Honoring the ones who came before.
I am a visitor to this land. And in essence we are all visitors to this planet Earth. Here for such a short time in the stream of how long her existence is. There are those who lived and knew these lands where I was born long before me, the Lummi and the Nooksack, the people of the Salish Sea, the whales, the salmon, the bald eagle, the raven, the bees and trees.
Some of my people came early and participated in taking this land from them. Some of my people came later, three generations ago, and left their own homelands for this new place. I was born with this land as my home, and yet in my ancient memory I recall other lands in my bones.
The interesting thing is, when I was in Ireland this summer, where some of my people come from, I felt like I was here. And here feels like there. My Irish, English, Scottish, Swedish, German ancestors found similar landscapes to call home so far from where they originated. I saw some of the same flowers and trees. Familiar. Family.
The family of the Earth and all species. How all lands are connected, and all waters flow into each other. How seeds were carried from there to here, and from here to there. And how the wind blows. And how my blood also carries memories of displacement, when my original ancestors left their homes. The energy of being forced from home, of leaving home, forgetting home, never returning home, longing for home.
For much of my life, I’ve been a wanderer, always looking for where to settle and never feeling quite grounded in all aspects of my being. Some of me longs for the homelands. And some of me longs to feel the roots deep in this soil too. To hear the song of the whales coming through the water. To touch the soft bark of cedar tree and know she’s raised me since I could first see her.
Today and all days, a reminder to bow in humility to the journeys we have all taken and the choices that were made before we came and the wisdom that has been taken and lost and the wisdom that remains forevermore. I offer to and honor this tree that was cut, and pour waters from the sacred Ganges and from the Irish land infused with roses and the energy of our healing vigil, the healing of our ancestors, the healing of the medicine women, the healing of the lines, the returning to what is essential.
May I walk lightly and with awareness and reverence. May I listen to this land and hear how to best tend and honor. May I hold the hand of reverence and respect. May I do the work to mend any wounds that those in my lines caused in their migration to this land. May I continue to visit the homelands of my people and cultivate a sense of return, familiarity, and home within myself and their spirit.
Thank you to these beautiful plant teachers and this little bird that never hatched and the bees who made this honey and the cow who cultivated this milk. May the offerings we make ripple like waves from a single stone, forever bringing peace and healing to all.
- Melissa