Many, many years ago in tribes and villages across the world people would gather to hear Elders tell stories and share experiences.
"I remember when the people were in desperate times like these..." an aged voice would start. And the sharing amongst those wiser in years than ourselves would begin.
That voice is all but a memory for most of us.
We have forgotten just how important these stories have been to the generations before us, and the importance they are to each of us today.
These stories contain invaluable lessons and practical time-tested experience. They teach about our selves, beyond our selves. On how to be and how not to be, how to get more from our harvest, what techniques were used a hundred years ago to stop blight and who to talk to about a problem we were having with our relatives.
Elders would teach us about who we are and where we come from and where we are going. They would comfort and mend our spirits and minds with the healing sounds of our songs, language, laughter and the bitter sweet tears of experience. They would save hours in the school of hard knocks and broken backs.
Practical and beyond wisdom. Stories have power. They go deep in to our souls, our spirits, our minds, our bodies and like babies they make a home there and they grow and learn to walk and talk and wander around.
Before long our stories are doing things in the world. Our words live, breath and walk on what we have feed them and taught them, what we've raised them up on. Sometimes, they grow up to be horrible monsters creating hell on earth.
Once in a while, though very rarely you see a story that brings hope and healing.
We have forgotten about the power of our words and the value of our stories. We don't share stories any more and we don't listen.
We have replaced wisdom with stories of our poverty, disease, addiction, abuse and the atrocities we have experienced, over and over again. We tell stories of one another's misfortune, mistakes and confusion.
We share songs of lying and cheating, "dogging" one another. Someone done someone wrong.
We remember and dwell in our sickness rather than remembering stories that teach us strength and healing.
What stories have we committed to memory?
What stories will we leave for the next generation? What stories will survive into the next century? Stories of pain or of renewal? Stories of ashes or of the phoenix?
Every day we hear of an elder who has passed away... And we know that one more part of our beloved past is gone forever.
One of my fondest wishes is that the young will find it in their hearts to actively SEEK OUT ELDERS, and not wait for the elders to come to them first. Our elders have no way of knowing who is or is not interested in talking to them about the old ways, so it is up to the young to knock on that door and say, "I'm here, I'm interested, and I want to learn." Oh the joy this would bring to an elder! Our elders truly DO want to share the enormous store of memories they have. We only need to go to them and ask for it.
Diane Hill
Diane's Native American Star Quilts
www.nativeamericanstarquilts.com