She’s finding the gift inside her gift.

She’s arriving at the place which had been concealed, waiting to be found. There was something she had to do first, to find it. She had to spend her gift ~ give it generously, abundantly, with all her heart. Offering it was an act of daring, but her gift would have it no other way. She nourished her gift, and it nourished her back. The goodness of it imbued her and her world. Her life and her gift joyously flowed through her. As she dived deeper, her gift shone in its luminosity, fragrance, music and poetic quality.
Her gift guided her to take many pauses, to realign and recalibrate her life. As she became more and more intimate with her gift, it is impossible to tell them apart. She is the gift fully matured. And one cycle of her rich life is ending.
She’s slowing down to listen deeply to what this ending means. Her gift is whispering: ‘here’s a reward for honouring me so deeply. In my centre is your new gift. Let it arrive into your heart now.’
She’s currently in the pause, very still, allowing the gift within the gift to arrive. She’s sensing its very different flavour and fragrance. It feels new, fresh, and different. Even though the temptation to continue her rich old life tugs at her sometimes, she’s allowing her old life to slip away through her fingers.

- Sukvinder Sircar

Grandfather Elder Manataka

I don’t speak of sorrow like it’s a weakness.

I don’t lower my voice for it.

Sorrow is not something that happens to us -

it’s something that walks with us

once we’ve loved deeply enough.

Some people think sorrow means you are broken.

But our old people knew better.

They knew sorrow is the proof

that your heart stayed open

when it would have been easier to close it.

Sorrow is love with nowhere to go.

It’s memory looking for a body.

It’s the echo of laughter

still moving through the room

after everyone has gone.

In our way,

we don’t rush sorrow out the door.

We make it a place by the fire.

We feed it.

We listen.

Because sorrow carries teachings

you can’t learn any other way.

It teaches you how thin the veil really is.

How close the ancestors stand.

How fragile - and how powerful - this life is.

Sorrow slows your steps

so you don’t forget who you’re walking for.

It reminds you that every breath is borrowed.

That every name you speak

is still alive somewhere.

And yes -

sorrow is heavy.

But it’s not meant to crush you.

It’s meant to shape you.

Like river stones shaped by time,

not force.

We don’t ask sorrow to leave.

We ask it what it came to teach.

And when the lesson settles,

when the tears finally rest,

we don’t erase the sorrow.

We carry it forward -

carefully, respectfully -

as part of the bundle.

Because to live without sorrow

would mean to live without love.

And that…

was never our way.

Ekosi.

And so it continues.

*

from: 'Standing Bear Network'

* Portrait of Grandfather Elder Manataka American Indian Council