Elder Making
Elders are not the old. Elders are the people the community calls in. With ancient desire, community creates the space, and then sends out a sonic call. It takes time, so much delicious time.
It fit my hand perfectly, the staff masquerading as a walking stick. Many of the same people who initiated me into communal eldership were present, only this time it was more than the women. It was men and children too.
To consecrate a staff you need all the generations.
Village rituals create honey-like stickiness: thick with import, sweet with laughter and love, and spacious enough to spread. You want that, in a ritual, an elder. Spreadability seems essential for eldership. To be available to all, not necessarily in equal measure, but merely in terms of access.
After struggling through the airport on my first airport experience in four years, I opted for wheelchair assistance on the return. I observed the old ladies with their canes and winced at the image of becoming an obligatory burden, inconsequential, shuffled off to the side. The idea of a walking stick was born. Not cross-country skiing through airports and beaches but more like traversing as if on a mission.
When the call went out to Beloved Community for a walking stick, I thought one of the woodworking students would jump at the chance. Instead a young boy and his father came across a cedar branch on their evening walk that very day. It jumped out, a clear volunteer responding to the call. They asked me to come over so they could cut her down to the right height and I did. Our first meeting was auspicious and I knew we were destined for each other, staff and I.
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