3 Gallons of Tears… 1/4 inch below the surface!

So, I’ve always hated multiple-choice tests! One answer is right. All the rest are wrong. 

Now is not like that! 

(No time is ever really like that!)

There are, however, thousands of years worth of things which could be a whole lot better!

First, a bit of context… Some of you were there, on Monday!

We were having a meeting! We, in this case, being the flock of Intentional Creativity® sisters engaged in the journey known as Origins.

We are a diverse, global group gathered to learn even more about teaching deep, deep tools for humanity in this world, now. And, yes, paint is involved!

One of the threads which runs through this complex journey is conscious acknowledgement that most, if not all, of us live on lands which once were home to Indigenous peoples who were killed or forcibly re-located by the over-culture.

One of our Sisters spoke of her experiences as a person living in Canada, with extensive Indigenous roots. As she shared her story, she mentioned her decision to wear an orange shirt to the gathering because the day we are beginning to think of as Indigenous Peoples’ Day used to be known as Orange Shirt Day… a reference to the tragedy of residential schools.

Part of our homework is to learn, intentionally, about the people on whose land each of us now lives and to do some writing about what we learn. And I will.

First, though, memories… of the inner Little’s scrap bag – collage sort!

I was born in Minnesota. We spent a lot of time there, despite our many moves. There were grandparents there. And really good fishing!

Somewhere in the family archives – and in my head – there is a photo of me the summer I was 3 years old. We were up in the Northern Minnesota lake country in some parking lot, someplace.

Native Peoples – probably Ojibwe – were having a celebration. There was drumming and circle dancing. At one point, all the children in the crowd were invited to join the dance.

I rushed to find a place in that circle. Much to the amazement/dismay of my family! (Rumor has it that I was the only “white” child who joined in.)

I, the tragically uncoordinated kid in the family, with absolutely no sense of rhythm.

That photo, wherever it actually is these days, showed a huge grin on my face. (And a little puff-legged sun suit which tied at my shoulders. Remember???)

Vivid, kinesthetic memories of that day, along with my family’s fondness for wild rice – which I totally share – all bubbled up for me during our meeting. Along with my growing genealogical knowledge of how diversely and deeply my heritage runs.

Clear back, in fact, to a couple of Jewish Great-grandfathers named Hezekiah from the time just before Yeshua. And the Great-grandmothers who were their partners, whose names I have not yet been able to discover.

Meanwhile… Israel, in this moment.

And gallons of tears.

And orange paint.

Drippy finger-print prayer dots. Lots and lots of them.

And hand prints. Witness. Power. Promise. Mine.

Because none of this is a multiple choice test! Unless, of course, choices a through d are peace, respect, support, and consequences, and the final choice – the right choice – is all of the above!

Which is pretty much what President Biden said yesterday!

And, under all of this, my intention to grow my world until I remember, all the time, that it must be our world.

ps… this is my Intentional view from the magic chair in this moment. If you squint, you can see a Hebrew word in the painting on the easel. It’s one of the words for Hope! (And how I go on hoping.)

pps… curious??? Great! That’s our best state for learning new things!!! So, 45 min. My gift. You bring your notion of the place where you are called. Of your mission, if you will, in this moment. And a bit of red thread if it’s handy. Just click and the calendar elves will hook you up!