When the food drops

I learned a lot from my grandfather and my parents just by watching them every day. We didn’t talk much about spirituality; we just lived it.

Spirituality runs deep in our upbringing; it’s something that flows through our blood and is passed down by our ancestors who have gone before us. Our beliefs aren’t fancy or dramatic—there's no fire and lightning, just the spirit. We used to respect all of life, knowing that spirits are present in everything, including ourselves. God is within us and beside us; every thought we have is a prayer.

I should mention that medicine can be used for harm too. Thoughts filled with hatred can be prayers as well. Some people who mix their medicine with bad intentions are called Hel'dow'gwit, or witchcraft.

Over the past 50 years, many Gitxsan have changed and evolved. Sweat lodges, which were once only for hunting preparation, are now spaces for prayers and healing. Traditional gatherings have transformed into Healing Circles where we talk about our hurts and pains. Healers are treated like royalty now, whereas before, we were humble and viewed as equals, no matter our gifts—whether we were cooks, builders, chiefs, or organizers. 

But I’ve noticed that many young people today no longer show the same respect for elders, for life-givers, or for food. Some have taken to using sage and sweetgrass for smudging, turning away from traditional medicines like devil's club and local teas. Devil's club was mainly used to protect us from Hul’do’gwit, those who use bad medicine.

Many who call themselves "healers" aren’t true healers. Society often favors those who look angelic and spiritual, and even some of our own have adopted these colonial beliefs. The truth is that God places healers in our lives, and they often look like regular folks—trees, animals, elements. Sometimes, healers struggle with alcohol or drug issues, or face other life challenges, but that doesn’t make them any less of a healer. It just means they may not fit the mold of what we find attractive. Don’t judge the healers God has put in your life.

Here’s a story: I remember going to a Sundance with my niece. I had heard terrible judgments from some who claimed to be Native, and I admit I had my doubts about going. I believed the horror stories about a man selling his soul. I don't know how much it costs to hold a Sundance, but I imagine it’s a lot of money. 

When we arrived at the grounds, I felt something shift, as if I crossed an invisible boundary. My niece started her moon time and had to go to the moon lodge during the ceremony. As I walked around, I felt the presence of spirits around me. When I joined the dancers for the tree, I could feel the tree’s pain and fell to my knees. That tree was giving its life for this ceremony. This man, the one who organized it, was a healer—he might not have even realized it, but medicine doesn’t judge how it arrives where it needs to be. We have too many judgments about how medicine should be shared, and that has no place in healing.

The other day, I was serving at a potlatch feast. It wasn’t our house hosting, but it was for our tribe, the Fireweed Tribe. When I got to the buns, one slipped from my hand and fell. Dropping food is significant for the Gitxsan. Even though the buns were bagged, we don’t give away food that’s been dropped or is tarnished, so my cousin set it aside, and we continued serving the guests.

We believe our ancestors are always with us, and everything is spiritual. When food drops, we think the spirits are hungry and present. We feed the spirits through offerings that we put in the fire, a practice we call a BURNING. Anyone can have a burning, but it must be done to specifically feed the spirits, and nothing else.

We also leave food offerings in other ways—like leaving a small amount of food on our plates after every meal, putting food outside for them, or feeding people and animals. 

The spirits hear our thoughts. Our ancestors gather when we come together. They know when we’re doing something for them, and they feel our love, respect, and acknowledgment.


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