I DON'T KNOW THE WORDS
I was talking to a Native American elder a few weeks ago. She told me that this is the time for the old songs to be remembered. Ancient prophesies speak of an age when mankind must make a choice between living a materialistic life or one that holds a sacred reverence for all life. We're there it seems, and if anyone doubts that; perhaps they aren't paying attention to the state of the world.
I listened to her explanation of the awakening that is taking place in the hearts and souls of women worldwide. It seems they are starting to hear the old songs. And they are chanting them as they walk around lakes and roam the banks of rivers. Some are canoeing across wider bodies of water; but all are praying over the water. Every living thing needs water to survive. Yet much of the earth's has been rendered unfit for use: humans can't drink it and the fish refuse to live in it.
There is a spot in the forest preserve set on a ridge overlooking a little river that flows through town on it's way to the Mississippi. I often stop there as I ride my bike along the trail. The past few days of rain have raised the water level and the storms have brought along sediment that has turned the river more brown than blue. It's a dying river, I know; but I don't know ancient songs or the language in which they were sung. So I stood there wondering whether the water spirits might be bilingual.
My native heritage is sketchy; but my call to the land is clear and strong. As I thought about how I might go about learning the songs of the elders and sing them to help heal the earth, I remembered reading that the healing powers of the medicine men had been ineffective in curing the diseases brought to the continent by European colonizers. And so I wondered whether the old ways would be effective in cleaning up the environmental mess white mind had wrecked on the world.
That afternoon, my in box was full of appeals to contribute to worthy causes. The tea party wants to dismantle the Environmental Protection Agency and give away public lands to corporate interests. The only way to stop them is to maintain a democratic majority in the Senate. The message was clear: send money!
And there in the span of a few short hours, I contemplated the different actions I could take to help heal Mother Earth. I could pray using my own words and trust the Holy Spirit to honor my intention. Or I could send money to an organization with a dedicated staff and honorable mission and hope their efforts are successful. What assurance did I have that either action would be effective? How certain am I that some action must be taken? How can I feel confident that the words I am speaking are contributing to the cause?
I listened to her explanation of the awakening that is taking place in the hearts and souls of women worldwide. It seems they are starting to hear the old songs. And they are chanting them as they walk around lakes and roam the banks of rivers. Some are canoeing across wider bodies of water; but all are praying over the water. Every living thing needs water to survive. Yet much of the earth's has been rendered unfit for use: humans can't drink it and the fish refuse to live in it.
There is a spot in the forest preserve set on a ridge overlooking a little river that flows through town on it's way to the Mississippi. I often stop there as I ride my bike along the trail. The past few days of rain have raised the water level and the storms have brought along sediment that has turned the river more brown than blue. It's a dying river, I know; but I don't know ancient songs or the language in which they were sung. So I stood there wondering whether the water spirits might be bilingual.
My native heritage is sketchy; but my call to the land is clear and strong. As I thought about how I might go about learning the songs of the elders and sing them to help heal the earth, I remembered reading that the healing powers of the medicine men had been ineffective in curing the diseases brought to the continent by European colonizers. And so I wondered whether the old ways would be effective in cleaning up the environmental mess white mind had wrecked on the world.
That afternoon, my in box was full of appeals to contribute to worthy causes. The tea party wants to dismantle the Environmental Protection Agency and give away public lands to corporate interests. The only way to stop them is to maintain a democratic majority in the Senate. The message was clear: send money!
And there in the span of a few short hours, I contemplated the different actions I could take to help heal Mother Earth. I could pray using my own words and trust the Holy Spirit to honor my intention. Or I could send money to an organization with a dedicated staff and honorable mission and hope their efforts are successful. What assurance did I have that either action would be effective? How certain am I that some action must be taken? How can I feel confident that the words I am speaking are contributing to the cause?
Posted by Kathleen at 9/30/2011 6:31 PM 
Categories: Reflections, White Buffalo Calf Woman
Tags: healing healing water prayers songs of the elders mother earth
Categories: Reflections, White Buffalo Calf Woman
Tags: healing healing water prayers songs of the elders mother earth
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