Jottings From Fifth & G: Singing over the bones

I dreamed I was walking toward the hayride where the family would gather annually at Grandpa’s farm. The night was very dark as even the moon was covered by clouds. I was discouraged by life and unsure if I wanted to be around other people. But when I arrived at the bonfire, my many aunts and uncles surrounded me, smiling. They said they hoped I would come and said they were so happy to see me. Suddenly I felt safe, loved and accepted. I was no longer discouraged. I awakened from that dream full of love and vitality and was surprised at how long that vibrancy stayed with me.

The next day a friend said, “When I volunteered in the prison system in California, every one of those young men said that the one person they knew would always love and support them was their grandmother.” It was another reminder to realize the power of our older relatives to sustain us.

I frequently hear people my age worry about being invisible. Others say that the generation gap is so vast with the following generations that it may be time to check out. They say they don’t understand cultural references like music or movies or technology. They begin to isolate because they feel out of step. I hear others say that as hair and skin dulls, their existence does too. They wonder if they have anything left to give.

A young woman in Zimbabwe committed suicide because of the extreme shortage of mental health professionals. Her psychiatrist was determined to prevent this from happening again and discovered a hidden group who could help. They were the empathetic, respected caregivers known as grandmothers. He set up park benches with a granny on each and invited people who were overwhelmed to sit and talk awhile. The grannies exuded love and acceptance and were successful in easing the mental health burden. Elders have the long view of knowing people can get through hard times and they know the value of connectedness. These skills go a long way in healing.

So I would remind myself and others my age of the great value we add in our ability to listen and to just be as living reminders that people thrive despite setbacks. We know as we age that we are meant to nurture everything human and nonhuman and we can also nurture ourselves in the process. Clarissa Pinkola Estes describes “La Loba,” the old woman who collects bones and sings them to life. That can be us. We can sing people who are dry and feel lifeless back to life through listening, through our art, through our volunteer work, through walking proudly into community sure of our place as guides for the journey.

Estes further describes a dream she had where she was telling a story and she felt someone patting her foot in encouragement. She looked down and saw she was standing on the shoulder of an old woman who was steadying her ankles and smiling at her. She said, “No, no, come stand on my shoulders for you are old and I am young.” “No,” said the woman, “this is the way it is supposed to be.” Then Estes saw that that woman was standing on the shoulders of a woman even older and so on. My own dream was an interpretation of the same thing. Knowing how those elders at the campfire made me feel safe and loved gave me a template for what my work should be in the world.