too often I feel that we have lost the meanings of spirituality. We talk, we celebrate, we move through what seems like historic rituals, and hold no true meaning to them. Mostly we take take take from this material world. It's the disease (dis - ease) of the modern age. This even goes for those, I have met, who claim the highest of pledges to their god, for rarely do they even hold their religion's most fundamental truths at all times, which is what I would expect from a pious leader.
While in Alaska, I was taken back on how fresh everything seemed. How connected its inhabitants were to the land. Many of the people, I had the good fortune to meet, literally live off the land. They felt like true kinsman for some reason. Perhaps it was just unconscious spirit.
The thrill of setting out to catch dinner stirred deep inside of me. Walking out to the water and giving your best "go" became an addictive routine. The excitement of having something tug back on the end of your line! The joy of bringing your catch to the shore! Followed by the inevitable, smacking it in the head with a rock so it would die. Crushed me every time. At that point I knew, I owed that fish a celebration. The connection I had with death for life was not to be wasted. I began to love those fish, for their sacrifice.
I came along this passage a few weeks ago, and found it stunning. Interesting how it rounded off my adventures. It's too good not to share, since it applies to all of us. Even those who have forgotten. "People have traditionally turned to ritual to help them frame and acknowledge and ultimately even find joy in just such a paradox of being human--in the fact that so much of what we desire for happiness and need for our survival comes at a heavy cost. We kill to eat, we cut down trees to build our homes, we exploit other people and the earth. Sacrifice--of nature, of the interests of others, even of our earlier selves--appears to be an inescapable part of our condition, the unavoidable price of all our achievements. A successful ritual is one that addresses both aspects of our predicament, recalling us to the shamefulness of our deeds at the same time it celebrates what the poet Frederick Turner calls 'the beauty we have paid for with our shame.' Without the double awareness pricked by such rituals, people are liable to find themselves either plundering the earth without restraint or descending into self-loathing and misanthropy. Perhaps it's not surprising that most of us today bring one of those attitudes or the other to our conduct in nature. For who can hold in his head at the same time a feeling of shame at the cutting down of a great oak, and a sense of pride at the achievement of a good building? It doesn't seem possible" -A Place of My Own, Michael Pollan
I often view the people in this world with misanthropy. Often I say 'we are the world's worst creature for we have so much potential, yet we squander what we have been given.' I have no ritual which reminds me of the true cost of life. Hunting has reminded me of that. Our society has removed the feeling of taking a life to nourish another through our ease of existence. We have forgotten the relationship between sacrifice and the gift. We continue to take take take, and even pass that down to our children as a new right of passage in our forgetfulness.
Many of you, I call friends, will understand what I am babbling about, and I thank you for that. As we continue to squander our greatest gift, this planet, I hope many of you stop to think how special we are to have lived and enjoyed. In the end I hope my mark is little for there is too much too lose if we all leave marks behind us. We love to think we are actually doing something to limit our presents, but are we? What do we actually give back?
The fish I caught, gave me more than just sustenance of the body, they gave me food for thought, and nourishment of the soul. I may never repay them, but I will never forget them either for they have reminded me what it truly means to be human, a dichotomy of shame and pride.
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