We have no idea what tomorrow will bring, 
but today is overflowing with potential.

— Alan Lokos https://grateful.org/

Last Saturday I took part in Mythsinger’s end of the year Story celebration. It was a sacred time — from the calling of the 6 Directions and the Ancestors to the concluding Feeding of the Stories, where we each shared how the stories were speaking uniquely to each of us. We had the joy of experiencing 3 creation stories (video recording) as told by the late storyteller and singer Danny Deardorff. Danny told creation tales from Norse myth, from ancient Sumeria, and from the Mataco people of South America. The stories were told together not for us to dissect and compare but to allow the stories to sing with each other & to create new music, new resonance in our hearts and imaginations.

It was such a rich time that I am still immersed in the stories & the way they each dreamed drums and trees….

The Mataco story (from Icanchu’s Drum by Lawrence E. Sullivan) has kept me in its fierce embrace. I tell it here based on Danny’s telling, with gratitude to the Mataco people of South America who gave birth to the story and gratitude to Danny & all the other storytellers whose breath has kept the story alive over the years. The last 2 sentences are Danny’s. I add my affirmation and blessing to his.

*******

In that time, they say, a fire began. And it spread and spread, and it was joined by other fires until soon the whole world was ablaze, entirely clothed in leaping flames. Soon there was nothing left, they say, but ashes — The rivers & seas were dry, the forests and prairies gone. Everywhere, just ashes, ashes, ashes. The world was gray. Every so often a wind would blow, stirring the ashes, and then even the air was gray.

When the great Icanchu and his companion Chuña returned to this world from their travels, they saw only ashes. There was nothing to tell them where they were or where their home was to be found. On and on they trudged through the ashes. Looking ahead and seeing only gray ash, Icanchu cried, “How can we tell where we are going?” As a passing wind stirred the ashes, his companion looked behind and saw their tracks disappearing. “And how can we tell where we’ve been?” he sobbed. “How will we even know if we get to our home?”

Still they trudged, shuffling through the deep gray ashes ….. Suddenly, far in the distance, they saw another figure approaching. “At last!” they exclaimed. “We are not alone!” They kept walking and the figure kept getting closer and closer until, finally, they could see his features. “Oh no, it is Tokwaj!” they screamed and they turned away, for they knew Tokwaj was a mighty trickster. They walked the other way, but when they looked up they once again saw Tokwaj in front of them, and he was getting closer. Again, they turned and fled. Again, they found Tokwaj getting closer still. Closer, closer with each turning — until one time they turned and found themselves face to face with the Trickster. And he was smiling.

“Please, Tokwaj, don’t hurt us. We are the only ones left. We just want to find our homeplace, but everywhere looks the same buried under gray ashes.”

Tokwaj smiled that smile and said, ” I can help you, Icanchu. Just put your arm straight in front of you and point your finger. Follow your finger wherever it leads. When you get to your own homeplace, your finger will remember. The place will pull it so it points to the earth. Stop there.” And before they could thank him, Tokwaj was gone.

Icanchu straightened his arm in front of him and, pointing his finger, off they trudged through the gray, gray world. Time passed and Chuña shook his head in despair, but Icanchu kept following his finger and Chuña kept following Icanchu through the ashes.

And a time did come, a time when Icanchu felt his finger pulled down by a force so great, it was as if a bear had caught his finger in its jaws and was dragging it down to his lair.

They stopped.

“Is this is our homeplace?” Icanchu wondered. “Maybe we can find something to tell us it is so.” And they kicked at the ashes and then began to dig. Down and down they dug, sifting through the fine dry ash, until Icanchu cried, “I have touched something!” Faster and faster they dug, until — at last– they saw a lump of charcoal emerging from the ashes. Brushing it free of the last of the ash, they saw that it was the stump of an old, old tree.

Oh, it was such a beautiful glossy black in the midst of all the gray powder! It seemed to be the only solid thing in a world of the ash! Icanchu gave it a thump, just to be sure….then another thump…. and… he began to drum on that old stump! When Chuña heard that steady beat, he opened his mouth and began to sing. And drumming and singing, the two began to dance to the new music that was arising into the world’s silence. And all day and all night they drummed and sang and danced without stopping.

As the sun began to rise, they looked at each other — all sweaty and streaked with ash — and they laughed. Then they looked at the drum, at the stump of charcoal. Out of it had sprung a bright green sprout! And still they drummed and sang and danced, and so the sprout grew and grew…..into a tremendous tree! And they saw that each branch of the tree was different — different leaves, different shape, different bark — one branch for each kind of tree that would grow in the world. And each branch bore blossoms, which — as they sang and danced — ripened into fruits of many kinds. One prickly fruit fell down and spit open — and out streamed all the kinds of creatures who would live in the world. From a smooth pod, seeds spilled or as Icanchu and Chuña danced.

It was the First Tree on the First Day, so they say.

And we must remember:

Any tree may be the First Tree!
Any day may be the First Day!

*******

Something in Danny’s closing words ignited my heart with a different kind of fire, not a destroyer but the warming fire of life.

I have been so worried about all the negative and destructive things that are going on in our world — and about the things that will likely happen in this coming year. I even thought that wearing black to the New Year’s Eve dinner might be appropriate as we bid farewell to 2024 and open the door to 2025.

But the Mataco story shows me another way. Perhaps, whether literally or metaphorically, we can drum & dance & sing a new world into being. I have decided that instead of cowering before this coming year, I will greet it exuberantly — insisting on the presence of Possibility!

Yesterday, as a place to begin, I made a colorful scarf to wear to this evening’s get-together. The photo doesn’t show it, but it is alive with sparkles. To create liveliness in the face of anxiety and grief was more liberating than I can say!

In spite of whatever may arise — personally or globally — during the coming year, let’s do what we can to make the year beautiful.

“Beauty will save the world.”

— Dostoevsky

…Something to think about in the days ahead…