TRUTHTELLING

Sadie is buried in the garden between the rhubarb and the asparagus. It's been 5 days since we buried her. I decorated her grave with a white quartz headstone…a clay pot filled with bittersweet and pine boughs. My rusted metal dancing lady is planted in the pot so the cold wind won't blow it away. I'm very maudlin. When I took my first walk alone on Monday on the Bethel Recreational Parkway, I found myself looking for her poops…evidence of her passing this way…even though she accompanied me always. Some illogical heart need called my attention in a way that even I took notice. Silly me, I thought…though actually, the same sentiment is expressed when I weep on Stephen's shoulder saying…I just want my little girl back. My heart is cracked wide open. I think of my dear old friend in Marblehead who lost her 15 year old daughter to a similar fate…the child was run over by a car on an otherwise normal day. I think of my Mom who lost her 4th daughter, Beth just as she crossed the threshold into adulthood. The grief I feel calls back each and every loss of a loved one in my life. My Grams…my Dad and his brother…my very young beautiful cousin…my sister Beth. All died taking a piece of my heart with them. Losing Sadie is as close as I will ever come to losing a daughter. She was our baby. She held our sweet love…our tender spirits and our willingness to be playful while we healed from the very sad loss of Stephen's mom, who had lost all ability to communicate, just like Beth. Her soft morning licks and gentle rolls with us among the bedding helped us stay focused on the sweetness of life. As all is torn asunder and opened again for review by the untimely loss of such a special soul, I see that there is some crusty bitterness still haunting me even so many years later. Anger rises from my guts. My heart is so heavy I can hardly move. And when I do move…it is in the patterns I made daily with my girl. My heart aches for any mother whoever lost a child.

Today, the first hearing of the stories began for The Truth And Reconciliation Council here in Maine. It is one of our nation's first such councils to hold open a space for the tribal members most affected by the popular Christian White government practices supporting the genocide of the Native culture. Our society and the state affiliated department of health and human services routinely practiced the removal of native children from their homes in their effort to keep the man alive…but kill the indian. Children were placed in Indian Schools as late as the 1990s. Some native children were removed from the care of their tribes up to 2000. Most common folks aren't aware this practice has been occurring so presently. The trauma caused by tearing these children away…to them…to their parents and even more, to their culture…for the right to believe in the Native teaching stories, to speak the language or to practice the dances and rituals were all criminal activities. Great wounds were created for both sides…the anger and hardened bitterness in the hearts of the victims are matched by the guilt and cultural poverty of the perpetrators. All sides suffer.

As I walked up Farwell Mountain today for the first time without my sidekick, I felt myself walking a trail of tears. How could it be otherwise? White or red, we all have the same 4 chambered heart…the same deep love for our children. Even pets that we devote daily love and care and shaping of behavior, become our children .  The essence we share is unconditional love. The removal of that circuit is a tragedy. There is just not enough of that energy circulating in the world. People are afraid. They fear all kinds of things…what others think…judgments based on behaviors…they don't love for fear it will be taken away. Because in order for a heart to fully function…it has to tell the truth. At least to itself. And of course it has to listen to that truth. I write to find my truth. And blogging is my effort to tell my truth to the world. It's my poop on the path…in dog terms. As I got to the top of Farwell today, I sat by my stump to catch my breath and weep. Of course. I listened to the leaves tittering in the wind. Some large wind currents rambled between the peaks. I thought I heard Sadie making circles around me…foot prints in the leaves. One heart ripped open by the untimely loss of a beloved pet is now full of prayers for each and every soul who speaks their truth today and over the next few days at the Truth and Reconciliation hearings. Our native peoples have been hurt beyond measure. The least we can do is listen.

The bitter is the crust of anger…the mistrust…the feeling of betrayal for every last treaty broken by this government. The bitter is the pain of losing loved ones to hollow, meaningless ways that hold no juice…that have no history. The bitter is moving through life day after day unable to talk about your pain for fear of the reaction or retaliation. The bitter is the reaction to inhumanity. I pray the brave souls who are stepping forward to share their stories, can step forward into the sweetness of respect. To be listened to and understood is a magnificent healing because a person can then move forward. The pain filled secrets are brought to the light of day…the air and wind can soothe. I pray they feel the sweetness of empathy…that all hearts can weep as one. I pray for the perpetrators who were doing their jobs and yet knew the heinous crime being committed in the name of government and law. The guilt carried by those who stood silent and looked the other way…let it be lifted by the gentle winds and blown away forever. Let all the pain held in the hearts of the tribal mothers be transmuted to light and hope. The sweetness lies in the present moment for the openhearted…for in the openness of heart beats the rhythm of unconditional love that lasts for eternity. The evergreen boughs symbolize eternal life…white pine to soothe the heart and lungs and the sore muscles heavy from work…balsam and spruce for refreshment and cleansing. I pine for our tribal friends to find the strength of the earth in their words and the breath of a fresh time in history. Walking on this earth is a gift and we should not forget to dance because he who forbids the joyous dance and celebration of life from his poverty of spirit will make his own life like a dying seed pod…crisp and empty. Dance you rusty lady…dance!

So you will probably hear many more stories with Sadie at their heart. Because she has opened mine,
 I am compelled to share my truth as a meditation…a practice of being brave enough to tell it like it is. I blog to listen to my heart. Sadie is dead. I am grieving. I will keep telling my truth and in the process I will set myself free…and as I do…my heartfelt prayers are with my tribal friends who are mustering the courage to share their grief as well. Sadie makes circles around me…and I breathe cold fresh November air into my lungs feeling thankful to the trees for the oxygen I need. I am grateful for life and breath and movement and for today. May all who grieve find light and peace shining in their hearts like the comet on the horizon tonight. Comet is a great cleanser for bitterness.