A Poem of Thanksgiving
By Bob Kamm
Inspired by elder
Gerry Oleman of the Coast Salish People of British Columbia
during his welcoming remarks at the 9th Annual Imago Conference in Vancouver, BC
sun and moon
oceans
deserts
forests
meadows
mountains.
Long before us
eagle
and all that lived beneath her.
Long before us
rain
tapping on the beetle’s back.
Long before us
reflections in pools
of quiet creeks
flowing and
frozen,
reflections of overhanging
trees,
the movement of
light on berries,
the
faces of buck, doe and fawn,
raccoon, wolf, cougar,
ovenbird rocking on twig,
the
tightening of night’s grasp
on trunks and rocks.
But no images
of
human face
not one
not in puddle or
pond
not in the hand mirrors of ice-clad leaves,
not even in the eye of predator
or prey.
Long before us
beings of all kinds
writing their exquisite
and desperate
life stories
on
pages of earth, air, water, bark and stone,
leaving behind few traces
-- faint echoes
broken by wind.
Not for us the great awakening of
life
but each life for itself
and the shimmering whole
and the joy and
sadness
of The Mother and Father of All
Things.
The Mother and Father of All
Things
who through their
restless risky
dance
made the universe
from a solitary seed
-the seed of all seeds
all beings
all
things.
We are here now.
Though we strut about
proud parrots,
we are small.
We are late-comers to the
festival.
We still don’t know the dances.
If we are honest
we must wonder
if The Mother and Father of All
Things
for a single
moment
in the reckless ecstasy of
creativity
imagined
we would become so discontent
with the abundant gardens They
provided,
would set out
to live
not just outside them
but
everywhere
with such fiery intention
our success was
assured.
Did Mother and Father,
having birthed all things
in the reckless
ecstasy of creativity
from the seed of
all seeds,
pause
even
for a moment
to imagine
that one day
their favored principle
of hunter and
hunted
would run amok in us,
that we would
discard and devour
so
much of the earth
and hound so
many species
as well as our
own mothers, fathers
brothers, sisters
sons and daughters
into
a Great Vanishing?
With such history behind and
within us,
how is it that Mother and Father
still let us
live
let us struggle to find our way
toward
redemption?
Are They simply indulgent weavers
who cannot discard
a deeply flawed
blanket
whose dark designs they have come
to love?
Or are They truly possessed
of a compassion beyond our comprehension?
At this moment
life
is ours.
Let us set our feet on the path
with prayers
of thanksgiving.
Let us say, “Thank you!”
to
Mother and Father.
Let us say, “Thank you!”
to
all They put here before us
that
led to now,
“Thank you!” to all that is,
“Thank you!” to all that will be.
For fourteen billion years
we
were
not
yet.
Mother and Father birthed the
universe
without a hand from us,
worked out its drama
through cold and
hot fury,
barrenness,
solitude, roar and silence,
then
gave
us
the chance to wriggle
from long-ripening wombs.
Why us?
Why was each of us born and not
others?
Why did we make adulthood and not
others?
How can we show our gratitude and
worthiness
for such a chancy investment?
Let us offer
still more thanks.
Let us give thanks
to The Mother
and Father of All Things
for having
the wild,
foolish, restless impulse to choose
us
and not brother sperm
or
sister ova.
Let us thank the earth They made
which has given rise to all we
draw upon
for
sustenance and succor
--to the waters we use
to grow and cook,
slake our
thirst,
clean our bodies,
frolic and fish;
to the soil that gives rise to plants
that give us
sweet air to breathe,
plants we eat,
plants we use to weave, build, warm,
trap, hunt, play and heal;
Let us give thanks
to all the beings
from the tiniest we cannot see
to the largest
whose flesh,
bones, sinews and skins
we have taken
with ecstasy and
sadness
for we know they were not made
for us
but for themselves,
for the
shimmering whole
and for Mother and Father
in their incomprehensible creative
fervor.
Let us give thanks to the long
bead chain of grandmothers
who
carried and birthed other
grandmothers until
our own mothers ripened and
carried us
and helped us wriggle into the
wild,
beautiful,
sad
and terrifying
world.
To all who were present at the
moment of our births
we give thanks,
the family and tribe that cared
for us
in our helplessness
when we were pure
and yet
knew nothing
and all those who caressed and
patted us
along
our way to discover
how
to become human beings
how to live and
love
with
elegance and awkwardness
brilliance and ignorance
how
to sing, dance, drum, whoop, laugh,
whisper and weep
together,
how to hold each other with bold
affection
and
yet step back so each of us can
hear
the
song of his own being.
May we raise our children
with
such right love
--devotion without indulgence--
that
before long
across
the many lands
each
soul is a gathering place
where
all souls are safe.
Then may our ways
be fragrant as
spring soil
and
tasty as ripe berry juice
to
Mother and Father
so They might find
us worthy
of their work and worry
give
us
lives
that are
good
and long
and
end
with our cheeks
with our cheeks
on
Their chests
as
we listen to Their hearts
drum
drum
drum
before
setting out
for the gardens
in
the bright reaches
of
their eyes.
C Copyright 2012 Bob Kamm,
reproduction by author’s permission only.
