As I sit in the Summer Arbor, I reflect on the ceremony we held two suns ago. The lightning and thunder shift further and further east, and the rain that was just a little while ago a soaking downpour is now down to a drizzle. A smoky fire gives us some warmth and comfort, and is keeping the hearth partially dry – as there are major leaks in the roof which channel water straight into the stone ring.
I am glad to behold a wood arbor full of firewood. I spent much of yesterday replenishing our supplies; they were quite pathetic, not at all adequate for the rains that are moving through. We were pretty wrapped up in replacing our burned-up supplies in town, and not very focused on camp upkeep. And two days ago we concentrated on cleaning up and restoring the burned lodge site, and the ceremony.
Chris proposed that before we clean the site, before we start to rebuild, we have a ceremony. A letting-go ceremony. This felt right to us…And so we set about contemplating on what we have to let go of. Now here, I will write only about myself, as this is a very personal matter. Each one of us had a profound experience, the significance of which is still unraveling.
We collected our intentions, thoughts, and token objects and headed over to the burn pile. In the misting rain, I kindled fire with my bow-drill, and we lit the pile. We used a tinder bundle (not coals from an old fire) to reinforce the sacredness of this event; neither did we borrow flame from this fire for other ones later on – for the same reason.
For a long time we stood around the fire, readying. Then we walked over to the site of the burned lodges – an empty space covered with charcoal and ash, remnants of wigwam posts protruding from the ground in charred sadness, dead and wilted trees bringing back memories of the leaping flames, heat and smoke. There we silently stood for a bit, and went back to the burn pile fire. We were now ready.
One by one we took out our special objects, and spoke about what they represented to us, what we were letting go of. Parts of ourselves that no longer serve us. We spoke of our intent, of how we wish to be.
My object was sand. My sister picked it up for me from that sandbox where I used to play as a child when she visited our old city, on the other side of the planet. Miraculously, the glass jar it was in survived the fire – with a few cracks.
From the ashes of the old comes the new. I saw that change happen when we sat down, as a circle, and spoke of the lessons we have learned from the lodge fire, particularly ones related to circle-consciousness. It was so beneficial to hear everyone’s perspective on how we can better ourselves as individuals.
In the same vein, I too began to seek something deeper. The fire destroyed many of my possessions, and so I began to really look at the question of whether I want to be out here – away from a larger community of people (I’ve been wrestling with this question from the beginning). I was guided to listen to my heart, and what I heard was that I need to know myself. Love myself. My patterns of getting distracted, judging, and looking for something better no longer serve me. I will always love my inner child – and he need not run for his life. As an adult, I will take responsibility for everything that happens in my life.
With these words and intent, I threw the fine-grained Baltic sand into the fire. As I did so, the little jar crumbled, as if the cracked glass knew the need to hold onto its former contents now passed. At the end, we held hands, and spoke a thanksgiving.
We spent the rest of the day bringing charcoal and debris from the site of the lodge fire to the burn pile. Then we covered the site with leaves from the forest. Toward the end, we worked in the rain. At last, we finished – the earth can start to heal. Completion.
Since the ceremony, the guidance of my heart continues to fill me. I am being shown to change my attitude of scarcity, for I am rich beyond words in the here and now – rich inmy relationship with the Greater Flow. I am shown to delight in being who I am, to give in the ways that are natural to me. To not fear death – it is just passing over into the realm of the ancestors. To remember and honor my connection to the ancestors. To take responsibility for everything that happens, to create my own reality. To know myself. To love myself. At this point, everything else is secondary – seems like life can take me to many places – yet this is the real journey.
Alex