Ghosts of the Living and the Dead

Ghosts of the Living and the Dead

Ofttimes, we revisit places where we’ve been, or places where we’ve lived in our lives. It is often hard to take in the changes, and to understand the impact those changes might have on us. I once took my twins to the home I’d grown up in that had by that time been turned into a business, complete with a parking lot where the lawn and lilac bushes had once been.

As I stood in what was once our yard, in my minds eye, I could see my aunties, now passed on. I saw scenes from my childhood rolling in the grass, playing on my swing set. I could see my family out on the patio in the back, under the covering where we had Summer picnics and laughed and shared food. I remember the party I had when I was in high school on an occasion when my family was gone. There were friends from my school, many were couples, sitting together on the chaise lounges, me alone, as I wondered what it would have been like to be curled up with a boy like that…ghosts…

As I peeked into the windows, I could see some of the various rooms, looking so very small now after seeming so large in my child eyes. I couldn’t see the rooms upstairs, but looking up at the windows, I could imagine seeing my wistful and lonely young face, staring out at the street, and the mountains beyond. I could for a moment feel those feelings…ghosts…

I wished in some way that I could share with my children the echos of voices, laughter, the low murmer of the sound of my family around me, and the comfort I would feel wrapped in the warmth of their love. If I’d understood then that someday it would all be gone, I would have relished more deeply, those moments of safety and enfolding. Going out into the world alone, to find my way, I remember missing that place of warmth, not the house itself, but all that transpired there, life lived, love given…that was what I missed…ghosts

I tried to create with my children as they grew up, in the various homes we lived in—family rituals, times of sharing, ways intended to help my young ones to feel safe and comfortable as I had at home. I guess it worked, they didn’t leave until last year, when they were 23. In the time since, not living where we used to, I have to imagine through my senses, the laughter, the tiny voices, the little hands grasping at my skirt…all the memories of my little ones—now grown…ghosts…

My children are living on their own now. I miss them greatly. When the old ones I grew up with were getting older, they never mentioned the things that I am feeling now, they never talked about how much you miss your chidren when they are gone, or how much watching others around your age passing on is a part of getting older, and that it’s not easy to keep seeing loss…ghosts

Yet, I can also think about all in my life that has been wonderful, all that has been gifted to me in the way of strength, caring, love and understanding. I only know that as I think of those whom I have loved who’ve gone on, I can still feel them there for me, but in a different form. There are also plenty of people in my life just now who have shown me much about the meaning of life, for the better, and even sometimes for the worst. All lessons that give me deeper understanding are for the best…ghosts

The Wonders of Mother Earth

A little over a month ago there was flooding here in Colorado. It was truly amazing to see the levels of devastation that sister water can cause. In some places, she simply swept people and their houses away. Some of my friends were displaced, I talk to them about how overwhelming life feels for them now, trying to dig out from what was done to their homes, and doing the work of putting their lives back together.

Downstream, the rest of us didn’t get hit so hard, though within a few days after, we could still see how strong the rivers were running, and how high.  I took some pictures at a couple of my favorite walking places. You can see how fast the rivers are running, and a few days ago, while they’ve calmed down, it’s easy to imagine how sister river can simply get so full that she becomes a torrent, widening and racing along, destroying everything in her path, and even carving out new paths for herself as she goes. We have no choice but to bow to her power–though it is hard. While we are humbly bowing to her power,  we begin to understand the way of things–we understand that water, fire, earth and air are what connect us to Mother Earth and to each other…

A few days after the major floods
A few days after the major floods

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Solidarity

Merriam Webster tells us that by their definition, “Solidarity” means: a feeling of unity between people who have the same interests, goals, etc.

For the last year, it has been my joy and privilege to be in solidarity with the Lakota people in Pine Ridge, South Dakota.  During this last year, I feel that I have grown in ways that I hadn’t known I could. I went there originally in August of 2012, to take part in a Women’s Peace March into White Clay, the neighboring town, where there are 14 residents and 4 liquor stores. The liquor stores provide large quantities of alcohol, most especially Budweiser/Anheuser Busch beer–a company that makes hundreds of thousands of dollars a year from the suffering of some of the Lakota. We came to protest the liquor stores, and the fact that they prey on the Lakota causing “liquid genocide”. The Lakota do not metabolize alcohol in the same way that  Europeans do, and this creates  problems for the families, the community, and the tribe.

During the Training that led up to the march/protest, we all learned about the “Wasichu”, those who take and never give back. Those who take the very best of everything–the “fat takers” an English term for the same kind of person. I could easily be in solidarity with the Lakota, as they have battled racism, discrimination, police brutality, and genocide just as my people, African Americans have. This caused me to come to understand much more about the way that my own life had been touched by the Wasichu that I have painfully known in my own life–employers, former friends, landlords, and even random strangers. A deeper understanding of our interconnection happened at one point when I was lovingly surrounded by 3 sweet Lakota people, one of whom explained that she could understand my pain also, as “America was built on stolen lands, with stolen hands”.

Their land had been stolen from them, my ancestors had been stolen from their lands, and brought as slaves to a place where they had and still have no land base to call their/our own. These wrongs have never been righted in America.  Indigenous people, African Americans, Latin/Mexican Americans, and Asian Americans are all descended from people who actually did the groundwork in creating the physical structure of what we call America. Yet all of these groups still endure ongoing racism, and have never really had much of a piece of the economic prosperity that the dominant culture has always had and enjoyed. We didn’t get invited into the house, much less be allowed a place to sit at the table.

This is why it’s so important that we find ways to work with our differences, so that we can begin to bring forth something of the sense of caring for each other. This isn’t about just saying I care about the plight of…but truly and deeply holding within your heart, mind, body spirit a place where solidarity can happen. A place where you hold a compassionate understanding of what others have been, or are going through. Then, once you have that, you can learn how you can best stand with them, beside them, arm in arm and heart in heart. This is true solidarity, and let me tell you, it’s one of the richest experiences you’ll ever know.