Brief Note: In light of what is going on in our world today, particularly referencing the unrest in the United States, I acknowledge the devastation of COVID-19 and all it is exposing in terms of the other viruses of hate, inequality, and exclusion. This article continues the series that focuses on our relationship with Nature. However, certainly what Omer offers in terms of creative transgression applies to our relationships with each other too and to this time of great change even in our massive divisions.

Creative Transgression in the Chaos of Our World

Omer encourages acts of creative transgression as a means to wake the culturally comatose. Ritual action is a powerful tool; for “when we ritualize, we imaginatively deepen our participation in the necessities, meanings, and possibilities inherent in the present moment” (p. 33).

Ritual moves underneath the status quo, bringing the unexpected and spontaneous to breathe life into our shame, failure, and trauma.

Ritual gestures uncover the wisdom of our mistakes and transgressions. With regard to our disconnect of ancestral wisdom, “creative ritual is imagination in action, allowing us to tap into our indigenous knowing, ... releasing the transformative potentials of our collective life” (Omer, 2005, p. 33). Rituals of creative transgression allow what no longer serves a culture to die, and be reborn, transformed.

Ritual gestures as a portage. One can begin with small gestures, joyful presence honoring the land and its native people. A simple utterance of “thank you” each morning can become a ritual.

We create new rituals because we are human. Rituals make visible our hearts desire.

In this viral pandemic we are finding new rituals to connect to each other. We light a candle in a window at night to share in our connection even at a distance and in the darkness of this time. We have placed paper prayers in the tree branches or on rocks at the base of tree trunks to honor the losses and our dead because traditional funerals are impossible. We caravan in vehicles to bring birthday wishes to children who are not having parties in this time of staying at home.

We already know how to do this, and have creating ceremonies and rituals since the beginning of human existence.

In recognition of the Tonkawa ancestors of the landscape where I live, we offer gestures to acknowledge, apologize, and make peace. My children and I hung spirit houses in the trees, opening up the shared landscape. A few months later, a teacher/friend helped me conduct a pipe ceremony for peace and to ask for an agreement of co-living with the Tonkawa spirits of the land. Later, I made a wind chime out of a shed whitetail deer antler, string, old keys, beads, and feathers that hangs outside my front door. It reminds me that my sense of security and freedom are not because of locked doors and money and progress, but are the result of a connection to the land and ancestors. It also reminds me of my duty to continue to make restitution. Regularly, I tap the mobile that hangs by my front door in prayer and acknowledgment: “Aho Mitakuye Oyasin” (hello, all are related).

Resisting. Meeting nature with an act of ritual, a gesture of vulnerability and humility, gives rise to our resistance. Apprehension and anxiety, particularly when it is unexpected, opens us up to ourselves further as we re-approach our relationship with nature and find our way to an internal subliminal space. These emotions are hidden, unreleased, until we act on our commitment to engage with the natural world. Our relationship with nature, and reconciling vulnerably through ritual, is like doing so in any relationship for which we care deeply.

Spontaneity. Part of ritual is being open to the spontaneous exchange that can occur. There is joy and humor in ritual, and when we show up it is an action not a performance. Ritual is not about perfection, but our intention—our offering, our requests, and our gratitude.

When we painted rocks instead of eggs this year for Easter, my children decided to place them in the garden. I remembered an old friend who died in 2007 used to have my name on a small metal plaque in her garden next to a particular rose bush. I wrote the names of several friends on stones and placed them next to specific herbs. Painted rocks inspired a ritual gesture that I had not anticipated.

Transformation. Rituals often offer us new meaning and transformation. Seeing my friends names on rocks in the garden is a daily remembering of the gifts of our friendship. Sacralizing a space can also heal our relationship with the earth and other beings. Being able to spread our dog Zeke’s ashes around an old cedar stump still firmly in the ground heals our grief of loss of his sweet presence.

OakElm’s message. I think of OakElm often, since first coming upon the pair of trees thirteen years ago. Oak and Elm grow together from root and trunk merging in three places. I feel a magnetism, and the alignment of my own spine and energy centers igniting with vibrancy as I stand nearer the two who are really one tree.

Clearing the space of leaves and leaving the native grasses and the young cedar saplings, I begin to collect fallen branches to encircle the OakElm and the Elm offspring that is clearly part of the space. Including in the circle the old cedar stumps lined with mosses, lichen, and ferns, I witness life arising from the womb of dead wood. The trees keep giving, even after their own time rooted in the soil is over.

OakElm brings me to my knees aware of the wisdom, presence, and commitment before me. I notice my resistance to stay too long or to touch them. It is humbling as I consider my own opportunities and missed opportunities to be fully committed within relationships. This is an emotional expense only humans bear. If only we had the pure presence of trees to stay long enough to garner the wisdom.

Sources

Sacred Tabernacles [part 8 of 9]: Acts of Creative Transgression