Conclusion: On Sacred Reciprocity - Who Is Wellness For?

When we love the Earth we are able to love ourselves more fully.

—bell hooks

Recently I came across the phrase meden agan, which was the second maxim inscribed on the forecourt of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi. It means “nothing in excess.” My father used to tell me, and still does when I let him, “Baba, everything in moderation.” If he had a phrase, this would be it.

As a child, when he’d tell me this, I’d only think of restrictions. I thought that a good life was opposite to the one that I had—a sheltered, fractured, hostile life—a life of lack. So, a good life meant plenty, it meant indulgence. In the last few months, I’ve considered this in the realms of my own body. Learning to stay still with myself, cultivating that ear, has meant that I’ve had to listen when my body has shut down against alcohol, dairy, and sugar. Things I feel I am programmed to give it, through commercials and capitalism, because a good life, to me, meant excess. When I want to indulge, rarely do I think of something that will make me feel good, but rather I’ll crave the prescribed idea of that thing. This is why American advertising is so insidious—it relies on selling you the life it wants you to want.

For me, my want for things came from a place of lack. I felt as if I had nothing, and I desperately wanted something. Remember that feast scene in A Little Princess? I felt I was her always, trying to make something out of emptiness. But, though I was make-shifting a life of joy, of a family, a feast, a good life, it was one that Hollywood sold me. Not what was mine, not what was in my heart, not my own dreams.

Dreaming is extremely important for the revolution. Believing in possibility, what can come and what should come requires all of us to dream for the future, for more.

Brazilian architect and urbanist Paulo Tavares writes in the essay “The Political Nature of the Forest: A Botanic Archaeology of Genocide” that the Amazon was always seen as a “void space characterized by chronic lack”—that it only represented “demographic emptiness, technological underdevelopment, economic stagnation, territorial isolation,”^[1] within the construction of the colonial imagination. There wasn’t an understanding that a relationship to the land, to each other, had value. There was no humility in understanding that another way of life could have wisdom for the colonizer. It reminds me of what Vandana Shiva spoke to about the forests of India, of my grandparents’ homeland. When they looked at the forests of Bengal, all the colonizers saw and believed was, again, a lack. They built an entire ethos on lack, and hundreds of years of European philosophy shows the disregard of human life, and how that metabolized in the consciousness of whoever was struck by colonial thought. So, basically, everyone. White men want to barrage everyone with their existentialism, but maybe the bleakness of their soul lies in their incapacity to appreciate this Earth, this bounty. They don’t see how she deserves their protection. God is here, we just have to open our hearts to each other.

Indigenous peoples of the world have lived sustainably in accordance with the land, because among a plethora of land wisdom, they have always understood the nature of sacred reciprocity. When an ayahuasca teacher first introduced me to this concept, I felt a ripple of bright recognition run through me like a gentle wave. Sacred reciprocity is a concept that relies on an understanding that there is something inherently spiritual in your exchange with others, with the planet, with the trees, the birds, the spectacular wildlife of this lush and verdant planet. Do you ever get high and watch nature documentaries? You know how you can feel the rupture of the planet’s pull next to the grandiosity of a peacock’s mating dance? Or the hum of the ocean’s wind as a dolphin pirouettes from water into the sky? This Earth, this great big Earth, with her mountainous icy peaks, her limestone edges and creeks that glimmer with pearly moss, every part of this planet has a secret waiting to unravel. Instead of spending billions of dollars on endless military, mindlessly expanding an empire for no cause—what if that money was invested back into the land, into protecting and defending her?

“We must reclaim Indigenous intellectual traditions of the Western Hemisphere, which have some of the most advanced technology in human history.”^[2] We have to understand that the Earth has logic, and magic, that we don’t understand, but through cultivating and reinvesting in her, by cultivating and reinvesting in ourselves, we create new paradigms of being. We have to understand the symbiosis between species, that there is deep wisdom in how a butterfly breaks through its cocoon and how a bee collects pollen. These systems are interdependent, so we must move with them, with the land. “Maintain diverse languages, cultures, and systems that reflect the ecosystems of the shifting landscapes you inhabit over time,” Yunkaporta guides us with his yarn, his deep Indigenous knowledge and research. “There is an undeniable pattern in the sum total of all these old stories from around the world, indicating that sedentary lifestyles and cultures that do not move with the land or mimic land based networks in their social systems do not transition well through apocalyptic moments.”^[3] The more we work against the land, the harder it will be for us. It’s important to understand that ecological dependency is paramount. According to Tavares, ecocide and genocide are closely linked, often a mirror of one another, in the fight for land sovereignty. Understanding other ecologies we share on this Earth, understanding that it’s important that we start thinking with these other species in mind, are the steps that need to be taken by all of us. Learning we are connected to the Earth, and everything she embodies, means we take better care of it all, understanding that we have a responsibility for not only our own survival, but hers, and theirs. It’s a mutual responsibility to plants, to animals, to the water, vast and sublime. Sacred reciprocity is an ethos we must embody toward everything we share this planet with. To echo Jane Goodall, humans are the only ruinous species on the planet. Is this all our intelligence has amounted to?

Scarcity is linked to capitalism because we need to feel scarce in order to want more. It’s a deflection device, created to convince us of our immortality, but when we die, we will be put back into this Earth. Isn’t it beautiful that we can honor what will hold us in the afterlife? There’s a sacred reciprocity in that, as well. So, what do we really want in this lifetime, for ourselves, truly? Kimmerer believes what we really want is to be valued, “earning the regard of your neighbors for the quality of your character, not the quantity of your possessions; what you give, not what you have.”^[4] Looking at my own life, my own deep cravings, I would agree. It’s about reorienting the family unit and understanding, again, that we are all we have. The connections in this lifetime are what mature us, teach us, sustain us, and when we are in sacred reciprocity with each other, honoring each other’s pasts, experiences, and needs, we can better help facilitate true healing for humanity and the planet.

I know my relationship to my mother is difficult, yet it is also a portal. It’s a wound that’s become bigger than me, and it’s given me a mission—to make art to heal. Forgiveness is an important component here. For my body, and for hers. Understanding that this was my path, and that was hers, has helped lift the load that trauma weighs. The exceptionalism in devastating traumatic events creates a narrative of victimization that I needed to pull myself out of. All these years through this journey, I’ve asked: What’s standing in my way of forgiveness? On a societal level, it’s important to ask the same question: What is standing in the way of our liberation? To love ourselves and others? Sacred reciprocity is tied to accountability of yourself, because you have a moral code to yourself. When you take only as much as you give, it gets easier to see those who do the same. If we could trust one another, then maybe we’d consider setting a higher standard for ourselves. It’s no surprise that a society that refuses to take accountability perpetuates a people who do the same.

“The system that we have is so based in, ‘You’re a bad person, so bad things deserve to happen to you,’” Mia Mingus tells us. “Rather than, ‘We are all human, and human beings make mistakes, and we are all flawed, and we are all living in incredibly violent conditions.’”^[5] Abolition and transformative justice are acutely linked to the land, but that imprint needs to happen among us humans more. We need to take ourselves as custodians of this Earth seriously and understand how grave these circumstances are. Evolutionary biologist David Sloan Wilson has found that competition makes sense only when it’s about the individual; however, when it comes to a group, cooperation is a better model, not only for surviving but for thriving. “There is symbiosis at every single level of living things,” Richard Powers writes, “and you cannot compete in a zero-sum game with creatures upon whom your existence depends.”^[6]

For the skeptical, Kimmerer responds: “You might rightly observe that we no longer live in small, insular societies, where generosity and mutual esteem structure our relations. But we could.” It is within our power to develop an interconnectedness outside the market economy. “Intentional communities of mutual self-reliance and reciprocity are the wave of the future, and their currency is sharing.”^[7] There is vast potential here, and that’s what we should remember. There is excitement here, newness—but above all, there’s accessibility, for all. Not accessibility for a select few at the expense of most others. Creating local food economies by investing in community gardens or local farms (especially Indigenous- or Black-owned ones) instead of expending energy and resources on trade is one way of the future. Creating stronger mutual aid networks that protect everyone, divesting from capitalism by degrowing and redistributing wealth are ways toward our collective future.

For cases where imported goods can’t be substituted, we can minimize trade with the West and opt instead to trade with the Global South. This is what Egyptian economist Samir Amin calls “de-linking” from unequal exchange. In 1978, Japanese farmer Masanobu Fukuoka advocated for a “do-nothing” type farming, calling for curiosity, openness, and a willingness to fail, so that we can learn to trust ourselves, but more the cycles of the Earth. His farming practices created no pollution and didn’t use fossil fuels. There are ways we haven’t yet tried, ways to be in accordance with every facet of the Earth. This means taking responsibility for your usage, but also your actions. Intentionality, now, needs to be sourced from deep within.

I want to live in accordance with sacred reciprocity, to exist there, in that heart-centeredness. It’s wild that people, society, want to convince you out of the power of your heart. Of the will it takes to listen, but the hunger that is satiated when you move with integrity, that there’s nothing quite like it. By using sacred medicines like marijuana, mushrooms, and Grandmother ayahuasca, I have found deep healing and understand that plants are gateways to the divine. I honor these medicines and the traditional custodians that brought us this knowledge, the wisdom keepers, who did nothing for profit but only for the love of the Earth.

*  *  *

Something changed in me when I began to let myself absorb the spirit of this great planet. It happened soon after I sat with Grandmother ayahuasca for the first time. Completely unbridled, she cracked me open, reminding me that to be porous, to be vulnerable, is the most generous thing you can offer. It’s fascinating how having gratitude for this life, whatever this life has brought you, brings profundity to what surrounds us. Ojibwe elder and activist Winona LaDuke says that Indigenous practice is “about recovering that which the Creator gave us as instructions, and then walking that path.” To me, there’s nothing more honorable than that. To find a devotion so deep toward God that gratitude is all that remains. We are here, we are here, together, and that matters.

I don’t need to convince anyone of anything, and yet this beautiful tragic life I’ve been given has brought such awakening. My entire life I have resented and resisted what stood before me and behind me, like a wide, nauseating ache. I have felt so at the behest of my life, but that changed when I started praying. When I committed to prayer every day—not on a janamaz as I was taught, but something more informal, between God and me—something like a spell lifted. I never had to abandon God, and we never had to abandon this planet.

I have lived many years in pain, but I have a new drive to move through these machinations of being. There is sacredness here, there always was, it’s about seeing it with fresh eyes and remembering everything can be a teaching. “It is the same for the woman in exile. If she is an ugly duckling, if she is unmothered, her instincts have not been sharpened. She learns instead by trial and error. Usually many trials; many, many errors. But there is hope, for you see, the exile never gives up. She keeps going till she finds the guide, the scent, till she finds the trail, till she finds home,”^[8] Estés writes with necessity in Women Who Run with the Wolves.

Finally, I am finding home in myself, by being honest, true. Wanting to align with integrity in myself meant accepting the totality of my being—the hurt and the joy, the sacredness and the profane. I was going to choose to be bold, in myself, in my own intuitive understanding of self. I see how revolutionary this act is. To love yourself when others have loved you so poorly is a reminder that anything can be shifted into something meaningful. Sometimes it’s about interpretation, remembering sacred reciprocity, and moving within that framework. Understanding it’s not my job to serve anybody has shown me care could mean mutuality. By determining my own needs, I am finding home on this Earth by declaring myself worthy of a good life, but not at the expense of another’s. I hope to protect every human on this planet, even the ones I dislike, because I cherish human life. I cherish our time here, together, on this mortal plane, and with that reminder I look toward something bigger than my own needs. It’s learning how to contain multitudes; to hold many things at once is a generous act that we owe to each other. Forgiveness and generosity—more of us have to move with that understanding because there’s something vast at stake here, and thus worth fighting for. When I found worthiness in myself, in protecting myself, it got easier to think about protecting the Earth. Wellness for all is a worthy pursuit. It means true planetary healing. We have to believe it’s possible.

These days, I look to the trees, my ancestors. I feel their pulse in my skin, in my heart, in the beat of my breath as I walk past the reservoir near my house. When I was a teenager, my mother’s house also had a reservoir just behind the bush, and I would go there when I was hurt, to nurse my wounds with water and moss. This Earth has always given me recovery, my tears connected me to her rivers, to the creeks that gushed with pebbles, oceans that generated such stillness and ferocity. I found such a holy sanctuary there, in the pockets of nature’s grasp.

I always assumed I didn’t have a mother, but now I look back and I realize my mother was this Earth, and in moments of tenderness, loneliness, and even awe, she was always there to hold me, to tend to me, to brace me with her grounding. I owe everything to this Earth for my survival. The trees are my kin, they listen to me weep, they hear my gratitude as I pray to their roots for patience and grace, all the wisdom that they have taught me. I find great mercy with them, with the eucalyptus and the lilac and the Meyer lemon trees that surround me. They root me through my unrootedness so much that all I can say is thank you. My gratitude for this Earth is endless. What a privilege it is to be with her in this lifetime and to have her guidance and care. It’s so humbling to be alive. And I will never, ever stop saying thank you. For my life, for everything. Thank you.