Ceremonies of Reparation: Ceremony #12 Lekwungen Territory

August 19, 2022

Ceremonies of Reparation: Ceremony #12 Lekwungen Territory

Ceremonies of Reparation

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

Ceremony #12, June 29^th, 2022

BACKGROUND

In the course of my 54 years, I have had a few significant, chosen and not-chosen turns in the road of life. Moving from Ottawa to Vancouver Island in 2008 was one of those. I left family, dear friends, students, clients, a career, my teacher, my home, my personal history… It was SIGNIFICANT.

The move itself is a complicated story for perhaps another time. When I arrived on the Island, I lived in the Gorge area (Songhees and Esquimalt Nations’ territory) for approximately 12 months.

I am not a city dweller – I simply do not thrive in the city. I tried, however, to make peace with it… I practiced yoga outdoors each night, next to a plum tree in the backyard. When I began my contract with Pacific Rim College, I walked to work each day for the first months – the path took me over the Gorge and along the developing Dockside Green project, past scrubby meadows and roadsides filled with wild medicinal plants. And while it was helpful to keep me feeling sane, it wasn’t enough to prevent what felt like the drying up of soul-force.

So, a move was made in 2009 to Tsartlip territory (which is where ceremony #13 will take me). However, I continued to work downtown until 2013, when another significant turn in the road occurred – and, well, that’s a whole book for another time.

I had assumed that the ceremony for this location would be “easy business.” I did not anticipate anything of any meaning to happen. It was, after all, “the city.”

Sometimes our biases and assumptions are “called out” by Spirit. This ceremony was one of those times. If you’ve been following the blog for the ceremonies, you will remember that last staryk (dark moon) I had intended to visit Lekwungen territory and instead, due to wonky circumstances, I rearranged the order of the final ceremonies. So, this being the second to last ceremony for this year-cycle, I was determined to make my way to Lekwungen territory.

My first challenge was meeting with an elder. I had arranged to meet with an elder a few weeks prior to ceremony – we had set aside a time and location for the meeting. However, on the appointed day, a multi-vehicle accident turned the usual Friday-afternoon-traffic-crawl out of the city into a complete and utter stand-still. What would normally have been a 20-minute drive from downtown to the coffee shop became an hour and a half drive. When I finally arrived, the elder texted to say they were unable to get through traffic and would have to cancel. We would not be able to reschedule in sufficient time, either, as they were going to be leaving in a few days for important travels.

I had been scheduled to meet with Della Rice Sylvester the following week, just prior to ceremony. During my meeting, I mentioned what had happened with the elder, and asked Della: when it is either inappropriate to approach an elder or difficult to find someone connected to the lands I am working with, who might I consider approaching (instead)? She immediately answered, “Seek the eldest tree… In our culture, we always approach the eldest elder, so, seek the eldest tree in the area, and approach it.”

CEREMONY: July 28^th, 2022

I felt conflicted without having met with the elder in-person. However, I also trusted that I was acting in good heart – Della reminds me often that my intention is the most important part of protocol with the land and spirits of the land. I decided that I would visit a location that is acts like a guardian overlooking the entrance to the city, treat it as “elder” and ask permission to do ceremony.

The turn-off from the Malahat to the small parking area is a bit challenging – usually cars are following so closely behind that I have to make a quick manoeuvre. It is not a well-marked area, and as I pulled in, I was happy that I was the only person parked there.

The first time I had visited this trail, I had a profound experience. I had stepped off the main path onto a smaller path and stood next to one of the grandmother trees at the beginning of the trail. As I touched the tree to say hello, all I heard in my mind was “Do not enter.” I checked with the tree to find out if it was OK to proceed. It was welcoming and seemed to indicate I was accepted here. Then as I took the next step, I heard “Do not enter” again. I walked slowly, listening for further warnings, of which there were none. Within a short time, as the path narrowed, I began to hear running water. This was surprising to me, as I saw no signs of a creek or stream. The water sounds became louder, and as I tuned a small bend, I was met by a little wren who chattered at me her own “stay away” message. I cautiously continued and came across the source of the water sound… A small (8 foot) waterfall was hidden in the forest. The volume of water was quite low, and I could easily walk across the stream (if it could be called a stream). I imagined that at the height of the winter flow, the stream and waterfalls were probably quite intense. There was a flat and slightly open area just below the falls, and I imagined that this beautiful spot probably served as a special or sacred place. I greeted the falls, allowing myself to be sprayed by the water. I stayed for a short time, and then as I walked back to my car, I noticed that several cedar trees – perhaps 10 in total – had been traditionally harvested for bark. And I wondered if this was part of the reason the grandmother tree had been tasked with discouraging visitors away from the falls and harvesting area.

So, on the morning of the ceremony, I reached for offerings and made my way to the trail entrance. Just as I walked onto the main path, two butterflies fluttered around me. I turned toward the smaller path with the old grandmother tree and walked toward the hidden falls. When I reached the falls, I noticed there was a stone I hadn’t seen previously – to me it looked like a piece of petrified wood. I thought about Della’s words – to find the eldest elder – and knew that the stones were among the eldest of any of the beings here. The waterfall was, perhaps, another of the eldest beings. I introduced myself to the stone, falls, and the spirits of the place, and explained my purpose and intention that day. I was met with quiet acceptance. Walking to the falls themselves and spritzing myself with the falling water felt like an important blessing. I wanted to linger, but something was compelling me to move along. Within a short time of leaving the falls, a young couple passed me on the trail, heading toward the falls. I was happy that I followed the compulsion to leave. Just before exiting the trail, I found a light grey feather – it stood out to me for no apparent reason. As I exited the path, ten or more butterflies flocked around me. It was another lovely blessing.

My next stop was to visit the Gorge. I parked my car at the grocery store just a block away from where I had lived. It all felt like a time-warp. It had been 13 years since I was living in the area, and yet it seemed very little had changed. I walked across the street to the Tillicum-Gorge Park, and let my feet lead me down cement stairs to a quiet little nook, next to the water and away from people and busy-ness. I sat for a long while, letting my senses take in sights and sounds. A lovely big maple tree framed the nook, and I realised as I looked at her that she was likely “elder” in this particular part of the park.

Here’s where spirit called-me-out. Of course, I knew the park was there – I had visited it a couple of times when I lived in the area. And, I realised as I sat there, I had been so wrapped up in the drama of my life at the time, that I missed the opportunity to connect with the waters, trees, and nature right under my nose… It had been there all along.

And so, the first part of the ceremony was to apologize. I apologised to the water, then to the tree, and then to the land and spirits of the area. I apologised for not seeing them, and not honouring them when I lived here. I apologized for being wrapped up in my own life and drama… I spoke my intention to the tree and waters, and then began to consider where and how to gift the Motanka and first Pysanka. Originally, I imagined throwing them into the Gorge. But I realised that it would be more fitting to allow them to remain with the land and tree as gifts and amulets for the area. Looking at the base of the tree, I was struck by a sight. A grey feather, just like the one I had seen in the forest, was one the ground next to the roots.

The Motanka was another “spiral-face” doll. The spiral represents destiny, and the movement of time. Part of the reason I found myself moving to the west-coast was feeling “called” out here, against all logic. Something of “destiny” needed to be fulfilled. I contemplated all that I encountered leading up to and during my time living in the area. Then I found a little cave under one of the tree-roots, next to the feather, and cleared the leaves and debris to nestle the Motanka underneath.

I had created two Pysanky for this ceremony. The first was for honouring the Gorge area, and the second was for honouring the downtown area where I worked for so long. Both are written on duck eggs. When I began writing the egg intended for the Gorge, I was surprised to find it cracked. I was going to compost the egg and decided that the crack was actually quite fitting. The crack, in fact, became the centre of the design. I circled around and around the crack, watching the shapes morph and change until they converged on the back-side as a cosmic-vulva. The metaphor was astounding… The crack represented the wounds and distortions I had carried with me from Ottawa. They became the template, good or bad, I had drawn around. And the cracks and distortions also led to beauty and an incredible creative force from which I was able to generate some pretty profound experiences.

I placed the Pysanka with the Motanka under the root cave, then re-packed the space with the debris and leaves. I took a few more moments to be held in the space, and then left and returned to my car.

My next stop was the harbour area next to the new “blue bridge”. The college where I had taught was located in a building called Market Square. One of the field trips I would make with students was to walk across the bridge to the Esquimalt side, where we would visit the beach, rocks and totem and perform blind-folded trust walks, as well as occasionally hold prayer and meditation. This felt like the most appropriate location to release the second Pysanka.

As I stepped out of the car and onto the grass, grey feathers lay everywhere. I had forgotten that the area was frequented by all sorts of water-birds.

I walked to the rock outcrop and beach, spent some time with the ocean, and wondered where best to leave the Pysanka. This particular Pysanka depicts the straight-and-curved-lined world I felt I inhabited while I worked at the college -- working within the lines of "convention" yet also being creative and unique within that paradigm. I looked across the harbour to the building where I had worked and decided to release the Pysanka to the ocean. Waiting for the “right moment”, I tossed the egg and was surprised that it sunk out of sight so quickly! For some reason I thought it might float before making the trip down to the ocean floor, haha!