My Promise to the Ants

Grief Part 2

            After my experience of grief in “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return,” (see last week’s blog) I thought, “good, I’ve got that grief stuff over with.  Now I can move onto something else.” That was not meant to be. Deeper grief work awaited me. 

            Three days into my Seminary of the Wild experience at Ghost Ranch, we were sent out onto the land again.  We were given a much longer time and I chose the land behind my tent.  Honestly, I should say it chose me.  As I began to move out onto the land, I came upon a short ravine.  I step down into it and sat for a while.  I knew this was my threshold for that day’s journey.  Thresholds often are found at the beginning of the journey, inviting us to see that we are stepping out of the ordinary into something new.  I sat in my threshold, down in the depth of the ravine because I knew this was a journey that would break me open.

            After a few minutes in the ravine, I walked over rocks and around cactus for a few yards.  I saw a huge boulder and sat on it, not feeling called to hike but to be present.  I invited Christ to come and be present, to be my guide.  I waited.  Christ did not come quickly but he did come.  He pointed me towards an old cedar tree.  This was a large cedar tree whose branched bent towards the ground, providing a gateway into something beyond. I placed in the tree some paintings I had done at the Retreat House and brought with me.  I could see I was standing on holy ground, so I paused and prayed and looked deeply at this old cedar tree. 

            I knew Christ was inviting me to move through the gateway of the cedar tree.  I gathered my paintings and stepped through.  On the other side of the tree, I found a deep dry gully which I walked in as far as I could go. After a few twists and turns, an old, dead cedar tree blocked my way and I was invited to stop and simply be here.  I spread out my paintings to the East and West, North and South.  (I had paintings that I have designated for those directions I have used before.) Again, I simply sat in this gully, with my back to the wall, looking, wondering, practicing my breathing. I stood and prayed in each of the four directions, being guided by the paintings.

            Sometime prayers are perfunctory. They are words we speak to make request of God or to give thanks.  These are important prayers.  Sometimes prayers come up from a deep place within, a place you cannot always access. The prayers of this day can from this deep place. They were prayers of grief, prayers of loss, prayers of confusion, and prayers about my own failure.  Part of me wondered why I must keep praying these prayers.  Can I move onto a different part of the journey?  Another part of me knows that there is grief, loss, confusion, and failure within me that needs to be prayed and release. This was my task today. Enter into this time and embrace it.  This is the path of life. This is the path of Christ.

            After thirty minutes in the gully of grief, I rose up, gathered my paintings, and walked out on some red sandy soil.  I felt called to lay down skin on soil.  This meant taking my clothes off which I did.  I laid down and felt the warm soil gather around me.  I felt the small pebbles and crawling ants. I felt a oneness with the life around me. A oneness that incorporates the grief and loss, love and life I carry within me. I did not lay there long but a baptism into Mother Earth does not take long.  I got up and put my clothes on.

            I walked up to the top of the hill that was in front of me, rocks sometimes slipping out from under my feet, causing me to stumble.  At the top of the hill, I stood with my arms wide apart and began singing a love song to all of creation.  “I love you baby and if it’s quite all right, I’ll love you baby with all my might. I love you baby, come to me with your love. (These are not the original lyrics but the ones I made up and have sung for years.)  I experienced a depth of love that I can touch even now as I write these words months later.

            Mother Earth beckons us to be present in here – to grieve, to be confused, to wonder and wander, to know the Life that flows all around, a Life I know as Christ.  My prayer is that you will find a threshold soon in nature and will be so bold as to cross it into the journey that awaits you.  Surprises await you.