Ecologist and philosopher David Abram tells an interesting story in his book “The Spell of the Sensuous.”He describes an experience doing research in Bali where he stayed at a shaman’s home. Every morning a woman would bring Abram his breakfast and then, around the corner from his room, she would leave small trays of rice on the ground. When he asked her what they were for, she said they were “for the household spirits.”
He followed the rice ritual for a day or two and noticed that the offering was indeed being eaten…by ants. At first he thought “what a waste” that lowly ants were pilfering the offering meant to placate the household deity. Then he did what he went to Bali to do…moved beyond his own limited, Western thinking and came to a deeper understanding of what was taking place.
His host’s home was located within a large ant colony. Large festivals and gatherings often took place there, requiring endless cooking for humans. The daily gift of rice to the ants, placed in strategic corners of the home, was not just a superstitious practice. It was a mindful gesture from one world to another meant to keep the balance. By giving the ants a bit of food, a larger infestation was avoided. Boundaries were established as respectfully as possible. The ants weren’t interfering with spirit, they WERE spirit, just not the kind Abram (or I) would usually consider as such.
We tend not to think about ants until we have an invasion. We don’t think about ghosts until the people we love best start to die. I have been thinking of those ants and of that gracious offering in anticipation of the Day of the Dead. I used to think of this holy day as being more related to saints or to dead people that I don’t really know, to those who have gone on to “heaven” wherever that is. Maybe because I have more beloved dead on the so called other side now, and a deeper respect for and knowledge of my ancestors, I look to the day more practically and personally, still reverently. It has become much more realistic to me to “see” those who have passed or sense them in every corner of my home, much like those ants.
Something humble like the ant affects so much. So much is riding on the dead.
So much of what my ancestors, “holy” or otherwise, did affects my life today. The things we have, or are doing are the culmination of events that transpired generations ago. Even just their thoughts can echo through generations.
When I was younger I remember songs of supplication to the saints… “all you holy men and women pray for us.” As I get older and think about the saints and sinners in my own family line, I think, too, of what to offer to them. I sense that they need more from me than I previously understood. How do I show respect or make a gesture of grace or balance to the unseen world? What humble nugget could I leave out on the “floor” of my life even if it looks crazy or useless to others? What could be more focused than a vague prayer, yet still simple as rice?
Maybe forgiveness. Remembrance. Love. Healing. Strength. Affection. Understanding. Honor. Gratitude. I will try to leave those gifts around the corners of the house of my heart and soul, and hope some hungry little creature carries them away to restore grace and order for those who went before and will come after me.
art by Angela Deane
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