We humans are grieving and surviving powerful moments and changing days that are moving us forward, by any means possible.
We are all survivors of something and some survivors of many things. There will never be a return to what was – and really there never has been that option. The urgency the culture keepers of our communities are feeling is palpable. In order to heal, some want to share with everyone, some want to keep it close and guarded. I have no opinion one way or the other. I just know there is a handful of people, mostly women, who I rely on to keep me strong and moving forward. We have, in our collective DNA, an extended memory of the ancestors struggles to survive. We reinvented it in our personal lives – until we understood its magic and began to use it as a catalyst for constructive change in the world we are part of.
Yesterday I took a friend for a drive. We traveled a path of memory, weaving along tendrils of the Misi-ziibi, for hours. It was green and lush and many earth treasures were gifted to us, making for a memorable afternoon. She knew where to find certain things on each curve of the road. I felt like a time traveler as she recalled days she shared with her husband now gone, and I called in seldom shared stories of my life. It was poetry and medicine for both of us. The lush landscape we call home changes daily. We are ever grateful for the hot and muggy days, summer storms, countless blossoms, and tree songs. They remind us we are part of an ephemeral system of existence that defines itself on its own terms. We can believe or not believe in many things. It doesn’t matter. The winds will come, the moon will cycle, the waters will move and sing the songs they know. When we go there and listen we are changed for the better. In the melody and whispers found on this day we were able to hear the ancestors assuring our ties and dedication to all that we love. Water is life.