*warning: pictures of dead moose below*
I woke up feeling the pull of those familiar down dark feelings. I knew I could easily go there and rest in it in my bed with a promiseless coffee and a meaningless show to pass the time.
Until I remembered my epiphany from the other day when I saw the light return to my mothers face after months and months of it being abscent. I witnessed her energy go from a haunting sadness to full of life. It happened after she successfully hunted the moose. She called to tell me and I knew she was back. Her energy fed mine through the hills with a truckload of the farmers glorious, nourishing foods for the people.
Michael was away already even though it was Saturday. He had asked me a few days ago how I felt about him helping a neighbour to shingle his roof rather than give his time to the family. I knew it was important for him to connect to community and to helping another man and that it was for us too. It meant a lot to me that he would want to do this and that he would ask me. By supporting him, I support. But today, I was wondering what was in store for me.
So, I asked myself what I could do this day that would bring me alive. I am knowing more and more that when I do these things, lack of sleep or improper nutrition become irrelevant and I become immersed in what it means to be on this planet and be a part of it.
Today, it means I’ll support my mother and the life she ended so that we can have ours and it all can go on. We will dismember and do what so many have forgotten yet it was so vital only 50 years ago on the reserve she grew up on. Hunting meant eating or not eating. It meant abundance and health and happiness. Success was layed out in the bones and the generations that they fed.
I felt that and I made a giant roast out of one of the legs. It is about 15 pounds or more. I’ll make a big supper for everyone and anyone to celebrate nothing and everything all at once.
In this way, a roast can heal me. I’ve cured so many ailments and deeply seeded hurts, simply be being immersed in the activities of busy hands together, working and living and eating. I rediscover the magic in it every single time.
I wonder if that was how early settlers and the early native people felt when they pursued the tasks which kept them alive? Did they resent the chopping of wood or the massive harvesting of food?
Have I simply become in love with using my hands to provide for us becuase it’s a novelty and I need to?
I could go to the grocery store and my belly would be fed but would my being feel satisfied? Would I wake with purpose and passion?
I think I need to do this more than ever before.
I’ve been struck by this feeling that maybe the decline of our food system, the loss of natural lands witj