The Making Of All Things

     Wrestling with the concept of moving on, I have had to look at the reality of leaving behind the ashes of my late husband, the body of Sapa, our dog, and my uterus (That’s another story).  All were buried with good intentions, promises and tears.  In my mind, all would be turned over to the care of the next owner of this land.  That is until I realized the possibility of someone purchasing this land who had no intention of living here, only growing marijuana here.

     The fact that many came with those plans for the land left me with the guilt that I am reneging on my responsibilities to these once living beings, as well as the vows Y and I had made when we dedicated this corner of the word as a healing center.  We offered seminars like, “Your Footprints are Your Own” and “Talking to A Stone:”, plus Reiki classes.  We were hosts to groups from the Bay Area who came for retreats from AA and NA.  We sponsored regular Inipi and pipe ceremonies, as well as offered space for Yuwipi. 

     My prayers softened from demanding someone to live on the land much as we had lived here to someone who would live here and like the house and ecosystem.  I could leave at least with a clearer mind.  Someone has come with that intention, and I am thrilled.  Now I have had to find my best way to turn it over to her, with good heart.

     Early in our time on the land, Y planted two cedar trees.  He wanted a constant supply of this sacred leaf for smudging.  One has grown well and needed limbing last year to comply with the requirements for fire control.  I dried the branches then stripped the needles into a box.

     As I worked on this process, it came to me that this tree was nourished by the Earth and the Earth had been nourished by everything which had been buried within her.   She’s the real deal with regards to recycling and reusing.  Then I felt the sorrow she must feel from all the toxic chemicals known to have been buried into her soil and streams.  I was grateful I had been able to add the love of my dog and late husband into her being.

     They had become mulch, much like Ernie, the oak leaf, in my newest short story, Living On A Limb.  They were part of the bushes and trees and ultimately the air I was breathing and not just here, but everywhere.  They were transformed.

     And I realized I could live anywhere.  I could be touched by their essences where ever I went.  In a way, as I released my limited view of their burial sites, I set them freer, as well as myself.