A birthday wish and calling back the spirit

Born Purple
© Yvonne Mokihana Calizar, 2019

I was a preemie.
Born purple.

I'd need time to become a color more acceptable as human,
Though it's more than likely

Purple was precisely the color I was supposed to be.

My birthday is next Saturday, November 16th. I'll be seventy-two. So Thursday I set myself and Pete on a mission to renew my driver's license ten days before time (although there are changes to that deadline and I had till the end of November). I rousted myself from bed, made and ate some breakfast and boarded the 9 AM ferry. My plan was to drive into Everett (a choice to drive a short distance after the ferry ride).

I've been in this area of Washington for a very long time. Everett is way more familiar to me than I'd like the town to be, and when I cross that water on the ferry rides into the Mukilteo terminal, I often ask myself, "Why am I still here?"

With a little help from folks in the area once we got into Everett, we found the Driver's Licensing Department. There was a line on the sidewalk. That should have been my first sidewalk oracle. On every day but Thursday, this office is open at 9AM. People had been in line for an hour when we arrived, and the CA elder speaking for everyone else was quick to point out the line starts behind her. I knew the smell of 'burnt flesh' and was out of there before Pete had turned around.

"Where you going?" he asked.
"North!" The longer route would take us to Mt. Vernon, and then Anacortes where I originally thought of getting my license renewed.

To shorten this up, Pete and I took turns driving to Anacortes, took a lunch break after reading the sign at that office. The one that read, SORRY FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE ... but. This office was being remodelled!

Here's where the story gets to the point of being a muddle of oracles made for someone like me who arrived prematurely, and purple. When we finally stopped this merry-go-round for lunch Pete took himself off for lunch somewhere where I was not. A very good decision. I had my Sesame Chicken Salad, and sat through a very noisy time in a restaurant that is more and more acoustically awful. I paid my bill, left my favorite Chinese waitress a good tip and as I was getting ready to drive down the road to find Pete I took a close look at my current driver's license.  It doesn't expire for another year. I was a year early.

I laughed at myself, a good one!

To make sense of this birthday wishing post, we were unplugged on my mission to renewal (I'd left that wise phone on the ledge on the porch). Waiting for me on my favorite myth-making blog was the poem that follows. Written by current U.S. Poet Laureate Mvskokee/Creek Poet, Teacher and Musician Joy Harjo was "For Calling Back the Spirit from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet."


"For Calling Back the Spirit from Wandering the Earth in its Human Feet" by Joy Harjo

"Put down that bag of potato chips, that white bread, that bottle of pop.
Turn off that cellphone, computer, and remote control.

Open the door, then close it behind you.


Take a breath offered by friendly winds. They travel the earth gathering essences of plants to clean.
Give it back with gratitude.




If you sing it will give your spirit lift to fly to the stars’ ears and back.
Acknowledge this earth who has cared for you since you were a dream planting itself precisely within your parents’ desire.

Let your moccasin feet take you to the encampment of the guardians who have known you before time, who will be there after time. They sit before the fire that has been there without time.
Let the earth stabilize your postcolonial insecure jitters.


Be respectful of the small insects, birds and animal people who accompany you.
Ask their forgiveness for the harm we humans have brought down upon them.
Don’t worry.

The heart knows the way though there may be high-rises, interstates, checkpoints, armed soldiers, massacres, wars, and those who will despise you because they despise themselves.

The journey might take you a few hours, a day, a year, a few years, a hundred, a thousand or even more.
Watch your mind. Without training it might run away and leave your heart for the immense human feast set by the thieves of time.
Do not hold regrets.



When you find your way to the circle, to the fire kept burning by the keepers of your soul, you will be welcomed.
You must clean yourself with cedar, sage, or other healing plant.
Cut the ties you have to failure and shame.



Let go the pain you are holding in your mind, your shoulders, your heart, all the way to your feet. Let go the pain of your ancestors to make way for those who are heading in our direction.
Ask for forgiveness.
Call upon the help of those who love you. These helpers take many forms: animal, element, bird, angel, saint, stone, or ancestor.



Call your spirit back. It may be caught in corners and creases of shame, judgment, and human abuse.
You must call in a way that your spirit will want to return.
Speak to it as you would to a beloved child.

Welcome your spirit back from its wandering. It may return in pieces, in tatters. Gather them together. They will be happy to be found after being lost for so long.
Your spirit will need to sleep awhile after it is bathed and given clean clothes.



Now you can have a party. Invite everyone you know who loves and supports you. Keep room for those who have no place else to go.
Make a giveaway, and remember, keep the speeches short.


Then, you must do this:
help the next person find their way through the dark.
I made this wish for my 70th birthday ... and even after the experiences where my spirit wandered, caught in the creases of shame, and human abuse of being unwelcome or shunned for daring to ask "Will you share?" I make the same wish for my 72nd birthday with renewal from a sax-playing Poet Laureate name Joy.
"The community I desire is not grudging; it is exuberant, joyful, grounded in affection, pleasure, and mutual aid...Taking part in the common life means dwelling in a web of relationships , the many threads tugging at you while also holding you upright." - Scott Russell Sanders

Read the poem "For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet" aloud, and with the people who love and support you. I will be doing this where I am. Many thanks to you who love and support me, and Pete. Why am I still here? To gather up the tattered pieces of my spirit that has been lost for too long in the crack and creases nearby, and far away. Can you relate to this loss?

Curious about my choice of photos for my birthday wish and call back of the spirit post?  Leave me a comment, or email: a great way to have a party at my birthday table!

Much aloha,
Mokihana


My apologies for improperly spelling Joy Harjo's Mvskoke/Creek tribal lineage in the original post. I have corrected it now, November 19, 2019.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Like myths, symbols are thus ambiguous; they resist certainty."

Image
Life is one crazy cake! Confined in our tiny home space the shuffle of cards (tiny) blends with what is around me and in me. The cut grass outside is discomforting to me. I have allergies. For a while the windows and doors are sealed shut. A big riding lawn mower cut the campground lawn on an otherwise quiet Sunday stirred up my aura, and Pete's. Stirred to craziness by noise and the conflict of differences in priorities sleep and calm were difficult to access. It's not the first time a big riding lawn mower has stirred me to craziness. It's not the first time for turning the fuzzy edges into cake. My mojo. My magic was tampered with. To reconnect I went to the metaphor of cooking, and cooked up flan. I was supposed to be taking a break from blogging ... and I did. And then, I felt the edges of my subtle body touched by the finger tip of aloha; someone had left her calling card and I could make space for change.  The card spoke in myth, woven with my Mother's ton
Read more

The long journey of revolution

Image
The morning temperature was moderate, warm in comparison to last week's snow. I am living with a virus that changes as it tenders its way through me first with a cough that starts only after I lay me down to sleep; and then this morning, I was better because I slept through the night. Pete slept as I took inventory in our kitchen: dishes were washed -- I could fill the old turquoise fry pan; parsnips, and a purple potato from the food bank, half a red onion, cloves of garlic, a bag of frozen yellow corn, olive oil and a packet of ground turkey. Something good could come of all of these ingredients. In our world, one of my jobs is cooking, a job I love and am happy to do. When I am sick from a bug like this one or down with the effects of environmental illness, feeding us falls to Pete; one more thing adds to my partner's load.Living close to town where all the services we need and use are within walking distance or a very short drive, shopping for a meal is easier. Ease is no
Read more

Acts of Connection

Image
“It was through her actions of reciprocity, the give and take with the land, that the original immigrant became indigenous. For all of us, becoming indigenous to a place means living as if your children’s future mattered, to take care of the land as if our lives, both material and spiritual, depended on it.”- Robin Wall Kimmerer Summer is moving to fall. The deep dry of grasses are showing signs of greening; the infrequent rains and the moisture of Salish Sea air contribute. The Bunnies continue to mate, multiply and survive on the handouts from us campers and their search for grass roots. This clan hollows out any rise in the sandy ground to get at the barely succulent roots to keep them alive. Watchfulness is another of their stay alive predispositions. One resident feline hunter prowls the campground. We call her Devil Cat. I sit at the large wagon window to observe the morning’s regularities and see the Bunnies on their hunches as D.C. makes her rounds along the g
Read more