The Elder - Mt. Shasta

By Tara Marchant

Oct 08, 2024

What is the Path to Healing Ancestral Trauma?

The true elder Mt. Shasta, the mountain and volcano, called.  With the many celestial happenings in 2024 it felt inviting and significant to accept the invitation to visit friends and community who recently moved adjacent to this ancient source. It seemed divine.  The solar eclipse portal was the indication to say yes and open the door with wonder and curiosity.  I had no idea what a ‘remembering’ was beckoning.

In spite of the pain in witnessing the acres upon acres of parched land of pastures and farms sweltering in 105 degree temperature that surrounded this 14,179 ft elevation peak, where my honda’s air conditioner at full blast barely but gratefully mitigated the harshness of the air, I welcomed the steady climb.  A climb of mountains, lakes and pines, millions of trees, to a community and land that faced a wide, calm lake. This lake was surrounded by many hills that created a sweet, soft valley of sorts.  Mt. Shasta was felt behind the home, rooted, but at our flank, like a protecting sentinel.

After years of rooting in urban centers from New York to Los Angeles culminating in my deep belonging in Oakland, my city by the Bay, I was now here. Were those pelicans?  Yes.  White Pelicans with black tips, 25-30 floating and flying by. Yes.  Were those white or blue egrets?  Well, yes, both.  Ducks, for sure.  And many other winged beings just before me.   This is nature at its most sublime. Seemingly pristine and safe/untouched. The mountains also reminded us, those willing to listen and see, of the many acres of woodland burned from raging fires. The new underbrush promised new growth, new trees, new siblings that longed to grow.

The stars that night, where not a cloud obstructed the view from the porch, were remarkable.  As each 30 minute interval drew the night’s cloak of the blackest of black forward, the luminous sparkles of the brightest star Venus, the waxing moon, and the plethora of star constellations steadily emerged with, shall I say, stellar grace~.  I knew a few. Ursa Minor~The little dipper and Cassiopeia and yet so many, hundreds of other formations we rarely, if ever, see in our constantly illuminated urban centers.  My eyes and body were in awe, feeling the immensity of the dark night and the stars of light.

I slept deeply.  Dreams danced with me in this solitude of quiet.  Oh so many dreams.

Pow! 

Pow!  Pow!!

*  *  * 

My sleep was disrupted early, just before dawn at that twilight hour. 

Pow- pow- pow! 

Those are gun shots.  My sleep in dissonance. 6:30am.

Pow!

The sound rose and bounced and echoed throughout the valley and hills.  These Shots were clearly rifles and hunting guns! 

Ahhhh–

Oh, right! I’m in deep nature and mountains.  

*  *  *

The time of Hunter’s Moon. 

Hunting season has officially begun.  The time where our indigenous elders and communities would see autumn and the Hunter’s moon as an indication that the animals on the land (the deer, the elk, the ducks) had or were completing their time of fattening up for the scarcer times of winter.  

The culling of the well fed animals who are preparing for the winter’s lean foliage/food, and the hunters begin their hunting by the light of the moon to have meat and fur/skin for use.  In California, this Hunter Moon period begins the time where hunters have permission to cull (kill) the four legged and winged animals.  To gather the meat, skins and feathers/fur of their ‘bounty’ to feed and nourish their family/tribe through the winter months.

We have lost our knowledge of this practice with the ease of commercial food purchase.  Are we curious about this deeper relationship that can bring us closer to our animal relatives cycles, to the star constellations and milky way and how the sky told stories and provided navigation?

Pow!

Oh, my urban mind was in dissonance.  Death. Hunting. Violence.  

As the gunshots rang through my dream state like firecrackers.  I began to picture war.  Men with guns as snipers.  The story grew in my dissonant reverie.  Are they coming to each home to hurt us?!  To murder us! My body, brain and lack of natural rhythm was flooded by that other separate reality of modernity.  Our separate selves who are acting in violence for domination and resources.  

Pow! Pow!

Healing.

That is where the healing must happen.  The healing is being called in.

For in many of our communities, especially in the most poor and least supported, gun shots are violence against one another.  It is time to heal my friends. 

It is time to remember our love of self and of one another.

The Mountain elders are calling.  Visit. Witness the beauty that supports and holds us.  They remember us and welcome us too.