On the new moon I conducted my first fire ceremony in the Inka medicine way: opening sacred space; calling in the spirits of the four directions; offering oil to the fire on behalf of Mother Earth, the four directions, and myself; blowing my prayers into a stick and releasing the energy of the sticks by placing them in the fire; thanking jaguar  for honoring me with her presence the last two weeks, and welcoming the spirit of hummingbird going forward. I prayed for Mother Earth–Pachamama–and offered my prayers to the fire in the form of another stick.

The Inka say this is the time of “patchakuti,” the turning over of the Earth, the time when indigenous wisdom will again be honored and we will heal the damage we have done to our planet.

Yesterday was International Water Day, a day when we draw conscious awareness to the preciousness of water, to the importance of access to clean water, and to the dwindling supplies of fresh water worldwide.  The night before, the Jim Lehrer Newshour had introduced a new series on “Dealing with Climate Change,” profiling communities in Texas that are literally running out…or have run out.  Margaret Warner had the lunacy to say, “That was my favorite segment–the one about the man who is collecting rainwater in tanks, and people saying that rainwater makes your hair fluffier.” 

Right. We’re drilling wells to ever greater depth to mine groundwater. We’re reducing the recharging of our groundwater through rainwater collection systems–but, hey, we’ve got fluffy hair.

Sometimes forgiveness is the only prayer that’s possible; the prayer that must be said before any more good can come our way.

Why? Why do we have to forgive? Couldn’t we pray instead that no one ever gets hurt?

Sure. And it’s about as likely as leaving this life someway other than dead.

Emmett Fox reminds us, “It takes two to make a prisoner; a prisoner and a jailer. The jailer is as much a prisoner as his charge.” So we forgive to release ourselves as much as those who have wronged us. And when we remember who we are, we realize that no one can truly wrong us. Our essential self is invulnerable; inviolate; energy that can never again be created or destroyed.

But that’s not our experience in physical form for much of the time, which is why we’re miserable. Misery is why we need to forgive.

Remember when the Amish girls were killed in their classroom by a man who then turned his gun on himself? Remember how the Amish community responded to that tragedy?

In case you’ve forgotten: they went immediately to the home of the man’s widow and orphans and prayed with them. They didn’t want the sun to go down on their grief, their anger, their pain, their outrage, because all of those painful feelings would separate them from the love of God.

Rather than put up a wall between themselves and the man who had harmed them, the Amish acknowledged their grief, yet didn’t allow it to define them. They went instead to console the family of their attacker. As one Amish farmer explained it, “Acid corrodes the container that holds it. That’s what happens when we hold onto bitterness.”

They also forgave out of a deep understanding of their humanity—a humanity they shared with their attacker. An Amish woman said, ““When I saw the bodies of one of the little girls at the viewing it just made me mad; mad at the evil, not at the shooter.” An Amish minister said his hopes for the shooter in the after-life were the same as he had for himself: “That God will be a merciful and loving judge.”

According to Dr. Donald Kraybill, co-author of the book, Amish Grace: How Forgiveness Transcended Tragedy, 10 days after the shooting, the Amish tore down the schoolhouse—not as a ritual of purification, but to avoid sending the surviving boys and girls back to the schoolhouse where they had witnessed such horror. But it was a powerful symbolic gesture nonetheless—signifying that the Amish were resilient; that they could build anew; that they would and could go on.

A couple of Sundays ago, Rev. Karen Wylie, spiritual director of the Symphony of Life Spiritual Center in Ojai, spoke with us about forgiveness. Reminding us that the hard work of forgiveness was the only way to free ourselves from the role of jailer, she called on us to close our eyes and, as we were ready, to speak aloud our forgiveness.

One by one, members of the congregation let loose the prisoners of their heart. I released myself, my Dad, and my brother. Many people released their parents, past lovers and themselves. We released the United States of America. We released former employers. Their were many people in tears as the liberation continued. Like bright white birds winging skyward, the energy of the room lifted and swelled. When the last voice quieted, the room was filled with a palpable peace.

Forgiveness.

We empty our cup of the bitter brew we have fermented there, wash it with our tears, and thereby ready it for refilling with the sweetness of life.

And so it is.

Two weekends ago I completed the Inka Medicine Wheel journey to the South with 15 other peace warriors—right here in Ojai, on The Ojai Foundation’s magnificent land.  This knowledge was hidden from Westerners for 500 years and, thanks to Alberto Villoldo, Tomas Bostrom and The Four Winds Society, is available locally today.  Thank you, Creator, thank you.

My sons are well and living purpose-driven lives—one in medical school in Portland, the other a writer in Santa Barbara.  Both are kind, gentle men of integrity.  Though struggling financially, perhaps, both have equally brilliant, loving partners who support them in pursuing their dreams.  Thank you, Creator, thank you.

I am blessed to work with people who are similarly motivated by purpose. Aware of the fact that we each make a difference, they are determined that their difference will leave the planet a more peaceful, healthier place than they found it.  They know there is more to life than accumulating gadgetry; that success is not measured by one’s bank account, but by one’s legacy.  Thank you, Creator, thank you.

My niece and nephews, my siblings, my parents are all alive and fully engaged in the struggles of life. These are challenging times and they know the stakes; they’re suited-up; they’re willing to stand corrected; their hearts are in the right place.  Thank you, Creator, thank you.

The Earth itself and all its creatures–and more, our sky ancestors and future selves–are all arrayed around us, connected to us by strands of light and spirit, and pulling one and all for humanity’s awakening.  Thank you, Creator, thank you.

And so it is.