Crystallized Knowing: A Winter Solstice Reflection

It’s as dark as it can be.

The days are at their shortest.

The news is even darker as

They feed us with fear

And greed and hate.

We look desperately for light,

Or distraction or addiction

To feed the fear.

But it is never satiated, no

It charges back like a grizzly bear

Wanting more.

Where is the light?

Oh bring us light, bring us light!

Let the sun return!

In the dark we feel alone,

Blind and invisible to the others

Huddling from the cold.

But then,

Walking up a snow covered winter hill

Into the setting sun

Ice crystals emerged, 
Magically it seemed,

From the cold air,

Caught the light of the sun

And floated, spun, danced, pirouetting 

In their slow enchanting descent.

And we were delighted, uplifted

Even enlightened (dare I say it).

A single photon,

a tiny packet of particles

Defined by our eyes’ ability to perceive it.

The smallest amount of light

Visible to a human

Appears.

And our DNA, our genetic codes,

The mastermind of our being

That infinitesimally small structure

Emits…. Wait for it….

You won’t believe it’s possible

But they say it’s true:

Our DNA emits photons!

What does this mean?

How do the photons get in there?

Do we create them?

Do we ingest them?

Are we beings of light?

Maybe we don’t know what we are.

Maybe we don’t know who we are.

Maybe we have believed the lies

That we are nothing, never enough

Powerless, alone, dark.

But the ice crystals remind me

Of who I am

Of my place here

Of my responsibility

To (and my mother would love this)

Let my light shine!

Celebrating moment by moment

This piece was written by my friend who shared it with me and I am sharing her story with you with her permission.

Spirals and flow trace patterns in my days.

I love watching/listening to the wind roar through the old pine tree tops on my hilltop home.  There is snow covering the land … sun bright in the sky, clouds high and moving quickly across the blue.  Some bush trees that have not relinquished their green leaves yet with red berries intact, the maples and elms show their skeleton branches swaying and bending this day. Brown leaves swirl in small spirals of gust and lift, revealing the unseen movement of the air. 

Recently I was walking in a conservation area and my path took me through a marshy area where the water was thinly frozen.  Looking more closely I marveled at the wind’s imprint on the ice.  In the moments the water turned to ice the wind’s touch left a pattern on the ice surface—graceful and light.   

Back in my snow-covered yard, chipmunks are curled warmly in their labyrinth of tunnels underground, birds of many colours and feather take turns at the feeder, a raptor glides overhead playing in the air currents high above.

Snatches of my days include learning /being with my aging Mom.  She is losing her words as it were—not always able to put together full sentences or even thoughts.  And then able to, clear as a bell, communicate what is essential for her.  What matters is relationship, love in the moment, family and friends, fairness in our world, birds, sunsets, dogs, babies. Sometimes I am sad that she is slipping and is losing touch.  What will the future bring??  I wonder about what I bring to time shared with her and her with me…and others?  I treasure our time shared and wonder how it will be going forward mother and daughter.

Another day I spend time enjoying/playing with my newest grandbabe, 7 months old.  She recognizes me and my heart sings….to smiles, and her quiet laughing face, her joy to pick up toys, roll, touch, eat…. She will sometimes play hiding games – “Ah boo!, and then not… “  And I see this wee girl’s happy observation and her growing strength and all of us that celebrate her place in our lives.  I look forward to what she brings into my days -- thinking about what I can bring to her life as she brings so much already to mine…and others.

My older granddaughter is 2+ and is talking in two languages, expressing herself in phrases and questions and answers…. remembering details is one of her things.  My daughter, her Mom recently shared with me that she has been starting her own sentences in questions and then answering (when she knows an adult would say “No” )  with “Sure,sure, sure”.  She is affirming her own choices, herself!  Of course, it is adorable and more importantly wonderful she knows what she wants…. What matters to her.

And then it occurred to me that all of these experiences of young and elder and in between can all be seen /understood through the same lens. 

Celebrating what is life-giving happens in the moment, by moment, by …. 

Whether wind and water, leaf dance and bird, elder or child, growing or waiting, struggling or flowing through….

Life is best lived without longing or regret, just moment by moment.  Present and connected by beauty and love.

If Women Rose Rooted

It is not accurate to say that I recently read a book called If Women Rose Rooted. It was more like a delicious meal that one takes small bites of and savours in the mouth, wanting it to last forever but knowing that it will eventually be consumed.  I wanted to keep every bit of it in my mind and breath and body.

Sharon Blackie

Author Sharon Blackie is a psychologist, writer and mythologist.  In her therapy practice and her writing she has explored myth as a path to transformation.  And she is intensely connected to the land in Scotland and Ireland.  In If Women Rose Rooted she explores the ancient Celtic myths that rose out of that land, in which women were protectors of the land and water.  She feels that by remembering these old stories, women today can find their voices once again and speak out for the land.

Blackie relates how Western women lost control of their stories when the Romans replaced the stories with those of Christianity.  She writes, “When I was a child, this cultural story about who we are as women made me feel small, insignificant, empty:  As I grew older it made me angry:  Angry, because it justifies a world in which men still have almost all the real power over the cultural narrative – the stories we tell ourselves about the world, about who and what we are, where we came from and where we’re going – as well as the way we behave as a result of it. “ (p. 6)

photo from Sharon Blackie's facebook page

She goes on to explain that she couldn’t even imagine a world in which women and men worked together in partnership to create a sustainable world.  After exploring these themes, she asks the all important question:  “What if women rose again?  Not in battle, but what if we could reclaim, somehow, that power and respect which women had lost?  What if we could somehow dismantle this planet-destroying patriarchy; and recreate a world in which we lived in balance?”  (p. 12)

Blackie writes, that in order for women to rise again, they need new stories or perhaps the old, old ones.  She explains the importance of stories, writing, "It’s not simply that we like to tell stories, and to listen to them; its that narrative is hard-wired into us.  It’s a function of our biology; and the way our brains have evolved over time.  We make sense of the world and fashion our identities through the sharing and passing on of stories.  And so the stories that we tell ourselves about the world and our place in it, and the stories that are told to us by others about the world and our place in it, shape not just our own lives, but the world around us.  The cultural narrative is the culture.” (p.12)

The rest of the book has the pattern of first an old Celtic story, Blackie’s understanding of it from a psychological point of view and then a new story about a modern day women who exemplifies the message of the story.  This weaving of old and new stories is very powerful as it bypasses the story in the middle which has done so much damage.  She tells stories of the Selkie’s skin, the Wasteland, the Fischer King, Ceridwen, keeper of the cauldron, and the ancient creator goddesses.

Blackie outlines the heroine’s journey which differs from the familiar hero’s journey.  She describes the heroine’s journey writing, “…it was a journey in which men and women could become allies, and the stories which guided me arose from a culture in which both men and women were valued for the different things they brought to the world.”

I have become aware of other women in Great Britain who are using the old stories and who are embodying their messages.  And they are being joined by women in North America as well who want to do something about the state of the world.  TreeSisters, the group of women who want to reforest tropical areas through partnership with local reforestation groups is an example of this.  They are working to strengthen women in this way as well, so that they can remember who they are and find their strength in community, just like trees in the forest do.

The history that we know of the world has never seen women join collectively all around the globe before.  What if women do rise rooted?  What story will we tell then?

Rise and Root from Sharon Blackie's facebook page

Learning to Listening to the Beaver's Tale

A late November day, found us hiking on land near Washago, Ontario  that had just been donated to the Couchiching Conservancy .  The lower part of the trail wound through huge white pines, hemlocks and a few ash trees. We walked on the soft forest floor of reddish brown needles.  Then we began to climb a hill past errant glacier-placed boulders where the oak trees grew.  Most of the leaves had fallen but the forest floor was full of wintergreen leaves still succulent and dark green with their cheerful red berries.  We picked some berries to chew and savour the fresh wintergreen blast of flavour as well as some leaves to make tea with later on.

The ponds on the upper part of the trail had started to freeze and the curving, wavy patterns on the ice made me stop and look, imagining what currents or underwater plants caused the formations.  After awhile, we walked until we got to a little dock with one cottage chair on it.  I stood and breathed deeply, feeling peaceful in this serene place.  

Then I became aware of a sensation on my back as if a weight were draining off.  I felt wave after wave of tension wash down my back. I felt very grateful for this release that was seemingly just happening.  I had experienced the same sensation the week before standing in a different forest.  That time it felt as if I had laid down a big heavy backpack.  Perhaps my sixty-year-old body has learned to relax in the woods while my mind takes in all the sights and sounds and my artist’s brain begins to explode with ideas and images.

Beaver lodge

After awhile, we started to walk back down the trail but something in the opposite direction seemed to be calling me.  I walked off the path and through the trees, my feet crunching on the fallen brown oak and maple leaves, to the top a little knoll.  Childlike curiosity moved me onward.  My partner had come with me in my exploration and as I stood there trying to figure out what had pulled me forward, he pointed out an old beaver lodge just below me on the edge of the pond.  

Oh, I thought, the beaver has something to tell me.

I stood and waited, breathing in the forest air.  After a few moments, it came to me in a strange sentence.  “Beaver pelts were the currency of colonization.”  I was keenly aware of this piece of Canadian history because my partner and I have been auditing a MOOC (Massive Open On-line Course) from the University of Alberta called Indigenous Canada.  The 12 week free course has expanded our knowledge of this history by including the perspective from Indigenous people.  We have been learning things we never were taught in school about the fur trade, treaties and current issues and working to integrate this new knowledge into our sense of the history of this land.

Fresh beaver cuts

We had learned that beavers were nearly hunted to extinction because of the demand from Europe to make hats from their pelts.  The decline in the fur trade once the animals became scarce set the Indigenous people up for poverty, starvation and then once weakened, being forced by the government of the time into signing treaties that were never honoured and into moving onto reserves that were too small and too separated from each other.  I remembered seeing Kent Monkman’s painting The Massacre of the Innocents (you can see this painting by clicking on the title) in which Europeans are killing beavers everywhere.  For Monkman, the beaver s in this painting are actual beavers as well as a symbol of the Indigenous people who were slaughtered through disease, and starvation. 

It used to be that when I saw a beaver, I thought of the animal on the nickel, of hard work, of pristine nature, of some vague notion of being a proud Canadian.  That beaver was the symbol of what  author Junot Diaz calls "Canada’s narrative of innocence."  But now the beaver told me a different story.  Extirpation, species extinction, genocide are the hard truths and legacies of the colonialism brought by my ancestors.  The reasons they did this are I suspect, part of the bigger European history of invasions, imperialism and war.  That history radically changed this country and perhaps seemed "business as usual" to the colonizers.  Justice Murray Sinclair has pointed out that even though genocide only became illegal in 1948, not being illegal doesn’t make something right.

Beaver trail on the soft ice

And here, now, was a beaver lodge, off the marked path, hidden from view.  The beavers came back.  We see evidence of them all the time. The assimilation and genocide of Indigenous people was equally unsuccessful.  Indigenous people are healing, recovering their cultures, languages, traditions and becoming a strong voice for protection of the land and water. 

As I learn more about the history of this land, I try to imagine not just 150 years and not just 400 years of the French coming to this area of Ontario.  I try to imagine thousands of years of Indigenous presence here in relationship with all of nature.  When Canadians go to Europe they come back impressed with the thousands of years of history that they can imagine since temples, roads, buildings, archaeological digs and museums give them a visual example of past human presence.  

Here in Canada, there are some archaeological digs whose contents get put, often disrespectfully, in glass cases in museums.  But we have to imagine thousands of years of human presence on this land that was in so much harmony with nature that virtually no physical evidence remains for us to see.  The history is in the stories, in the culture, in the languages, in the traditions that were passed down for all those years.  Perhaps we can’t “see” the evidence of the history of this land.  Perhaps we have to listen to it instead.  Listen to the sound of the languages that came from this land.  Listen to the stories that came from this land.  Listen to the worldview that came from this land.  It is not what we were taught in school.  It is a different way of knowing, of connecting with the past. Somehow, standing by the beaver lodge, some of this knowing came to me as I stood quietly and listened to the land, to the water, to the lodge. 

Evidence of a beaver breaking through the ice

We hiked back down the hill, through the oaks, through the white pines and balsam firs to the car that we had left parked beside the old cabin.  There were two women sitting on folding chairs on the porch eating their lunch.  One of them called out to us and introduced herself.  She was one of the people who had donated the land to the conservancy.  We went over to chat with her and learned that she lived in the nearby town now.  She shared stories of her time on this land, of carrying the canoe up each spring and back down in the fall. She told us the story of how they built the dock, carrying the wood up the hill to the pond.  We were eager to hear her stories.   We told her how much we loved this property and we told her the story of seeing a trumpeter swan on the pond on our first visit.  She had never seen a swan there before.  She hadn’t seen any other people visiting the land so she was happy to see us enjoying being there.   It was good to connect with one of the people who had turned this piece of land into public property again.  Land that was taken from the First Nations with treaties that were never honoured and sold numerous times was now available for anyone who wanted to visit it.  This is not repatriating the land to the original people although one woman in Ontario is trying to do just that, but perhaps it is the next best thing or perhaps it is a stepping stone in a history that we are not only writing but righting.

TreeSisters Need Women to Plant a Billion Trees

In their own words, “TreeSisters is a global network of women who donate monthly to fund the restoration of our tropical forests as a collective expression of planetary care. As a feminine leadership and tropical reforestation organisation, we exist to call forth the brilliance and generosity of women everywhere and channel it towards the trees. Our goal is to make it as normal for everyone to give back to nature as it currently is to take nature for granted.”

The idea for TreeSisters was conceived in 2009 by Clare Dakin who joined with Bernadette Ryder to start it a year later.  However it wasn’t until 2014 that the first 15,000 drought resistant trees were planted in Tamil Nadu.  In 2015 they partnered with their second group, Eden Projects in Madagascar to reforest mangroves.  By June 2016 they had funded the planting of 140,000 trees in India and Madagascar. In Sept. 2016 they partnered with WeForest in Brazil and the International Tree Foundation in Kenya. By Oct. 2016 they reached the goal of 500,000 trees planted each year.  By Oct. 2017 they had planted their millionth tree. And now they want to escalate that goal to a million trees a year growing to a billion by the year 2020 by recruiting more women to give monthly to support this plan.

TreeSisters has worked very hard to reclaim a model that is rooted in nature and true to women.  They are offering free on-line courses, conversations and resources to give women the old and the new stories that will empower them to take care of the Earth.  This is not a campaign that is based on fear and guilt but on accessing the depth of the feminine aspect which exists in women and men to nurture and heal.  As evidence of the power of this approach, since they launched their new campaign after just reaching one million planted trees this October, in just one month over 300,000 trees were added as women around the world joined their treesisters in this project. 

TreeSisters needs 2 million women giving an average of 17$ Can per month to work together to achieve the billion tree goal.  Clare Dakin articulates it well when she says that this is a radical experiment that has never been tried before.  They are not only trying to plant trees to help the Earth and its inhabitants but are also trying to shift the cultural paradigm so that women can regain their place as protectors and nurturers of the planet as well as normalizing the idea that everyone gives back to take care of the Earth.

TreeSisters partners with already existing reforestation organizations in the tropics.  They report that the latest evidence is that trees in the tropics grow faster and sequester carbon dioxide three times faster than trees in temperate climates.  These local reforestation projects pay women to plant seeds, nurture seedlings and later plant the saplings.  One project reported an 80% survival rate for the saplings.  They focus on native species which will thrive, even in difficult conditions.

 In deforested areas in Africa, the lack of trees means a lack of rain and that leads to rivers drying up.  People who already live in poverty now have even more difficulties.  The TreeSisters website https://www.treesisters.org  states that “trees replenish groundwater and rivers, protect biodiversity, soil and livelihoods, and support healthy ocean temperatures.  They represent one of the best solutions we have to escalating climate disruption.”

The women who are a part of TreeSisters who donate monthly allow for women in these communities to be paid to plant trees which allows them to start micro businesses and send their daughters to school.  You can see the evidence of this in this video from Kenya. 

I am very excited to come across this global project.  I know from previous research that when women are given the tools, they will work tirelessly to provide a better world for their children.  The global community of TreeSisters is founded on respect and based on the old and new stories of women as protectors of the land and water.  This community offers hope through women working together in a way that is true to their strengths, passions and abilities.

 

It is so much better to participate with people who are being part of the solution than it is to feel powerless in the face of constant bad news.  And of course, men can be part of this as well and strengthen the feminine aspect of themselves.  Businesses and individuals are doing fundraisers, donating parts of their profits and sharing this story with their friends  If it takes a village to raise a child, it may take the whole world to care for our common mother, the Earth.  

Moose Hide Campaign Creates Change

A friend gave my partner a little card with a square of moose hide pinned to it.  She got it at a Heather Rankin concert in Midland and thought that my partner would like it.  On the card, he learned that it was part of the Moose Hide Campaign.  He told me about it and I went looking on-line to learn more.

Raven and Paul Lacerte speaking at Me to We day

The Moose Hide Campaign started in 2011 when Paul Lacerte and his sixteen-year-old daughter Raven were hunting for moose in their traditional territory near the Highway of Tears in British Columbia. The Highway of Tears is a 724 km stretch of the Yellowhead Highway 16 in British Columbia where many women, mostly Indigenous have disappeared or have been found murdered.  (Canadian Encyclopedia)

CBC website

As Raven and Paul were preparing the moose that they got, they were talking about the many Indigenous women had been murdered or had disappeared on that highway.  They got the idea to have the moose hide tanned and cut into little squares that they could distribute to men so that they could show their commitment to stand up against violence towards women and children.

The card that comes with the square reads:

The Moose Hide Campaign is a grassroots movement of Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal Men who are standing up against violence towards women and children.

Wearing this moose hide signifies your commitment to honour, respect, and protect the women and children in your life and to work together with other men to end violence against women and children.

Our vision is to spread the Moose Hide Campaign to organizations, communities, and governments throughout Canada.

You can see Raven and Paul tell the story of this campaign began here:  

Once a year the Moose Hide Campaign has a gathering in BC and they ask men across Canada to fast for one day with them, to show their commitment to working towards ending violence against women and children.  Their goal is to have one million men across Canada fasting together.

So far, they have distributed over half of a million squares of moose hide.  They have a presence in over 250 communities, colleges and universities.

On the day of the gathering, each year, the MLA’s of the provincial government of BC  wear the moose hide patches and make a statement inside the legislature.  Then they come outside and stand with the Moose Hide Campaign and discuss how men can be engaged in being part of the solution.

Their mission is described on the website with these statements:

·        We will stand up with women and children and we will speak out against violence towards them.

·        We will support each other as men and we will hold each other accountable.

·        We will teach our young boys about the true meaning of love and respect, and we will be healthy role models for them.

·        We will heal ourselves as men and we will support our brothers on their healing journey.

·        We encourage you to Take Action, Make the Pledge and Stand up to end violence towards women and children.

  

  The website made it easy to order patches to distribute.  So we ordered 100 and my partner began speaking at gatherings such as the local film festival, open mics, and the field naturalist meeting, handing out moose hide squares to men who were interested and women who wanted to give them to the men in their lives.  He also mailed some to his family members and handed them out to friends so that they could share them with their friends.  The squares went fast, so we ordered another hundred.  We keep on thinking of places that he can speak and include more men in being part of the solution.  My partner tells me that sometimes women come to thank him for speaking out about this issue and that some of them have tears in their eyes.  

The moose hide pieces are free and can be ordered here. You can also make donations to this campaign.  Here is a youtube videos of Indigenous men speaking about why this campaign is so important.

Although this campaign has been in existence for five years, it only just found us.  And the timing couldn’t be better.  In the face of daily revelations about how men have abused their power in the entertainment industry and politics and reports from the Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women Inquiry, some men are relieved to have a way of showing their support for this human issue.  They can go on-line and learn more, they can begin to have conversations with each other and they can influence boys and teens.  There is room for all of us as we work to change this story.

Rounding the Rectangle

A few weeks ago, a friend told my partner that Midland was going to have a commemoration for Gord Downie who died on Oct. 17^th.  The big-hearted frontman of the Tragically Hip had spent the last year and a half of his life working on reconciliation, writing songs and sharing his love with his family, fans and friends. 

Gord Downie is honoured by the Assembly of First Nations (photo: CBC News)

The newspaper gave an itinerary of events for the day long commemoration and so we set off in the pouring rain to Little Lake Park to find the opening event.  Luckily it was held under a long rectangular picnic pavilion with lots of dry space.

Drummers from the Georgian Bay Native Friendship Centre set up near one end of the pavilion and sat in a circle around a large drum that they all played together.  We learned from the elder that the young men drumming had only been learning to drum for a few months but I couldn’t tell that they were beginners.  One man in traditional men’s regalia and a woman in jingle dress regalia danced in a circle around the drummers.

Meanwhile the spectators stood around the edge of the rectangular cement pad in straight lines.  I said to my partner that we should really be in a circle and he immediately got the idea to just move up and round off one of the corners.  Almost immediately, people on the other side rounded off their corner as well. 

The man in traditional men’s regalia spoke about his spirit name and the meaning of his regalia and passed around one of his beaded gauntlets that had flowers, a thunderbird, fire and shells on it.  We were invited to ask questions and people did – about their spirit names, about the regalia and one woman asked about how non-Indigenous people can help.  One of the drummers replied, “The best thing you can do is to learn about what really happened.  Learn about the history that they tried to hide because they know that there was wrongdoing.”  It was explained to us that the drum is for healing as is the jingle dress dance.  One of the drummers explained that this is how they were healing from the wrongdoing. The space between the spectators and the drummers still felt large to me even though the shape was better.  While the drummers and the drum and dancers were in a circle, we the spectators now formed a kind of oval.

Shortly after that, the elder drummer spoke about Gord Downie in a deep low voice that was hard to hear.  So my partner and I stepped closer and the rest of the spectators closed in so that we could all hear what he had to say. Now it felt like we were no longer two groups; onlookers and people conducting a ceremony.  I could feel how we were starting to connect, that we were becoming part of the ceremony.

photo: CBC News

The last dance was a travelling dance and we were all invited to dance in what was now a tight circle.  We danced together, elders, children, youth and adults, step by step and at the end with faced the centre and whooped together.

I imagined Gord Downie, Wicapi Omani (Lakota for Man Who Walks Amongst the Stars), smiling as we danced together. That is what the Downie Wenjak Fund, Gord’s legacy is all about – bringing Indigenous and non-Indigenous people together.

I kept thinking about how the rectangle had become a circle.  I thought about how when we were children we were taught to stand in straight lines, to stay in our place.  I thought about how in our Western worldview time is linear and we move from here to there always “progressing” with unlimited growth.  I thought about how in Indigenous worldview, time is circular or cyclical and so the past is always available to the present and one always has to think about the next seven generations as well as the last seven generations in any decision made.  I thought about how the Western view of progress has brought so much environmental change that now threatens us and how we need to learn how to have a more circular sense of time.  I saw how people who were grieving the passing of Gord had found healing and solace in an ancient tradition because Gord came to value this way of being.  I saw how easily our rectangle became a circle with a little encouragement.  And I thought to myself, “This is the new story that we are writing with our feet, one step at a time.”

And then I took another step and went to thank the drummers and dancers for coming.  Some were happy to shake my hand.  The young boys looked shy and so I just smiled and thanked them.  When I got to the elder, I held out my hand but he opened his arms wide and we gave each other a hug.  The rectangle was rounded until it came down to heart to heart.

A few days later, I listened to an interview on CBC with Gord’s two brothers, Mike and Patrick.  They said that if people really wanted to honour Gord then they can get about the business of reconciliation.  We had taken some small steps in the park in Midland.  The steps we could take, the steps that were in front of us, knowing that they will lead to more steps in the days to come.

In the Eye of a Horse Chestnut

This Reflection was shared with me by a friend and is shared with you with her permission:

Unexpectedly my work day collapsed – 4 out of 6 clients were sick or unavailable.  I had hours to spare,  no book to read and a bus trip hours away--- how to make lemonade out of the day?

I am in a new stage of life, one dream ended as it were, another starting…. I am slowing down my work schedule, no longer pushing the boundaries forward in healthcare.  I continue to work seeing those regular people that I have known for a while, a few new people – especially those that need information/compassion/perspective about their health.  I have lived long enough in the field of lymphedema and life that I can willingly offer this. 

I live in a small city on a lake , a reluctant immigrant in many ways…. All be it I have a home that suits me… big old trees surround, a yard with flower and veggie garden, space to grow, room for my dog, an extra bedroom for visitors and grandchildren, minutes from water and kayak, swim and canoe time. 

I left behind a farm life with the rhythms of the land and the natural world an immediate part of each day.  A barn with chickens, sheep, horses – even some few goats, pigs, turkeys—all needing care and giving so much in return.  Lots of room for dogs and cats, songbirds galore,   the sound of coyotes singing close by on fall nights, stars to light my path , sunrise and sunset to embrace the day.  The shape of the farm life supported my life of raising 4 children, bringing new ways of being in healthcare, responding to difficulties and challenges out of my control with humour, creativity and joy.  The earth was ever present – solid, caring.

In this new phase of my life the sunrise and sunset are hard to find, I have one dog, I look for stars, comfort myself on the water.  My work life is changing , grandchildren are arriving, my mother showing signs of aging with mental loss that comes and goes, wills and pensions topics circle in my head…

I have a good friend close by… and a longtime friend I continue to work with…good neighbours, I am looking for new ways to be creative, try new things and then I am tired… I touch things but do not continue….it seems.  I wonder am I sabotaging myself...

A  chestnut in hand…

I have been wondering how to move forward in this new stage of my life…. What will I choose to carry forward , what can be let go of….? What metaphor/symbol will be mine for this time.

I am in my 6^th decade and lots has happened in the previous decades, good, joyful, difficult, confusing and on… a life is like that.  In this elder time, grandmother time I want to live deeply, from the heart, present and part of all life around.  I want to travel lightly --- like air, the wind that moves in swirls and strength. And I want to access the wisdom I have learned and let go of what is heavy from the past.  My horse Robbie has died and was the final thread from my past way of life.  An evolution time is at hand for me….so many lessons learned through ups and downs…. The lessons’ core to keep, the vehicle to let go for compost….

Recently I attended an art exhibit at the ROM, Anishinaabeg: Art and Power.  My goodness, there was such beauty, and richness in the pieces displayed—paintings, daily objects, ceremonial pieces, video of elders.  What especially moved me was the bead work --- so vibrant and intricate.  For me it was a deep and clear expression of life lived with all creation. The work showed changing times and culture, over two centuries. The Anishinaabeg way of life -- materials and art forms evolved to reflect this.  At times the message was a record of the past values.  The underlying message of interconnection with creation and creator was clear throughout.  The exhibit’s art reflects the profound power of these people and their way of life.  The beauty and wisdom of the Anishinaabeg over centuries was shown alive and growing, transforming in modern times. I spent a long time absorbing the beauty and shape.

Leaving the ROM that fall afternoon my spirit was happy, full and reflective.  I decided to have a snack along Philosophers walk just outside.  As a student at university many decades earlier I had often walked this tree lined path.  As I walked along I noticed an old horse chestnut tree and its ‘conkers’ or spiky seed balls on the ground.  I have always loved these fall treasures.  I collected them throughout my childhood, cautiously picking up the green spiky casings to bring home.  At home I would pry the seams open to reveal one or two nuts of rich mahogany colour inside.  The creamy white underside (where the nut developed from the tree) was at first soft and slippery, and shiny like the rich brown nut.  One story is that the Horse Chestnut tree is so named because these beautiful nuts remind one of the soft depth of a horse’s eye. 

I found one that day, ready to open.  The nut fit perfectly in the palm of my hand to be rolled in my palm and caressed lovingly-- remembering and celebrating again my childhood joy.  As I rolled it over in my hand massaging its slippery fresh creamy surface I was thrilled by the change in the white area.  The area revealed a kind of horse’s eye – circles within circles – depth from outer to inner.  Liquid wisdom in colour and form and for me a connection to my horses, and their gifts.  The delight of my little girl had led me to a discovery and transformation in the moment.

As I held the chestnut in my palm on my subway and bus ride home I realized that this seed carried all the information needed to grow a tree/a new life.  In my hand was what was essential for the path forward.  A small light seed packed with wisdom, travelling with essential wisdom from the mother, beautiful and able to access all that is necessary when needed.  It’s tree mother had already let go of her excess for this season, leaves and conkers on the ground… maybe twigs and branches also. 

 In that moment I realized I’d found a new metaphor for carrying my ‘essential wisdom’ forward.  The horse chestnut seed bringing forward my child to play again and remember what is essential. On Philosopher’s path, I looked up to touch and thank the tree for her seed, wisdom shared and in her trunk another mystery was waiting for me – an ancient bark ‘eye’ embedded in the trunk.  This grandmother tree spirit was watching and waiting to share her gifts with anyone who may be ready to receive . In turn I will take my place in the world watching and ready to share.   Mi-gwetch …

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