Shared Thanksgiving Ritual
The inquiry group agreed to all meet by their Rivers at the same time across the globe and read the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Ritual. Andrea packed beeswax candle, four stones from her stone bowl, a lighter, and a thermos of hot tea, and set off for her time with Tah-la-lu. “I had enjoyed the discovery of more of Tah-la-lu in the Campbell Valley Forest but did not realize how much I was missing that most precious place under the trestle, hidden from first sight, where water meets water in a most expansive breath in and breath out. It is here that the waters move together, the pushing and pulling that so touched me in our first months of becoming cherished companions. I missed her. I missed this place that is now a part of who I am.
As Andrea conducted the ceremony, lighting the candle, remembering the other members of the inquiry group and their Rivers, calling the Four Directions, she beomes aware of a man sitting on the railway ties with a sleeping bag wrapped around him staring out to the sea. “I immediately know he is homeless, and I feel something tight in my chest.” She begins the long recitation of the Haudenosaunee Thanksgiving Address
“I start quietly and quickly get lost in the words. I shift my attention with each passage moving around my candle fire wanting to be absolutely present to the words and to my gratitude. Sincerity is critical and I speak aloud clearly. When I turn to face the trestle and the ocean beyond the man has moved. He is now sitting under the trestle wrapped in his blanket and holding a knapsack. I know he can hear me, and I continue, deciding this is for both of us. The thought that I have disturbed his quiet place moves quickly through me. I do not hold onto it but continue with the final words.”
As she finishes the recitation, the everyday world demands attention. A man and his dog come through the trestles and the dog comes bounding up to Andrea, sniffing at the candle. A train rumbles over the trestle, loud and huge, all sound is lost to the thundering noise of the rail wheels on the tracks. The vibrations and noise are all consuming and slightly mesmerizing.
“In a moment of slowed clarity, I realize that this is all happening together. That we are not separate. Many times, when I was first visiting with Tah-la-lu I resented the intrusion of chainsaws and background traffic and trains. I wanted time with her alone. I wanted to experience her without people noise, and I wanted her to experience me, all on my own. Today, the boundaries between the worlds feel less defined. Today I feel an expansiveness that if I close my eyes and extend my arms, I can quite literally hold all of this. One hand extends to the western sky, the other to the east, touching the clouds that surround the sun. As I look, really look, at Tah-la-lu I see cloud reflected in the water reflected in the sky and the perceived levels of separation—sky, air, water, earth—are fuzzy and transposed.
As she leaves, retracing her steps back under the trestle to the beach side, I realize that I am feeling almost blissful; my entire being filled with unexplainable joy. I feel full, but light. I am feeling deeply blessed.
I see the homeless man wandering slowly some distance ahead. I suddenly want to catch up with him, for he is included in all these relationships. When I approach him, I smile and say “I saw you under the trestle a little earlier. Can I buy you breakfast?” He looks up at me and says, “That would be great.” I hand him the folded $20 and say, “I hope this finds you something hot and filling.” His filthy hands take the bill, and he looks me directly in the eyes and says, “Thanks very much.” He is young. Maybe 30, 35 at the outside. He is not drunk, his eyes are clear, his speech is clear and very correct, and he is homeless.
In the inquiry group we talk about the inclusiveness of the human and the more than human. Andrea talks about what she calls the Cartesian Hangover, ‘this idea that we're separate, how we refer to the world as the 'natural' or the 'wild' or the 'original', versus us as the intruders. But I keep seeing that they're not actually separated and never have been. So I wonder why I still want to insist that this be a place that is sacred and separate? I have a growing understanding—I don't want to put too many words onto it—of how deeply, literally, we are not just interconnected, but it's impossible to not be connected. I realized in the ceremony that everything was happening at the same time, that my insistence on not being interrupted with people noise was really absurd.