Ceremonies of Reparation -- Ceremony #2

 

Ceremonies of Reparation

 

For those interested in the background of these ceremonies, please refer to the September 8, 2021 blog entry.

 

Ceremony #2, Oct. 6, 2021

 

Each time we have moved – and it has happened far too often over the past 8 years – I have introduced myself to the land (within Quw’utsun’ traditional territory), as well as ancestors and spirits of the land, and made offerings to them.  Often, within a few weeks of arrival, I will have a significant dream about the land, its history or its needs.  On a couple of occasions, the ancestors of the land have come to me in dreamtime.

 

In mid September, I had an opportunity to sit with elder Qwiahwultuhw who is a traditional story-keeper.  I told him about some of the interactions and dreams I had experienced in various locations, and asked if he had any guidance or stories that might relate to what had been shown to me.  He offered insights, teachings, a story, and also some guidance, all of which were immensely helpful.  Near the end of our time together I also told him about the ceremonies of reparation I am doing, and that part of my hope was to make peace with the land, spirits, and peoples of the land so that we might (eventually) be more settled.  And so, as I prepared for the second ceremony, I had his words moving through my heart as support.

 

I had decided that the second ceremony would be to pay honour to lands that I miss very much.  We had lived for 2 years in our yurt, nestled in forest on the south side of Skw’aakw’num (Mt. Sicker) with Whitehouse Creek just down the hillside from our back door.  The creek runs year-round – a gentle stream in summer, and a raging torrent in winter.  Across the road from the property where we were renting are walking trails through “municipal” forest.  Within a 15-minute walk, we could visit a stunning part of the Chemainus River as it winds its way through rocky embankments that are somewhat like a small canyon passageway.

 

The previous owner of the land we lived upon passed away this summer in a car accident, and so I approached the ceremony with this in the background of my mind.  The last time we interacted with him was not very pleasant.  We were moving off the property and had come to retrieve our yurt and last loads of garden supplies.  He was heavily inebriated, confrontational, and was attempting to maneuver his tractor toward our truck as we were departing.  It was not a pretty interaction.

 

I made a Motanka with a bell on each arm for protection of the lands and spirits.  She wears a special Namysto (amulet necklace) that has a “locket” (basically, a repurposed clasp that can attach and detach).  I did not know why it felt so important to have this locket – I was simply compelled to include it.  I bound a third bell to the detachable portion of the locket and trusted the purpose would reveal itself in time.

 

The Pysanka was similar to that from Ceremony #1, with a few key differences.  I chose to illustrate only coniferous trees as these were the main trees that I interacted with in this region.  The bond I had formed with the trees in this area was profound.  

I had had a ceremony spot next to the yurt and prayed with the trees daily.  The trees became pivotal as teachers, protectors and guides while we lived there.  During one particularly destructive windstorm they woke me in the night.  It was the beginning of the howling winds, and I was woken with a startle as I heard branches beginning to fall in deeper parts of the forest.  The trees in the ceremony spot called out and said “Pray.  Do not be afraid.  You will hear a tree come down near the yurt, but nothing will hurt you.  Nothing will fall on the yurt.  Just pray.  We will keep you safe.”  And, it was true.  For hours the wind howled, branches and trees broke and crashed to the forest floor.  Some very large trees fell like dominos, completely uprooted.  And the yurt remained safe with us within it.  To see the damage in the morning was heartbreaking.  It was a miracle, truly, that we were not damaged, crushed nor hurt in any way.

 

The winds and elementals have played an important role in our lives over the past many years, and as I revisit different locations for ceremony, I will relate more of these stories.  Wind was particularly important in this location, and so the Pysanka depicts wind on either side of the trees.  The band that encircles the egg shows waves written in it to represent the stream whose waters we listened to by day and night.  Qwiahwultuhw related that the streams and rivers were the highways of the ancestors, and that they still travel these pathways.  “You must have had many visitors then!” he said, to which I smiled and responded, “Yes, many!”

 

The underworld section of the egg shows a traditional Ukrainian symbol of mountains (triangles) and over two of the mountains are “^” shapes, with eleven dots under each of them.  This is a representation of something Qwiahwultuhw had related.  He said that the Quw’utsun’ creation story states that 11 beings/ humans fell from the sky and landed on the top of various mountains in the valley.  The mountains of this location were sacred sites where some of the First Beings landed.

 

Dark/ new moon was Oct. 6^th, and so, after client work, I drove toward Chemainus.  As I turned off the highway, I noticed the gas gauge was low, and decided to get gas at the corner of the road that leads to the ceremony site and place where we used to live.  After filling the tank, I turned to leave and… “Thunk.”  I had driven my front wheels over a cement curb.  I stopped, wondering where it had leapt out from as I did not see anything.  I tried backing over it, but our truck is not very strong and refused to back up, so I had to roll forward and let the back wheels go over the significant hump.  I had been startled, and all the herbs on the passenger side of the front dash altar had fallen to the floor.  Driving slowly around the first bend, I realized that I was being asked to enter ceremony already, having passed through the “gateway” of the valley.  I turned off the radio, straightened my body and stayed very present as I made my way up the road.

 

Approaching the parking area next to the trail, opposite the property where we lived, I noticed a farmer had the area blocked with his truck as he was readying to spread manure on the adjacent field.  The word “obstacles” was being whispered in my ear. I drove past and continued to drive to the spot where Skw’aakw’num was in full sight.  It was a grey and rainy day, so the top of the mountain was touched by low-lying clouds.  Turning around, I returned to the parking spot, now clear.

I gathered the offerings and began to walk the small hill-path.  In a short time, I arrived at the beginning of Honeysuckle Forest.  You won’t find the name of this part of the forest written or displayed anywhere.  It is the name I offered to it.  Each place we live, I look for Ma (Honeysuckle, q’ut’q’ut’a’ulhp) – the plant who adopted and taught me when I lived at Goldstream (WSÁNEĆ traditional territory, 45 minutes south from where I currently live).  I looked for her for several months after we moved to this location, until one day I spotted her spiraling up a tree about 100 feet from the path.  And I knew, where there is one, there are many.  So, I made my way carefully through the Salaal bushes to her, and as I walked the inner forest, I was surrounded by Honeysuckle vines of varying ages!  I was so happy to see her here!

 

 

In a recreation of the first meeting in this forest, I walked off-path and greeted Ma, then slowly walked through to see all the various Ma emanations.  Pausing, I asked where it would be best to bury the Motanka and Pysanka.  (The image is of the first Ma I encountered here, taken in 2017.)

An image was immediately given of Twisted Ma.  Of course!  She is an older Honeysuckle (older for this forest, though by no means as old as those I studied with in Goldstream), and one whom I consulted often when in need of guidance.  As if my memories were being pulled up out of some kind of fog, I found my way through the forest to her.  (The image here is of her in 2017.)

The feather I had gifted when we moved away was still held between her spiraling branches, now with a moss coating. (The image here is Twisted Ma today, with feather and moss.)

 

My heart was happy to see her!  I touched her vine, and said hello, and offered tobacco.  And then I stated my purpose and asked to be shown where to bury the offerings.  I was guided around the back of her companion tree, to the place she herself was rooted.  Just under her base was a small divot in the ground.  I began to dig with my fingers.  The ground was made of composting needles, leaves, branches and soft earth.  I placed the Motanka and then Pysanka in the shallow hole, and then covered them up.  It is very very unlikely anyone would trample this area.

 

I stood and held her, asking her to hear my words and prayers.  And I felt the hills and mountains, creek and river, forest and meadow, ceremony spot, ancestors and land.  I prayed my remorse for any ignorance, harm and difficulties I brought to these lands, and I prayed my gratitude for all that was given here – all that I was gifted, and all that was held here.  I prayed both of these, over and over…

 

And then I requested help and healing for our constant relocations – help to find stability.  “You may not find it,” she said.  “You may be destined to move and move.  And whether you find stability now, or later, you are doing the healing now.  Now.”  She repeated “now” a few times until I understood what she meant. 

 

“Keep doing these ceremonies over the year…” she said.

 

“But we need to move before a year is complete – we only have until March,” I interrupted.

 

She responded patiently, “Keep doing the ceremonies and the other efforts, and trust – something will come.  It must.”

 

I saw a dead smaller branch hanging off the main vine and took a small piece.  I thought to take more but she said, “No.  Walk further and you will find the vine offering… Now go.”

 

I touched her once more with love, and then walked along the familiar forest paths.  At the fork that would either take me to the meadow or through forest to the bone grounds, I chose to stay on the forest path.  Within a few feet, I saw dead vines on a tree that had a metal loop hanging on it and knew this was the offering Twisted Ma spoke of.  Folding the vine into a bundle, I left tobacco for her in return and continued walking.  The dried and dead vines will be burned in a prayer fire in the fall or winter.  As I passed by the “bone grounds” where someone had left deer carcasses (with antlers removed) in the past, I noticed that the earth had swallowed the bones and they were now well covered.

 

Following the loop back toward the truck, another Ma called to me from the main path, offering a leaf for me to eat.  “Now you and I are one, and you will carry “here” within you.”

 

A little later, feeling the need to relieve myself, I ducked off-path, and when finished I noticed an owl feather on the ground.  I added it, with thanks, to the vine bundle.

At the final bends of the pathway I recalled the teachings of the wind one blustery night.  It was early winter a few years ago, and I wandered outside for a walk in the darkness.  The sky was clear, the stars were bright and the air was chilly.  As I headed up the small hill toward and around the first bend, the air changed suddenly and drastically – winds were blowing forcefully, sleet splattered against my face and shawl, and the stars were obscured.  I walked for a few hundred feet and then sought shelter at the first Ma I had originally met.  Holding onto her companion tree, the winds become even more intense. 

 

“Close your eyes and feel the wind,” she said.  And so I did. 

 

“Feel, listen…”  Images began to arise.  It was as if I was being transported along the pathway of the wind – not to where it was travelling, but to where it had been.  I was brought first to the top of Skw’aakw’num.  The snows were deep there, and a stag was trying to make its way through the snow drifts.  Then I was picked up and carried further, across land and various mountains to a beach, where I paused for a moment, and then was carried to the ocean where waves were turbulent.  This was the inception of the winds that I was experiencing.

 

I was brought back along the same pathway, pausing at the same places, until I arrived back in my body.  I thanked Ma and her tree-companion and ventured back onto the pathway.  The winds and sleet were still intense, my shawls were drenched and whipping around my body.  As I rounded the corner to the small hillside, everything stopped as suddenly as it started.  The skies were clear and quiet here, and my remaining walk back home was peaceful.

 

So as I rounded this same corner and walked the final hillside, I also remembered the teaching of the trees and winds together.  The following is an excerpt from my writings at the time:

 

TREE-SPEAK

 

Aug 6th, 2018

 

I awoke from a series of disturbing dreams. I was looking in the mirror at myself - my body must have grown 300 pounds or more, and I had nothing to wear.  The next image was a close-up of a white squiggling grub. And then, finally, I was in our truck with my husband and the mother of my step-daughter - we were at my old university, trying to find parking but there was none to be found. 

 

Just after we woke and began our morning chores, one of the other residents on the land put on music - bad 80s music - so loudly that we could neither think nor hear one another when talking. We got through watering the gardens as quickly as we could and then left. 

 

At the store where our plant-starts are sold, someone who has been disgruntled had written on a popsicle stick, stuck into one of the plants, "Do not buy this plant..."

 

When we returned home after downtown chores were done, the residents who had been playing the music, along with the owner, walked by our home with chainsaws and hard alcohol, intent on cutting down trees nearby.

 

And so, the disturbing dreams heralded the day.

 

In the evening, once everyone had settled and it was dark outside, I put on my headlamp and walked to find the cut tree.  I lit smudge, made offerings and prayers, and then stepped a little closer to have a better look.

 

The land was torn and disturbed. Suddenly, I slid and fell as the earth gave-way. My face stopped my fall as I smacked into a broken branch extending from the fallen tree.  Had I fallen any other way, the branch would have pierced my eye or cheek. I had, instead, received a slap in the face - literally. I could feel the trees and land are angry.

 

I asked them, "Why this toward me?"

 

They answered, "You did not protect us."

 

I replied, "I'm sorry - I am not the owner of this land - I feel powerless..."

 

They retorted, " We do not recognize ownership."  Another slap in the face.

 

I was reminded of a few months earlier... I had just asked a local elder-medicine-woman for permission to connect more deeply with the spirits of the land, as I am a settler here, and my roots only go "so deep". She had replied a magnificent "YES!" And then mentioned she was heading out that day to a place in the valley where clear cutting had recently happened to offer prayers and ceremony for the land.

 

That same day, at a farm down the road, new owners were cutting down at least a hundred old trees to make more room for their corn crop.  Gusty "ill winds" began blowing up the road (in the opposite direction of how the winds normally blow in this part of the valley).  By the later afternoon, after (and while) ingesting large quantities of alcohol, the owner and same 2 residents took out chainsaws, marched past our home nestled in the woods, and began cutting nearby trees.

 

For 3 days, the winds, alcohol and cutting went on. By the end of the third day, I reflected on the message from the elder, and after dark, went to the cut trees. I laid a hand on one of the stumps, offered smudge and prayers, and asked the Spirits that the cutting stop.

 

The next day, they returned to continue the mayhem, and their chainsaw broke.

 

And so it became very clear - my role is not just one-sided. It is not just something that exists in my mind or heart, expressed toward the land, trees, and spirits. It is also recognized by them toward me. I have a responsibility toward them, and I must fulfill it. 

 

And so it is, on this path. The deeper we connect, the more responsibility we carry. 

 

 

I offered a prayer in my heart to the former owner, for peace for his soul-journey, and gratitude for the opportunity to have lived here, learned here…  As I drove away, I felt my sadness in not being able to walk to and visit the former ceremony site, and yet I also felt peace.

 

Today, I was sent a payment from a former student – one whom I had sat with in that forest over several years.  Completion of our time together had been messy, with many teachings for each of us to hold in our respective hearts. I had not heard from her in a few years – her payment was sent, she said, as closure and hope that it is helpful at this time.  It was received with gratitude, and a smile.  The ceremony is complete.