Magic is afoot. When I woke up this morning, my house was ten times bigger! All the better to receive you. I spent all day cooking and preparing a wonderful Mexican feast. Now at last, you have arrived.
The pathway is lit with beautiful lanterns. The house looks festive and delicious food smells waft in the fresh forest air. I receive you with a great big hug, but don´t take off your shoes or coat yet, because we are going to the backyard. The medicine wheel Dan has been building, was magically completed this morning and transported to a secret spot at the center of four great old stumps of ancient trees. Each of the bases of these ancient trees is now surrounded by a ring of second growth trees. We stand amid four cathedrals.
Each stump, covered in rich green moss and pastel green lichen faces one of the four directions. The second growth Redwoods tower overhead, and their baby saplings shine with the bright green of youth. Welcome to the heart of the Forest.
We have prepared a tower of wood for a bonfire and a row of tall drums. When everyone has arrived, from the babies in arms to the elders, we begin.
Thank you for coming to celebrate with us. I am grateful for your friendship, I love you and you are very precious to me. It means the world that you are here. For my birthday, I have called you together for this Ritual of Renewal.
I smudge you with fragrant copal, sweep your body with my feathered fan, and we breathe in the AIR that sustains us. We honor the Zayante tribe of the Awaswas nation, who took care of this land for over fifteen thousand years. I call in the directions and rattle you in, and we weave ourselves back into the web of life and belonging, accompanied by our winged and furred and finned siblings, from the tiniest to the biggest, from the youngest to the oldest, and witnessed by the long chain of ancestors looking down benevolently from the heavens like stars. The fire blazes in the twilight.
Your heartbeat follows the beat of drums. We chant and sway. We are the village. The ritual begins. We are filled with gratitude to be together in this clear night, warmed by the FIRE, lifting our voices and swaying our bodies in harmony.
When the time is right for you, you step through the NATURE threshold into the magical world. You approach the EARTH altar, a deep pit in the ground where you can pour all the things you are tired of carrying, the things you no longer want and suspect it is time to let go. A tide rises in your stomach, emotional indigestion. You drop to your knees. The drum sounds are distant, but they sustain you. Even though you take each of the actions of this ritual alone, you know the entire community is rooting for you and supporting you with their drumbeats and chants.
The moist earth smells cool and mineral, but it is not enough to stop you from retching. Out it all comes: the fear that tries to protect you from future disappointment, the old resentments like pebbles in your shoe, your rage and impotence, all the ways you’ve given up and given in, your waves of grief neverending as ocean waves. You wail like a wounded animal, which you are. You just let it all out and ask the EARTH to transform it as only she can.
When you are done, your emptiness feels light and spacious. You can smell the piney essence of the forest again. You wipe your earth-caked hands on your thighs and you rise.
You now move slowly toward the river, by the golden glow of the lanterns, where the WATER altar awaits. The time has come to bathe in the WATERS of peace and reconciliation, to be rinsed clean. Two members of the water clan are there to assist you. They can barely see you in the dim lantern light. You feel shrouded by the darkness. You take off your clothes, garment by garment, and place them on a bench beside the altar. They hold your hand and help you wade into the cold water. You shiver, then take the plunge and bounce back out, dripping wet. Blood rushes to your skin, tingling. You feel so alive! The water clan people offer you a towel. You dry yourself and get dressed again, but you know you are no longer the person who came to this party wearing those clothes. You have been renewed.
You now approach the altar of STONE. On the indentations of a great moss-covered boulder glitter crystals of all colors. Images of all the village ancestors magically appear. Whether you loved them or not, whether they treated you well or not, even your weird uncle, your grumpy aunt and stern grandfather look upon you with new compassion and excitement. Now that they are souls, they see with clarity. All your ancestors, kind, maddening and imperfect say, “We believe in you. You are the hope for the world.”
You feel the continuity of life flowing through your veins. You realize that you are the one we’ve been waiting for. Grateful for all they did to get you here, you make offerings. You take a pinch of cornmeal and toss it in the air. “Please look upon me with benevolence. Please help me make these dreams come true.” You name all your wildest dreams. That every being may have clean water and food and air and a safe home. That we may learn to share and work together. That we may regenerate and repair ourselves and the world. That we may live in alignment with our most precious values. That we may cultivate a way of life that will nurture the next seven generations and beyond…
With your heart full of clarity and resolve, you walk back through the NATURE threshold and rejoin the village. We welcome you with hugs and invite you closer to the fire, to warm yourself and let your hair dry. You have never felt so clearly that you belong. Here and now is where you are meant to be.
You chant and sway. You take a turn at the drums. You rejoice in knowing that your voice and your music is supporting your fellow villagers to go through the steps of their ritual. You know with absolute certainty that together you will bless the world with your gifts and your acts of repair.
And when everyone has gone through the steps of the ritual, and the fire burns low, we thank all the beings of nature and all the ancestors and all the benevolent spirits for holding us in this sacred way.
We safely put out the fire and head back to the house, where I’ve laid out a great feast for you. You eat to your heart’s content, the children run around, people tell funny stories and laughter rings out. Someone picks up a guitar, a harmonica, a drum, a tambourine and we will sing and dance and celebrate long into the night.
Thank you for coming, my friend. It wouldn´t have been the same without you. Thank you for being in my life. Here, take some leftovers home. Don´t wake the child, asleep on your shoulder. Drive safely down the mountain, have sweet dreams tonight and see you tomorrow, when we show up to do the work we came to this planet to do.
Your gift is your presence. If you have a gift for the world that you want to share, you can write it down below.
