Most of us born into modern culture are completely dissociated from the experience of true belonging. In its absence we experience an ache, a longing, a hunger that remains with us in spite of considerable effort to be rid of it. We try to numb it, distract ourselves from it, and engage many strategies to "overcome" it, and sometimes even achieve that: But something in us senses it's still there. Something in us knows that any contentment attained through adhering to any program of thought or action isn't really belonging. Belonging, true belonging, is a birthright. Our existence itself is the admission ticket, and nothing takes that away. The modern person has become removed from this knowing, and instead is given all manner of conditional pathways to belonging. We have been taught to believe that the discontent we carry is a personal problem, and that we must change who we are in order to find true contentment. This is not true, though. The real cause of our dissatisfaction is systemic. It comes from being born into a culture that is out of balance and highly destructive.
We are relational beings. The vast majority of our existence as a species has been spent in deep and sacred relationship: to each other, to the earth, to a sense of place and the cycles of life and death in that place. For ancient peoples, what is literally true was experienced in a basic way, that is, our interdependence with all of life and the movement of the cosmos. This sense of identity as being inextricably woven into the whole is still experienced in rare, relatively untouched corners of the earth, where indigenous tradition has remained intact since before the advent of agriculture. In addition, there are many individuals and groups in the midst of modern culture becoming increasingly aware of how profane their relationship to place (and therefore to themselves) as become, and are doing the difficult work of re-weaving themselves, or rather re-membering themselves as part of and belonging to the sacred whole. Paul Hawking, in his book Blessed Unrest, recognizes the emergence of this work as "the immune response of the earth."
Yet even with members of these groups numbering in the millions, the level of fracturing is so immense it is difficult to imagine a full returning to wholeness, both as individuals and as a species. Injustice, racism, sexism, income disparity, environmental degradation, the defining of relationships by rank and status or financial accomplishment, the turning inside-out of the truth done by ignorant voices with access to vast audiences: these impact the soul like pathogens. Rampant addiction, depression, toxic shame, despair, rage, loneliness: these are the symptoms of infection. There are, few and far, indigenous cultural traditions who's depth of connection and belonging is beyond the modern persons capacity to understand fully. The visceral sense of engagement with the world on every level is radically different from anything most modern people have experienced. In spite of the constant assault of modernization, these cultures have a strong immunity to the kind of "soul infection" described above. How did we become so weakened?
There are many theories about how this fracturing originally occurred. Perhaps the advent of agriculture created a heretofore unknown objectification of the processes of life, becoming something separate and therefore coveted. Or perhaps it is much older even than this, where the first expressions of art suggest an attempt to remember what was once abided in but had become lost. Wherever it began, it has now evolved into the most extractive, destructive, and violent culture the world has ever seen.
Ancient indigenous cultures see their lives as an ongoing communication with the spirit world. Everything of value is something that comes from spirit, whether of the earth, the ancestors, or medicinal spirits, etc. A good hunt is a blessing from the mystery, and as such requires an acknowledgement, an honoring of what is given. Perhaps the most valued part of the animal is offered in gratitude. Perhaps song, dance, and prayers are given in willing repayment for gifts received. Somewhere in our past this sacred process was ruptured, whether suddenly or abruptly is unclear (probably a mix of both), but the gifts given were not honored, not reciprocated. A process began of ignoring, then fearing, then running from our spiritual debt. The advent of "civilized" society has in many ways been a continuous running of one generation from the debts of the generations before, increasing its size, and the fervency with which spirit seeks it due. In this way, true spirituality has become demonized, making what is needed to restore balance evil (pagan and immoral), and idolizing the idea of escaping the debt (heaven).
We are literally seeking to escape from our connection to those who came before us, disregarding the lives of those to come, and avoiding with a kind of spiritual terror the debt we carry. We can feel this darkness within us, in our depressions and anxieties, in the inability to let go. We have run out of physical places to run, and so are now seeking to lose ourselves in technology and the abstract structures of modern thinking.
Many believe that we can think our way out of this. But cleverness cannot solve the fundamental problem of our exile. Unless genuine, detailed thought and prayer is put toward the task of giving the spirit of the earth and our ancestors their due, great ideas will simply become co-opted by the pathogenic process and become further sources of distraction.
So what can we do to begin to heal this global cancer? We can begin to pay the debt. We can grieve the loss of our connection, and support others in their grief. We can come together and begin to remember our ancestors. Not what they accrued or their social status necessarily, but the immense gift of life they've given us, the music they made, the love they gave. We come into living connection with the ancestors. In reality, we are the nexus of healing for all that has gone, and all that's to come. We are the point of reality, and the ancestors are seeking to heal the wounds of their legacy through us. We can take on that task. We can begin to re-establish a sense of place in our world.
For me, it is a mountain ridge in the thick wooded hills above the Russian River where I and a group of men do the sacred work restoring our relationship to the ancestors. The ground there is alive, the place I come home to again and again. Rituals of grief, of honoring, of death and rebirth are done as we grope to find our place again on the earth. One of the most healing of these rituals we call "Renewing the World". We come and sit by the fire, telling stories, sharing the joy and sorrow of our lives. Then in the evening we dig a large pit, a kind of grave, and fill it with fire. Then we sing a song of sorrow, and the men, alone or in small groups, approach the fire and speak, weep, rage, or moan out an honoring of all that's been lost, both the tremendous losses of the world and our own simple losses. The loss of species, the loss of loved ones, the ending of relationships, the loss of dignity in human discourse, the pain of a child, all are spoken and grieved. As the night deepens, our connection deepens, and the grief of the ancestors begins to emerge through us. Sufferings long held in our bodies come out in tears, in sound, in words of lament. When what needs to be given to the fire is given, the men, one by one, say goodbye to each other. In that timeless space, the world comes to an end: There will be no more after these last words of love between brothers. We walk in silence to sleep, perhaps never to wake. Then calling us from the oblivion of sleep, the new day comes. Awake! We are still here! With a solemn joy, we go down to the lake, and each man gathers water to signify the return of the waters of life: rain, rivers, tears, blood, waters of the womb, of life. The water is brought to the pit, where the fire has become ash. Each man has brought offerings to the earth: honey, chocolate, wine, flowers, fresh cream, fruit, grain. With a joyful song of gratitude, we offer these things to the mother, a truly humble offering in gratitude for everything she provides and holds for us. Then we bury them and anoint the ground with the waters of renewal. We sing, and hug, and touch, just for a time, our sense of true belonging in this world.
The world is parched for this kind of healing.
