Into the fire...
Walking up the steps, I felt as though I must have missed the memo to wear white. This wasn't my first time sitting in a sharing circle with others, it was however my first time doing so with a medicine man in Bali. I understood as his assistant placed more wood onto the fire and the embers swirled above us, that the island believed fiercely in magic, both black magic and white.
I closed my eyes as the warmth of the flames and the songs from the woman supporting the medicine man felt familiar in my chest... the rhythm of his rattle as he chanted...
I wondered how this year would be different than others as I prepared myself for Sri Lanka. I didn't know anything about the country I was traveling to... I didn't know about the food or the people. I didn't know about the Buddha, or the elephants and now understanding how ignorant I was, I didn't know about the war.
In hindsight, I didn't know the impact of walking away from by business of teaching driving in remote Indigenous communities in British Columbia. Not entirely sure I had thought that one through.... I only knew that my body was ready to stand and to move, I could no longer sit in the car and hear the stories of trauma and deep sadness. The stories of British Columbia's highway of tears...
Sitting on the flat stones cross legged, the woman walked around the circle placing both water and rice on our foreheads, the two things needed to sustain life in Bali. She then handed out a piece of paper and a pen. "I want you to write on the paper what you would like to let go of this year, and what you would like to pick up." A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as I thought about our first night in Bali... The opening and the closing... much like the beginning and the end and my memory of the bell tower in Mount Currie. I will save that story for another day...
Holding my pen and without hesitation I wrote down that I wanted to pick up more creativity and I wanted this year to put down the weight of other peoples expectations. As I sat staring at the paper for a few moments I laughed to myself... scratch that. I meant to say, I need to put down the weight of my own expectations. I need to put down the things I know are no longer serving me. I need to stop.
It's a hard truth when you know that the work you love and feel deeply called to do is also hurting you. It's hurting you physically and mentally... I can't explain the deep sadness that comes with letting go of a social enterprise. I think sometimes we know when to let it go and other times the universe demands it of us. There are things that no one can teach you in grad school... that when you set out to help others, that change you seek to make that seems so simple may never happen at a systems level. You have to trust that what you did was enough... that you are enough even when you don't make it to some imaginary finish line.
I looked up from my paper noticing the medicine man had stopped his chanting and his rattle was silent within his hands...
He stepped aside as I crumpled up my paper and tossed my year into the fire.
