GLOBAL HEALING COMMUNITY
Arctic Alaska Earth Treasure Vase
We stopped first to see beloved Grandmother Rita Blumenstein, a Yup’ik elder and healer who is a member of the International Council of 13 Indigenous Grandmothers. When Rita heard about the practice of the Earth Treasure Vases, we were stunned to receive from her two white eagle feathers from the medicine fan she carries. This fan is made from 13 white eagle tail feathers and it was given to Grandmother Rita by her own grandmother when she was only 7 years old. She also was informed at that time that she would become a member of the Council of 13 Grandmothers. This prophecy did not come true until Rita was in her 70’s.
Southern Pacific rises all the way up to the Arctic. We visited Rita in her Anchorage home where she offered her prayers and blessings into the vase and then we continued up to Fairbanks where we met with Evon Peter and his family to bury the ETV in the Arctic north.
Evon Peter, the youngest to ever be named Chief of the Gwitch’in tribe, was elected to that position while still in his 20s.
is essential to their way of life as they sustain themselves on the caribou who also live there. The calving grounds of the caribou are known as The Sacred Place Where Life Begins.
When we arrived at the clearing that is Adeline’s fish camp she started the fire that would burn for three days. We were all aware that we were here to participate together in ceremony. At night, after eating caribou and moose stew and salmon fishtail soup, we prayed for the protection of this stunning land. The Earth Treasure Vase brought all the way from Nepal by Cynthia Jurs is filled with leaves and twigs and stone from the land.
On the last evening, in our final ceremony before sealing the vase, I place a small vial containing 3 drops of gasoline, a homeopathic dose of guilt-humbling prayers for forgiveness, and an ancient piece of Walrus ivory tusk given to me by a friend in the vessel. Both offerings are meant to return to the Earth what we have taken from her.
Evon and Cynthia scouted for a good place to bury the Vase. The relentless pipeline is always there, lining the road and cutting through the wilderness like an endless patriarchal-dominator reminder. When we stopped our little caravan along the highway to listen to the instructions from the land, government cars arrived and parked across the road. The pipeline protection squad, we imagined.