Ceremonies of Reparation: Ceremony #7
For those interested in the background of these ceremonies, please refer to the September 8, 2021 blog entry.
Ceremony #7, Mar. 2, 2022
BACKGROUND
It is Feb 23rd, Wednesday night. For weeks, the news has broadcasted the build-up of Russian forces near the border of Ukraine, predicting the potential for armed conflict. I sit, thinking of my ancestors and distant relatives in Ukraine as I fashion a Motanka. I do not know anyone there directly. Not in the way I have kinship and knowledge of my family here in Canada. However, a dull ache has formed in my throat – the kind of ache that comes with unexpressed sadness and holding back tears. I wonder if this ache is “mine,” or the ache and sadness of my ancestors, or perhaps that of the people in Ukraine?
I create a netting that hangs from each arm of the Motanka, and with each knot in the net, I bind prayers for protection. Whereas in past ceremonies I have been intent on gifting the Motanka as protection for the land, ancestors, peoples and spirits of the land in each location, this time I am asking for a reciprocal relationship. This time I am asking for protection that reaches into the land here, and also into the birthland of my ancestors where the ceremony comes from.
For this ceremony, I will be visiting trails on/ near Cobble Hill Mountain. I think of the trees and Ma Honeysuckle who are companions, helpers, and healers for me there. I think of the ravens and mushrooms who keep me company and stir my soul. I think of the hundreds of photographs I have taken on my many walks there. All of these memories, experiences, and feelings are bound and wound into the Motanka. She comes to life with ease. She is the youthful maiden who has learned to connect to and forage the land for sustenance. The ribbons/strings of her netting have the colours of spring flowers, moss, and fertile life.
For the past year and a-half I have been working with various art-pieces, all expressions and extensions of the books I am writing. One project includes the writing of Ukrainian symbols and designs on bones found on my various walks, similar to the writing on eggs (pysanky). I have found a plethora of bones on some of the lesser-used trails, and so rather than making a pysanka for this ceremony, I decided to gift one of the written bones back to the land and spirits of the land. It simply felt more fitting.
I chose a bone I had recently completed – symbols (deer/ stags, plants) that invoke protection for the creatures of the forest; symbols that represent the antlers of great stags which also honour the similar looking roots and branches of trees; spirals to align with and protect the important cycles of nature; “x’s” that invoke the stability of the ancient earth-mother Mati Zemlya; symbols that enhance the fertility and abundance of the land, as well as call-in the four directions.
The morning of Feb 24th, my husband – who is in spring farmer mode (waking at 5 or 5:30 and jumping out of bed to start his day) – wakes me a little after 7am by saying Russia has invaded Ukraine. I sit up in bed, a strange mixture of numbness, dread, and sadness washing through me. Now my choice of bone has another importance.
Many years ago, in my early 20’s, I had a dream – a gift from my Gigi (Ukrainian grandfather). An excerpt from book 1 of Journeys with the Mother Teacher (the sister trilogy to The Land Speaks):
“1989, Molodyk* of Popogami Giizis**I am in a house. It is large and empty. I am aware that the spirit of my grandfather – my Gigi – is next to me, and that this is the house of my grandparents. He guides me to walk upstairs and along a hallway – my footsteps echoing in the hollowness of the building – to a closet where he motions me to look inside. I open the door and peer in. It, too, is empty, except for a shoe box that sits on the top shelf. I reach for the box. I am short and stand on my tiptoes to reach it. As I begin to draw it down off the shelf, it falls to the ground. The contents spill on the wooden floor – a large pool of blood and a few bones – the blood and bones of my ancestors. I stare, unsure what to feel, how to react.”
* Molodyk – Ukrainian for dark moon** Popogami Giizis – Broken Snowshoe Moon (Apr) – Anishnaabeg lunar month – I was living in Kitche Zibi, Anishnaabeg Territory, Treaty 1 at the time
I hold the bone in my hand… I think of the responsibility that was handed to me in the dream, to respectfully embody/ carry/ pass-along knowledge and tradition as best I can. I think of the acts of colonialism that “write over” the bones/ nature/ land and peoples whose territories I am guest within. I think about the purpose of these ceremonies – to make my own reparations and to represent my kin and ancestors in these reparations. Bones…
CEREMONY: March 2nd, 2022
There are one of two places I could visit for ceremony – either where I already have a small honouring to Ma Honeysuckle, whom I seek counsel with, or to the back trails. I decide on the back trails.
I walk, knowing I must listen and trust that I will be called or pulled to the “right spot.” About 15 minutes into walking along the trail, I stop – something is tugging at me. I look – there is a large log lying next to the path, and beyond it is a small knoll. As I clamor over the log, I immediately see a beautiful family of mushrooms. I have never seen these before, and assume it is they who have called me.
After taking some photographs, I stand and walk into the knoll. One tree in particular is inviting me to come closer, and as I walk to the backside of it, I suddenly see why I was pulled to this spot. A large cedar tree has been traditionally harvested for its bark. This forest has a number of trees that have been harvested, so this is not the first I have come across. However, this particular harvesting is not visible from the path – not visible in any way except from the backside. Just under the harvest-strip, at the base of the tree, is a little “cave” formed by its roots and covered in moss.
I close my eyes, listen, and feel. I am here to say thank you and make apologies. I am also here to appeal to the land and spirits for help with prayers for my own ancestors and ancestral birthlands. If I was called to this place, to this tree, perhaps this intersection of traditions is the “right place” to make these appeals…
I can not “know” with my head. I must trust what is arising in my heart.
I take a few moments to introduce myself, my intentions, and requests, to the tree and surrounding land. I ask the tree directly for permission to bury the Motanka and bone in this place. I speak the meaning of the Motanka and bone so the ancestors of this place will understand. Then, I reach into the root cave, move the needles and soil to one side, and place the Motanka and bone in the hole. After, I cover them with the same needles and soil. The ceremony is simple.
I take a few moments to offer prayers of gratitude and of remorse.
As I step back and observe the removed bark-strip, I think about the generations of Quw’utsun’ people who have continued this tradition. And I think of all the ways it has been unsafe for all Indigenous people throughout “Canada” to practice traditions, lifestyle, language, ceremony, food and resource harvesting, and to simply exist. And this train of thoughts brings me to memories and echoes in the land.
Imagine that everything you do, say, feel and think leaves energetic imprints akin to a footprint or handprint in the etheric spaces around you… You have felt this… Scenario: Two people are arguing in a room. They leave the room and you enter. Though you are not aware they were arguing, you likely feel something “sticky” or “heavy” in the room. These are the energetic imprints/ echoes of what just transpired.
Most echoes dissipate like wisps of smoke. Some that are more weighty or problematic will take longer to dissipate – days, months, years… And some that are traumatic – like conflict, war, genocide – may live in the spaces for centuries or longer.
*For more detailed thoughts, please see my blog post:
So, as I stand in this spot, looking at the tree that called me here, I close my eyes, feel and wonder: what echoes exist here? Here, on this very spot, in this mountain? And what will now be held here?
I recently read an account by anthropologist Carla Stang on the current war in Ukraine. It is her thought, based on archeological finds, that war happening today is echoed over and over for at least 7,000 years. I have not yet done my own research to corroborate or not (that’s for book 2), though her thoughts are interesting:
And these thoughts lead me back to bones… Our bones are the most solid, earthy parts of our bodies. They take the longest to “dissipate” as a memory of our form. They are composed (as our whole body is) of minerals, water, gases – the things we eat, drink and breathe. We are, in every sense, “of the earth and sky.” We are Mati Zemlya’s direct children. Why wouldn’t we be affected and affect the land and etheric spaces we live within?
And so, as I prepare to leave the ceremony spot, I ask that the prayers, protection bone and Motanka serve this place, live as positive echoes for the ancestors and peoples of these lands, and reach through the ethers to my own ancestors and their birthland as well. In some small way, I pray that this gesture be a seed of healing and reparation. I do not know how many years or generations it will take to germinate and grow this seed. May the bone serve as long as needed…
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