is strong and flexible.  Both the words Ash and Fraxinus come from words meaning spear as Ash wood was used for this purpose. Ash wood is also good for making tools, handles, furniture, sports equipment, walking sticks, oars, gates and wheel rims. I’ve seen it used for the gunwales of canoes.  Ash was known as a tree that provided protection and so in Wales and Ireland, all oars and coracle slats were made of Ash to protect those who used them from drowning.  The Vikings made their ships from Oak except for the magical, protective parts which were made of Ash.  The wassail bowl which the Druids used to toast apple trees and the traditional Yule log at the Winter Solstice were both from the wood of the Ash.

Each Ash tree has both the male stamens and female seed vessels.  Once fertilized by wind or insects, the seed vessels form long “keys” that eventually flutter to the ground.  They are called keys because they hang in clumps that resemble key chains.  I like to imagine what these keys may unlock as Ash supports the continuous flow of energy and information between various levels of existence.  As Ash allows us to access these levels within ourselves perhaps the keys unlock hidden rooms and treasure chests.

I was recently listening to Thomas Hubl (https://thomashuebl.com/ ) speak in the Ancestral Healing Journey course that I am taking on-line.  His words made me think of the Cosmic Ash.  Hubl spoke about resourcing ourselves from below, from the Earth and from our ancestors.  He also spoke about resourcing ourselves all around us from the people around us and from the ”we space” of groups that gather for collective healing.  And he spoke of resourcing ourselves from the inspiration and energy that comes from above that seemingly lands in us. 

Beaded Cosmic Ash with the Ogham script for Nuin and three keys

I could picture the Cosmic Ash while he spoke.  I could imagine Ash providing the bridge that I can travel on when I move into the territory of my ancestors to feel into their stories and the trauma that they couldn’t integrate as well as feeling into their resilience.  Ash can provide a pathway for me to bring this information, this wisdom into the present.  Ash can support me as I feel the emotions that were too much for my ancestors and as I digest and integrate this information.  The branches of Ash can act like antennae for inspiration that lands and travels into my body where I can add it to the wisdom from below and take the story further.

Can the Cosmic Ash also help me to understand the Ash Dieback and Emerald Ash Borer insect that is currently resulting in the death of Ash trees?  Ash dieback (Hymenoscyphus fraxineus) is a fungus from Asia that was introduced to Britain about 30 years ago.  Since the European Ash did not evolve alongside this fungus, it is resulting in the death of about 80% of the Ash trees in Britain.  The fungus doesn’t cause much damage to the Manchurian Ash and the Chinese Ash which evolved alongside it.  The Emerald Ash Borer is an insect native to northeastern Asia.  It was introduced to North America and Europe.  The females lay their eggs in the deep crevices of Ash bark and the larvae feed underneath the bark which eventually kills the trees.

Dead White Ash trees are being cut down at the Wye Marsh Wildlife Centre

In Southern Ontario where I live, I have been noticing large stands of White Ash that are dead.  In managed forests, these dead trees have been cut down before they fall down and potentially injure humans.  I wasn’t aware of how much of the forest was Ash until I saw them all lying on the forest floor like broken bones.  Our modern ways of travelling, importing plants and climate change, just to give a few examples are being felt by the Ash trees.  Ash used to be thought of as an axis mundi, a stable point around which the world revolved.  Perhaps, we have lost the connection to nature which acts as our plumb line, our axis and things are flying out of control.  Perhaps the Ash are pointing the way still, as they lie scattered across the forest floors.  The compass needle is spinning as we try to find our way.

I didn't realize how much of the forest was made up of Ash trees until they were cut down.

In believing that we are separate from nature instead of being nature, we have made catastrophic decisions based on the idea of unlimited growth.  The Ash lying around us say that this is not the road to wellbeing.  As I listen to scientists plead for us to wake up, I notice that they get very close to using the word sacred.  But, there is the church/state divide yawning before them like a deep gully.  Scientists are supposed to use only the language of science, not the language of spirituality.  How can they find a bridge across this gap?

This is where, I believe, the ancient wisdom of the Indigenous Peoples of these lands can provide the bridge.  This wisdom remembers that the Earth is sacred and that it should be treated as such.  There is no divide between Indigenous science and spirituality.  They haven’t lost the bridge that non-Indigenous peoples have.  Perhaps for those of us of Celtic ancestry, Ash can provide a bridge between the wisdom of our ancestors and the present moment. Perhaps, honouring those Ash trees that are still living, is a way to connect science and spirituality within ourselves. 

I am imagining the fallen Ash trees that I see, reconfiguring to create bridges over the gullies and gaps, providing us a pathway to find our way back to balance.  I am imagining the Cosmic Ash as a teacher and guide in the work of ancestral healing.  And I am imagining the healing of these ancient traumas and the renewal of the forests.  I am can almost see the Ash trees towering once again.

 Bibliography:

Diana Beresford-Kroeger (2019) To Speak for the Trees. Random House: Canada.

Danu Forest (2014) Celtic Tree Magic: Ogham Lore and Druid Mysteries. Llewellyn Worldwide: Woodbury, Minnesota.

Glennie Kindred, (1997) The Tree Ogham. Glennie Kindred: UK.

Liz and Colin Murray (1988) The Celtic Tree Oracle. Connections Book Publishing: London, UK.

Jacqueline Memory Peterson (1996) Tree Wisdom: The definitive guidebook to the myth, folklore and healing power of Trees. Thorsons: London.

Elen Sentier (2014) Trees of the Goddess. Moon Books: Winchester, UK.

 

The First Day of March

 

My friend offered to drop off some food that she had been given but couldn’t use.  I gratefully accepted but didn’t want her to have to negotiate our difficult driveway and turn around spot.  We agreed that once she was setting off she would call me and I would go out to meet her at the road.

Today is sunny and the temperature is hovering around freezing. It is a gentle day with little wind.  And, it is the first day of March.  It is the kind of day when I believe that I can see the light at the end of the tunnel of winter.  I have tried to appreciate each day of winter for what it is and there have been times when I was content with the dark cloudy days and early nights.  But, now it is March.

As I headed out to the road, I noticed tracks in the snow going from our driveway into the park next door.  They had a the kind of tire tread look of  porcupine tracks but they weren’t wide enough.  They probably were made by the groundhog that lives under our shed, I reasoned, out for an amble in the park.  There is still lots of snow but it is collapsing with the warm temperatures.

As I stood on the sidewalk waiting for my friend I gazed at the structure of our Community Garden.  The volunteers had our first zoom meeting this week and the enthusiasm is high.  Lots of ideas were shared and quickly turned into concrete plans for a Seed Swap, Plant Starting Activity for kids at the local library and the Planting Party in May.  As I stood by the garden today, it occurred to me that I should take down the red bows that we put up in December for Christmas.  I should take down the red hearts that I put up for Valentine’s Day.  The snow groundhog that we made has already melted and returned to the snowpack.  The solar coloured lights can probably stay up for a little bit longer.  We kept the garden seasonally decorated during the winter so that it still felt present to the community.

In another month, the snow will likely be gone and our group can meet outside to continue our dreaming and planning.  Earth Day is on a Saturday this year so we plan to have a Digging Day to turn over the manure, compost and straw that was piled on top of the soil in October.  Digging in the Earth for Earth Day seems like a perfect activity.

I have already started some seeds that are slow growers.  I check on the delicate little plants each morning as a gentle entry into gardening season. Other members have plans to start Kale, Pumpkin, Beans and Squash when we get closer to May.  It’s like we are stretching our gardening muscles as we come out of a kind of hibernation.

We got a bit of Maple sap from a few trees two weeks ago when we had a warm spell. I drank a bit of it each day as a spring tonic until it was gone. Soon we will tap the other three trees and make maple syrup once the sap starts to flow again.

Although it could still snow and it will, there is a kind of relief from making it through another winter that seems to come from an ancestral sort of memory.  I was under no threat from cold or starvation and yet I feel grateful to have made it through.

I stood and let the sun shine on my face as I waited for my friend.  It felt good.  I felt at peace as I waited.  I felt grateful for the wonderful experiences we had at the community garden last year and I felt excited about all that we can create together in this coming year. I felt content in that moment.  My friend arrived and we stood and talked for a while.  I thanked her for the food that she was sharing.  This is what we do at the Community Garden, we grow and share food.  This feels ancestral to me, the sharing of food, looking out for one another and nurturing community.  While we seem to be hurtling into an uncertain future I also feel deeply connected to Earth and to the ancestral resiliency that is within me.  And from these places, creativity and new life grow and thrive.  This is what came to me as I stood on the sidewalk waiting, on this, the first day of March.

Untangling Knotted Threads

 

I have been quilting the blue fabric of the piece that I described last week – all the hearts cracking open to let medicinal plants grow from them.  I tend to cut fairly long threads to do such quilting as it’s just a running stitch that goes on and on.  Sometimes, I get little tangles with such a long thread and I patiently pull threads this way and that, using the needle tip to loosen knots that have mysteriously appeared.  I have lots of time and I tend to work away at these knots so that I don’t waste thread.

The other night, I cut an especially long thread.  I was pushing the boundaries I know, but if you never explore the edges, the liminal spaces, you never really know where they are.  After the first stitch, the long thread got really tangled.  I pulled threads this way and that.  I used the tip of the needle to try to pull apart the knots that had once again mysteriously appeared.  I brought the tangle under the light that I can adjust to shine right above my work.  As I get older, good lighting is essential.  But, even in that light, the knots resisted my efforts.  After a few minutes, I decided to cut my losses literally and I snipped off the knotted section.  The remaining piece was not very long and I quickly sewed it into the quilt.  You might say that this was an example of less haste more speed.  You might say that I had pushed the boundaries too far and should have stayed in the safe comfort zone.

But, that is not me.  I often find myself outside of my comfort zone spending time in liminal spaces.  Some call these zones, the learning zones.  If one keeps going then come the danger zones.  I try to stay out of the danger zones (on a good day) because they are hard on my nervous system and this is not a place where learning or creativity thrive.  However, in the learning zone, outside of the comfort zone is the place where learning and creativity do thrive.  What I did learned on this particular crossing out of the comfort zone was that it is not necessarily more efficient to have a too long thread.  It’s likelihood of tangling and the time spent untangling or in this case cutting it off result in less efficiency.  At least I know that now.

As I sew this piece which is meant to invite non-Indigenous people to open their hearts in relationship with Indigenous people so that healing can happen, I am learning from the piece.  For me, this is how creativity works.  An image or concept seemingly drops into my head as inspiration.  Then I start working out how to represent this in the 3D world.  I work in various media and so I never get to be an expert at any of them.  I often have to invent ways of physically creating the image that dropped in.  I don’t plan too far ahead.  Instead, I find a starting point and then figure it out as I go along.  In relationship with the piece and the inspiration, there are often surprises along the way.  For example, I am quilting the edge of the big green heart in repeating waves to the edge of the circle.  Originally, I thought that I would do waves that were one inch apart and make it very geometric.  Instead, what happened was that the waves got closer and closer together  as I got further away from the green heart.  The piece demanded this.  It was very insistent.  I had imagined the waves emanating from the big green heart.  Instead, it appeared that the waves were coming from outside of the circle, moving towards the heart as if love was coming from the universe to Earth, to us, to our hearts.  I can’t really explain this, it is what the piece is showing me. It could be the continuation of the original inspiration.  It is one of the surprises of working in this way – the piece, the relationship, this conversation, is informing me as it unfolds.

But, back to the knotted thread.  I have been reflecting on the idea of decolonizing – decolonizing my thinking, my actions, our collective actions, the actions of our governments, as I sew.  The image of the knots reminded me of the frozen, stuck energy that is running the show much of the time.  When the thread is tied up in knots, one can’t use it for anything else.  If the knots can be loosened and the thread untangled, then it can be used to create something new.  Sometimes, decolonizing our thinking is like picking away at knotted thread.  The “way things are” seems frozen, solid, and fixed.  Thomas Hubl would say that this frozen past is trauma and that only by liquifying the frozen past can we begin to digest and integrate it.  The image of untying knotted thread seems to describe this process as well.  Sometimes, one only gets one knot untied at any particular time.  And then that freed up thread is integrated into our collective life.

As I learn more about the history of my ancestors in the UK, I am met time and again with stories of scarcity, scarcity of food, land, money, clean air and water, opportunity, education and the list goes on.  I am beginning to see that many of the ancestors that came to Turtle Island brought these stories.  And we have inherited these traumas and buried them deep.  You could say that the threads of these stories are all knotted and solid.  It takes the slightest trigger for this fear of scarcity to go viral.  Think of the run on toilet paper in 2020 at the beginning of the pandemic.  I think we see this ancestral trauma of scarcity raise its head when it comes to the government spending money to meet its basic treaty obligations to Indigenous people in Canada.  Even as one of the most wealthy countries in the world, somehow, we “cannot afford” this extension of privilege to everyone.  That is a pretty solid knot.  It takes time and effort and good light to work at untangling the threads. Indigenous people are shining a bright light on these traumas.

We’ve tried just cutting off these knots, “the past” and “moving on” but it doesn’t seem to work as well as my sewing experience did.  Any unintegrated trauma will just keep going.  It will keep us spreading that trauma to the next generation and to everyone around us and we will not even be conscious that we are doing it.  However, more of us are becoming conscious of these traumas.  We are becoming conscious that there are so many of us carrying the same trauma.  Perhaps, if we shine a light on this and work together, we can collectively untie our collective trauma knots.  That would release a great deal of creative energy and those threads could be sewn into something new. That is part of the work ahead of us and it is work that only we can do.  There are more possibilities than just “the way that things are”.  We can sew these threads into a new story.

The Healing Power of Open Hearts

 

“Heart energy is the new currency of the future,” says Lee Harris (leeharrisenergy.com).  I have been pondering this statement ever since I heard it and wondering what it might mean.

Last October, I watched the unveiling ceremony of a new art exhibit.  I watched it on my computer since I was sick at the time and confined to the house.  Call to Action #83 is now on its third round.  This innovative project combines the work of Indigenous and non-Indigenous artists around the theme of Truth and Reconciliation.  One artist starts the round and then takes their work to the next artist on the list, explaining their process, their thinking, their feelings. They have a conversation and take time to understand each other. The second artist responds visually and then visits the third artist with only their own work and another conversation takes place.  And so it goes.  The entire process takes around a year to complete.

As the artwork is unveiled, one at a time, each artist gets to speak to their own piece, their process and how the conversations affected their understanding.  The works emerge from relationships, from the inter-connectedness of the artists.  I have viewed the first two rounds of CTA#83 as well and so I can see how these visual conversations have developed over the years.  On this round, what struck me the most was the heart energy that moved through the round.  The artists were opening their hearts to each other and it showed.  From the vantage point of my couch, I imagined what my visual response would be if I was the last artist.  An image popped into my mind that was fairly complex and I had to think about what medium I might use to bring this image to life.

I thought about the image for a few days.  I take part in a Women’s Art Show each year and I wondered about making this piece for that show later this spring.  The 2023 theme for the Women's Art Show is Re-imagine.  I could work with that.  I can re-imagine a Canada in which the hearts of non-Indigenous people crack open in relationship to Indigenous people and that healing plants would grow from these open hearts to bring the healing that we all need

I decided to work in fabric along with embroidery silks and beads.  I would quilt the piece as well to give it a 3D feel.  I decided to make the piece circular to represent a round, a talking circle, getting to know each other, listening to one another, the shape of the planet.  Inside the blue circle, I cut a large green heart to represent the heart of the Earth, our mother, who cares for us all.  Then I chose different red fabrics to cut out 13 smaller hearts to represent the 13 moons, the 13 plates on a turtle’s back.  We all have hearts but they are somewhat different in DNA, life experiences, and stored trauma -- thus, different fabrics.  I used pinking shears to cut the centre parts of the hearts to represent them cracking open.  From inside these hearts came yellow fabric representing light as a backdrop for 13 medicinal plants.  I chose the four sacred plants of the Anishinaabeg since this is whose territory I live on; Tobacco, Cedar, Sage and Sweetgrass.  I added Strawberry which is used in ceremonies as well. I went through Christi Belcourt’s book  Medicines to Help Us: Traditional Métis Plant Use (2007) and picked plants that are used by Indigenous people as well as non-Indigenous people.  I have relationships with all 13 of the plants and I figured out how to represent each one with fabric, embroidery silks and beads.  Here is an overview of the cracked open hearts:

Now, I'll show you details of the piece and label all the plants:

Starting at the top left is Cedar which wanted to expand outside of the confines of the green heart and reach up into the sky.  To Cedar's right is Stinging Nettle.

At the top (in the centre of the piece) is Tobacco.  Below Tobacco on the
 left is Strawberry and to the right is Saskatoon Berry.

At the top (to the right of Tobacco) is Heal-All and to its right is Sweetgrass which also
wanted to reach up into the sky.  Below Heal-All to the left is Plantain and to its right,
Mint.  Below them is Sage.

In the bottom left of the piece are Jewelweed (top left) and beside that is Elderberry.  Below them is Maple.

I am still quilting the blue part which could be water or sky and I will finish it up with a binding of white and yellow to represent the moon and the sun.  Then I will figure out how to hang this on a gallery wall. But as Valentine’s Day approaches along with all the red hearts that that celebration entails, I thought I would share this work with you now.  Do we dare to let our hearts open in relationship with others, with people we might not even know?  What grows from an open heart? What healing does it bring?  The answers are as varied as the people on Earth I imagine.  But, it heart energy is the new currency of the future, then I imagine it’s time to open our hearts and get to work.

Evidence of Presence

 

The snow beneath our feet is crusted which is odd for mid-January.  About one inch of heavy “packing snow” lies on top of the hard crust making walking in the forest quite easy.  Even the icy bits are covered with somewhat sticky snow.  I still keep my eyes on the trail in front of me because there are a few wet spots that I need to avoid.  Such is the viewpoint of a senior woman even with walking poles and good boots.

My partner is ahead of me walking in a more carefree manner, scanning the trees for birds.  This is his weekly bird walk as a volunteer for the Wildlife Centre where we are hiking.  Luckily, he will point out anything of interest to me as I focus intently on the ground just before me.  It is not a total loss though.  There are the tracks of various animals that I can see fairly clearly; animals that are sharing the trail with us.  Coyote tracks border the righthand side of the trail heading in the opposite direction from the one that I am walking.  Then a second set of coyote tracks suddenly appear heading along with me.  They both come and go from the beaver pond that I soon pass.  I wonder if the coyote found food out there – maybe a beaver or a rabbit.

Rabbit tracks cross the path and something that looks like a Fisher’s tracks run alongside mine for a while.  We hear a raven calling from high above us.  Squirrel tracks in their neat clusters of four bound across the trail as well.  Then the fine tracks of a Ruffed Grouse who walked across the trail earlier today become visible.  We can hear the Black Capped Chickadees calling to us from the trees.  They want sunflower seeds from us and my partner obliges holding out his large hand that gently cups the seeds.  The chickadees land one at a time and feed from this bounty.

Continuing along the trail, my partner sees a Barred Owl lift off silently from the trail ahead of him.  He calls to me and we walk further on looking for the owl in the branches above our head.  Then, he spots the bird and points it out, patiently, over and over again, to me, until I can finally make out the dark brown shape sitting on a Poplar branch beside the Balsam Fir.  We have seen this bird before in this very spot yet it feels like a huge gift of presence to us – silent, watchful presence.

Barred Owl

We wonder about which birds we can report on the Bird Sighting Board back at the visitor’s centre.  Do you have to actually see a bird to report it?  Can we report the Ruffed Grouse?  Are it’s tracks evidence of its presence in the forest just like the raven’s call?

The phrase, “evidence of presence” wakes something up inside of me.  It expands the idea of “watching birds” with only our eyes to being aware of foot prints and bird calls as indicators or evidence that these birds are present in the forest with us.  It also speaks to the idea of our being present in the forest, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. It speaks of paying attention to the world around us and not just to the parade of ideas flowing through our minds.  There are times that I have walked through the woods chewing on an emotional struggle, telling myself the same story over and over again without noticing anything around me.  I was barely present at all.  I wonder what I missed on those days?

Later, we hear news from Star Blanket Cree Nation which reports 2000 anomalies found by the Ground Penetrating Radar at the former Qu’Appelle Indian Residential School located near Lebret, Saskatchewan. There is also part of a jaw bone that burrowing animals have brought to the surface.  Chief Michael Starr shares the news because it is evidence of the presence of unmarked children’s graves.  Former students and community members already knew that children didn’t come home from these schools and that children went missing in the night.  But Canadian society didn’t believe this oral “evidence”.  It needs proof – scientific proof as evidence of presence.

The next day, we go to a different forest, one in which art installations have emerged over the past few years.  We carry an orange shirt pinned to a coat hanger.  We wrote the words, “Gaawiin nchke gdaa’aasii – You are not alone” on the shirt.  These are the words in Anishinaabemowin to the First Nation communities that are affected by these recent discoveries.  We are with you, you are not alone, we believe you.

The phrase, “Seeing is believing” is a very common one in Canada.  It speaks to the importance that we put on seeing something for it to be real.  Perhaps this makes sense in a culture that wants everything to be written down, in a culture that doesn’t trust oral culture.  Why would it trust oral statements when those in power so often tell falsehoods.  In court, people have to swear to tell the truth.  And yet, this is not so for the oral culture of First Nations, Metis and Inuit Peoples.  They are much closer to the oral culture of their ancestors.  The stories are evidence enough of the presence of children hidden underground.

As we walk back to the car, I am aware that my toes, fingers, knees and cheeks feel cold.  However, the sun on my back feels warm.  I can hear the squeaky crunch of snow at -15 degrees Celsius.  I hear the drumming of a Pileated Woodpecker on a resonant tree and stop walking in order to listen.  Earlier, we saw a pile of large wood chips at the base of a tree.  My partner points out that this meant that there were carpenter ants in the tree that the woodpecker had found.  There is a whole story that can be told from this evidence.  I hear a chickadee calling from the trees to my right and the distant sound of a truck going down the road.  I breath in the cold air and feel it warm up as it passes down my throat.  My walking poles make little holes in the snow leaving evidence of my presence hear today.

People who hike in this forest regularly will notice the new orange shirt hanging from inside the sticks placed in a tipi formation.  From the distance it looks to me like a heart inside a rib cage.  The two yellow wooden butterflies with hearts painted on them spin in the breeze.  People might wonder who put these symbols here and what they mean.  They may want to know the story behind what they can see in front of them. They might get curious and think about it and maybe wonder if it has to do with the recent discoveries at Star Blanket Cree Nation.  They may look it up on one of their devices and learn more.  The story might touch their hearts, softening them, opening them.  They may find a way to take action leaving more evidence of their presence in the midst of this healing work.  They may bring this new understanding into conversations with their friends and co-workers.

What evidence of our presence are we leaving behind?  Conscious healing work or unconscious litter?  It's something to think about at the beginning of this New Year.

Finding My Sea Legs

 

I have been finding my sea legs this year, not just for the storms and high waves but also for the impermanence of the waters of life.  My ancestors were island people, surrounded by water and accustomed to tides. Being surrounded by water made them vulnerable to invasions and for hundreds or perhaps thousands of years their story was one of being pawns in the grand chess game that the nobility of Europe played.  Eventually, my ancestors took to the seas and created a huge navy to protect themselves and then to invade countries all over the world and re-create their own experience in the bodies of other people.  They came to Turtle Island and devastated the land with the greed of extraction that decimated and imprisoned those peoples who were Indigenous to these territories. 

My parents came to Canada from England in the 1950’s by sea and I was born here a little later.  They brought some stories on the journey but didn’t pack most of them in the large trunks that they brought to their new home.  Stories of family members who brought shame on the family were kept secret until they could no longer remain submerged and then they were passed to me. 

Over the past two years I have been learning more about my ancestors and the lives they lived.  I have learned about the home town of my parents, grandparents and 5 great-grandparents, Oldham, Lancashire.  I have learned that my great great-grandparents were drawn to this town to find work in the cotton mills that sprung up like dandelions during the Industrial Revolution.  The land around Oldham is hilly and not suited to agriculture while full of coal that was extracted to drive the steam engines of the mills.  The weather is damp which is good for keeping the fluff of cotton mills less airborne.  The cotton came from America.  We now know that for part of the time, it was grown and picked by slaves to keep it cheap.  My ancestors who worked 12 hour days in the mills 6 days a week were paid by how much they produced and lived in quickly thus poorly constructed housing erected for the influx of workers.  Not slaves and yet not free either.  A few men got exceedingly rich. Most lived hard, short lives.

Thomas Hubl who has pioneered work in healing ancestral and collective trauma describes the past as something that is frozen.  The traumas that my ancestors couldn’t cope with were pushed down into the unconscious where we couldn’t see them.  However, they still effected how we saw and see life like a filter that we see life through.  Discovering Hubl’s work this year has been very transformative for me.  He describes healing as the liquefication of these frozen traumas.  Once they are liquefied, we can begin to digest the now conscious information and eventually integrate it.  This seems like good work for me to do at this point in my life.  This seems like essential work to be doing for our world.  Frozen, unconscious traumas effect everything we do and make it impossible to create healthy change.  One can see traumas being repeated and perpetrated everyday on the news and in our personal lives.

As the traumas become liquefied, the ground, like melting permafrost heaves and sinks.  We are not who we thought we were.  I am not who I thought I was.  Personality traits suddenly transform into ancestral responses to trauma with long histories behind them.  The undigested traumas of our ancestors live within us.  But, of equally importance, the resiliency of our ancestors lives within us.  With this resiliency, perhaps it is possible to liquefy, digest and integrate these traumas.  This is not easy to do on one’s own.  Hubl feels it is in fact the work of groups that consciously witness and support each other in healing.  He feels that the energy field created by so many people (the “we-space”) is the fuel to allow for the healing of these ancestral and collective traumas.

This work excites me and I am learning more about it.  I am experimenting with doing it myself and with groups on-line that Hubl’s Pocket Project  hosts.  I am reflecting on how this work could impact the work of Truth and Reconciliation in Canada.  I can see how non-Indigenous people here have a lot of work to do to heal these ancestral traumas that drove people from around the world to these shores and airports.  This is part of the truth work and I believe it is necessary so that we can impress upon our governments that it is not okay to maintain systems and laws that oppress Indigenous people.  But, if we still believe unconsciously that we are about to be invaded, that there is not enough to go around, that we are fragile victims, then we will easily accept governments keeping Indigenous people living with no potable water, with substandard housing, education and health care.  It will look as though there is no solution because we are looking through the unconscious filter of being invaded and imprisoned ourselves. 

Liquefying these traumas can feel like rough seas where the horizon is hidden.  We don’t know what will happen if we melt the solid ground of trauma.  What sea monster may arise?  Who will we be if we do this?  Perhaps we will become good ancestors if we do this.  Perhaps, we will be the ones who bring healing to our ancestors and to the futures of our children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  We have to summon up our courage and all the love we can muster to do this work.  We have to find our sea legs.