In the United States this day is set aside to honor our ancestors. Originally it was a day set aside to remember and honor those who had died in the military service of the United States. By the time I was a young child it was a day to gather at the local Cemetery to honor and visit with the many ancestors, some of whom may have served in the military and many who had perhaps kept the home fires burning. I do not remember that one group was honored more than the others, but certainly one might have been reminded that so and so suffered from shell shock or died in a far-off place.
On this Memorial Day of 2022, many of us might listen for the ethereal voices of those 19 4th graders, the two adults and all the others who have been killed in mass shootings in the United States; those who have now joined the wind which carries the eternal truths; the essence which remains of all those dying in Ukraine and the many other countries where the gods of addictive power and weak egos reign.
While many argue about the ethics of the manufacture and sale of assault rifles and enough guns to ensure that all in the United States could have more than one weapon; the ethics of ignoring the underlying fear that one is not a valuable member of the body politic; the millions finding that they are short of the number of fingers needed to point and blame others; the ethics of fine dining while many starve; the fear that even being one of the 1% is not yet enough to give value to one and a myriad of other issues build on the artificial constructs of race, gender, power and intellect we might listen to all the elders including and, especially, those 4th graders who died this week.
At the Sunrise Cemetery near Bristol, Oklahoma the spirit of Grandma Fanny, the longtime matriarch can be heard calling all to bring their offerings to a common table. It is not surprising that she has studied at the feet of such teachers as Jesus. The supply of food and drink was always enough to feed the multitudes. All who showed up were welcomed and none went home hungry or feeling alone. It is true that there may have been those who did not show up because they did not share that cemetery or that acknowledged family tribe. Still the hues of the rainbow were represented in the descendants of those whose treaties are still being ignored. Interesting that all those relatives do not, according to those who examine my DNA, show up.
All the voices of the ancestors at Sunrise; all the 4th grade ancestors; all the fearful gun firing, lonely who search for their identity in that which is temporary and formed by the winds of nature in particular places; all those whose cries will form the nightmares of those who are left to listen and teach; all the ones who build fortresses to protect their 1%; all those who are in need of reassurance that one is enough are welcomed at the blanket where the endless supply of substance awaits.
What words will the winds carry? “Welcome. Killing is stupid. Non-violence is the only way to peace. We are all the same. Come join us. Thanks to the chickens, Mother Earth, and the enveloping breath of those who we remember and honor on this Memorial Day.”
Written May 30, 2022
Jimmy F Pickett
coachpickett.org