Peace Journey Continued

Sweetwater, the name comes from the stream.
We drank from it. When was the last time you drank from a stream near you?
I looked around; everyone had thick notebooks to inscribe each precious word, Brook Medicine Eagle, a Crow Medicine Woman, Earth Keeper from Montana, shared with us. I wrote only one item in my equally thick notebook, preferring to listen with all my attention. Compost Toilet.
Joseph Jenkins Humanure Method
Sawdust Toilet.
Being in a place, where living with the earth is foremost, one does not find the latest Italian style bathroom and shower.
We should know, it wasn’t too long ago when outhouses were part of our backyard landscapes. No home could do without it and the Eaton’s catalogue.
Going to the bathroom, outhouse, was a social affair with many having an assortment of size holes. There was always magazine/papers to read, as you crumbled the catalogue page into submission.
Young boys got their first look at naked women in the underwear section. It was the birthplace of public libraries. Local affairs often began and ended in the outhouse. Where else could you find such intimacy?
Back to the compost toilet and my fascination with it. There is no foul smell but rather the sweet smell of trees. Makes you feel like you’re in a lush forest.
It is actually a deluxe outhouse attached to the house. You use a cupful of sawdust to add to your contribution. This helps break down the waste.
The bucket is removed daily by hearty souls and added to compost. It takes about a year to break down to soil. By now everyone is saying yuck!!
But this system is already being used on the goods that we eat. What’s the difference, between sheep or horse manure? They all do the job of returning to earth what we took from it.
So what’s so funny about this? Picture me, sitting on the compost toilet.
She who makes me laugh

Drumming the heartbeat of out hearts

The heart, not the brain leads our lives.
Everyone was encouraged to bring a drum to the sessions. Not owning a computer and email I missed that vital information. Luckily someone passed me a rattle.
Fifteen people drumming and rattles, rattling can bring a beautiful, powerful sound. That beat-the beat of your heart! As I joined in the heart beat, the tears began to flow down my face. Sharp pains pierced my heart, then my heart cracked.
I thought of my mother, whose death I had never grieved. My brain, leading the way, had told me she is better off. She suffered so much during her life, I was happy for her to be a peace at last.
She cracked my heart open with her love for me, love I had always doubted. We drummed as we danced. I asked my mother to dance with me. She said, she didn’t know how. She being of a generation when things Native where taught to be works of the devil.
I told her I would show her. Together we danced around the circle of our ancestors.
My heart is wide open now. I can feel it, in how I move around the earth. Joyful! I shared the “true” meaning of “pie” with the others-the laughter drowned out the drums.
She who makes me laugh