Grandmother Moon

I was ignorant of my inability to cease the revolutions of my destructive cyclic nature. After a collapse I would ascend like an awakening moon and provide light to the darkened landscape of my soul. As sure as summer is to ease into the cold arms of fall, I would halt the moon before it reached its rightful place. I lassoed the beaming beauty with ropes formed by my addictions and fears and, with unaccounted for strength; I pulled it to rest behind the mountains made of my insecurities.

One night I sought solace from Grandmother Moon and the stars as I journeyed home. I was tired of my tirades, weary of my wandering, and frustrated with my faithlessness. I gazed upwards from the passenger seat, asking them to watch over me at night and guide my footsteps so that they may fall upon a good path. I told them I no longer wanted to harm myself, or those that I love with my actions and requested their help. A minute after my prayer to the night’s sky my friend and I witnessed the largest shooting star we have ever seen. It blazed a path ahead of us leaving behind a mesmerising stream. I offered up my thanks, humbled by the acknowledgement.

Grandmother moon witnessed my self-destruction for far too long and she was unable to intervene and could only continue to empower me with the power to cleanse myself through moon times. Does this sacred time still hold its power to cleanse and renew if we do not acknowledge it nor understand its meaning? She wanes over head with sorrow as she watches her granddaughters forget their power, forget who they really are.

My own Asu, (Grandmother), born of the Dane Zaa tribe, blessed with deep skin the colour of Mother Earth and hair black like ravens wings, has never failed to mirror my potential back to me when I was unable to see it. My Asu’s praying hands, weathered, wrinkled, and cracked speak of hardships held and burdens carried. These arthritic aged hands move purposefully and are capable of swift but gentle gestures.

With the same beautiful brown fingers that count rosary beads she cradles my face and raises my eyes to meet hers. In that glance is the warmth of a thousand home fires, the acceptance I cannot give myself, and the love I have blinded myself to.

In the physical absence of a blessed matriarch we need only look to Grandmother Moon, the constant light within the darkness. The Grandmothers that come before us, although unseen, remain connected to us. We need only remember who we are as our Grandmothers are undoubtedly a part of us and their knowledge and teachings are still accessible to those that are willing and thirsty to drink of their wisdom and knowledge.

I am trying to remember my sacredness.

I am trying to remember who I am.

I am trying to remember my Grandmothers.

Hakatah Wuujo Asonalah,

Creator you have done good to me,

Helen K