GAIA MANDALA

GLOBAL HEALING COMMUNITY

Earth Treasure Vase for Washington D.C.

By Judith Tripp

It is now a month since I returned from the Pilgrimage to bury the Washington DC Earth Treasure Vase. The entire spring has been a whirlwind of deep activity with Mother Gaia and it is time to resume the story I told in the April Newsletter.

On April 18, I flew to DC and met up with Rev. Louise Green from All Souls’ Unitarian Universalist Church in Washington DC. One by one all of the pilgrims arrived. Cynthia was in town the day before and soon arrived. Liza Jane and Rasul drove in from Tennessee, Johanna, from North Carolina, Barrie from Atlanta. Laurelyn flew in from Colorado, Loran, from Wyoming, Julie from Los Angeles. Leslie, MaryAnn, Harriet and Louise were staying nearby and soon joined for our first meal.

We moved into our lodging, filling it with our flowers, bags of food, Palo Santo smoke, and all of our sacred objects. We covered the pool table with a portable labyrinth and cleared the space energetically. We made a beautiful altar with Cynthia’s Whole Earth Flag, crystals and statues, rocks and flowers and of course the Earth Treasure Vase in the center perched on top of the basket that Liza Jane had made. A photo of Marge Mc Carthy, whose vision began our adventure smiled at us.

We had our first circle that evening. As each of us tied a ribbon onto a cedar stick from our guardian tree in the front yard, we shared our dreams and feelings about this particular Vase. Each of us had a strong call to be part of burying a vase in our nation’s capital and shared deep feelings about the state of our culture and society. We also recalled our patriotism, sometimes long buried in childhood and brought our tears and laughter to the task at hand. The next morning, Cynthia led us in sitting and walking meditation. After breakfast we got on the city bus at the stop across the street from our house and made our way to the National Mall. Our first stop was the Museum of the Native American Indian. We fanned out to experience the museum’s poignant and beautiful displays with the intention of immersing ourselves in the cultures of the First Peoples of Turtle Island. We came together in an outdoor circle to offer our prayers for the peoples of this land and to send our hopes and dreams on to the Capitol Building just down the way from the museum.

Next, we walked the mall with its cacophony of musical food trucks—a long stretch—to integrate our experiences. We then entered the Museum of African American History and Culture and descended into the lower floors where the experiences of crowded slave ships are dramatically presented. Again, we sought to immerse ourselves in this original sin of our nation and come to our own individual reckonings with this history. The Museum itself is structured to tell a story of resistance and resilience. The upper floors are full of music and art and reminders of progress. After two hours, we met on a lawn opposite the museum. We all laid on the Earth, gathering our thoughts and feelings.

Saturday night’s circle was full of tears and we passed the Vase and spoke our prayers Our broken open hearts expressed our emotions. Our group’s articulate sharing expressed the wisdom of sensitive women who have lived through these times. Our hopes for what could be in this nation founded on the principles of equality and freedom for all peoples flowed into the Vase.

On Sunday morning, we boarded the city bus again and headed down the 16th St. “ley line” to All Soul’s Unitarian Church. Lars Howlett, my friend and colleague from Veriditas had borrowed a 40 foot in diameter cloth labyrinth and set it up in the gymnasium. I sang and played flute. Our group used the labyrinth to do the invisible weaving that labyrinths do with our bodies, hearts and minds. I thought of how happy Marge would be to see us integrating the practices of Buddhist meditation and Labyrinth walking.
All Soul’s went “all out” for Earth Day and our visit. Cynthia was the featured speaker and the Vase was displayed in front of the altar. The music department presented selections from Paul Winter’s Missa Gaia, beautifully rendered.
Rev. Louise Green eloquently captured the essence of Cynthia’s story and the journey of the DC Treasure Vase. Cynthia’s talk and meditation reached into the hearts of the congregation. A feeling of peace and tranquility permeated the space. When the musical ensemble sang and played the Agnus Dei, my tears flowed. Cynthia then introduced her book to the congregation and signed copies while I gathered individual prayers into the opened Vase.

After lunch, we traveled to the Black Lives Matter Plaza. We walked several blocks past the infamous Episcopal Church where the former president held up the Bible during the protests, all of us recalling that ignominious chapter on our history. We walked across Lafayette Park and stood at the fence surrounding the White House. We attuned to the beautiful trees surrounding the most famous “house” in the world and remembered the virtual Vase that some in this community had been “buried” on the White House lawn a few years ago. Louise told us later that she assured the Secret Service Agent observing us that we were praying and not about to chain ourselves to the fence! Like all of the days of this pilgrimage, it was warm and sunny. All around us nature was in bloom. Juxtaposed to the grave activities of government was the soft beauty of the burgeoning spring. Gaia was welcoming us.

That evening we ceremonially sealed the vase. As we opened the vase to receive the many tangible treasures that we brought for her, the sweet dedication of each pilgrim shone. By the time Cynthia filled the remaining space with bits of earth and sand and rock from other sites on the Mandala, I couldn’t believe that there was any room left. Cynthia and I then sealed the Vase with beeswax and Shanetta and Laurelyn, of African and Native American descent, layered the scarves over the cork. The Vase felt replete and so very precious. Cynthia led the meditation to dedicate her, mentioning a flower of life descending in the etheric to consecrate the vase. I took the Vase to my room to be with her and reflect on the remarkable journey from Ghost Ranch to Washington DC. I began thinking how much like motherhood the stewarding process is. I had been holding the Vase in my lap near my womb after she was sealed and now it felt like I needed to birth her into the world. I had done everything I knew to fill her full. Now it was time to let her do her work, sending her energy through the water ways of Washington DC, through the songlines of the Piscataway Nation, through the hopes and dreams of the assembled pilgrims and the whole ETV community.
Very early the next morning— Earth Day—Lars went to dig the hole for the burial. He also drew two Flower of Life patterns in colored chalk on the asphalt leading from the parking lot. He made a processional labyrinth on the shore of Rock Creek by the trailhead that led to the site so that we could walk into the labyrinth and onto our burial site, entering the sacred space of the burial ceremony.
After a morning meditation, we drove in a caravan and walked to the shore of Rock Creek, delighted by the Flower of Life circles and the shoreline labyrinth. We circled around the labyrinth and centered ourselves. I called on the circles we each belong to, remembering the ancestors of the place, Marge, and all of those who were with us in spirit, praying for the fulfillment of our task. Up we went by the meandering creek, spring green trees fluttering in the cool breeze. The site now looked just as I had dreamed it a year ago, numinous with the new growth of vines and young leaves dancing in the circle of trees. Lars had dug a hole and I put my head deep into the Earth. I remembered the reciprocity I felt on the Isle of Lewis. Part of me wanted to dive in headfirst into the immensity of Mother Gaia. And maybe part of me did do just that.

I took the Vase in her beautiful basket created by Liza Jane and placed her deep into the hole. I pushed a bit and it felt to me like there was a reciprocal pull.

A song I had written in 2004 came to me:
Mother I sing to you,
Mother I bring you my passion and presence
Mother I sing to you, Mother I bring you my life
Bearing my soul’s bright light,
Opening to Holy Sight
Weaving the streams of my Life,
Building our paradise,
Healing the fear and lies,
Mother I gaze through your eyes.

It had never been so appropriate.

We packed fecund dark dirt around the Vase, securing her into her place. When we finished, there was no sign of our activity. We went to stand by the little creek and Laurelyn led us in the Algonquin water song, sung to the four directions. We imagined the blessings of the vase entering the flow.

We walked back down the trail and back through the labyrinth then out into the ordinary world. After a closing circle, some of us went to the Georgetown labyrinth, others back to the house. We met to sing the Vespers service I had compiled from prayers and songs suggested by the pilgrims and had a wonderful celebratory dinner.

After we said our goodbyes the next morning, Leia and I went back to the site and sat a long while. The circle of trees surrounding the burial site is exquisite. I imagined their full summer leafing and their autumn splendor and their bare branches that I first encountered in February. They are inextricably linked to this project and I think of them often, just as that spot in Washington DC will forever be in my heart.

Aho, Blessed Be, Amen, Namaste A la la ho!

Becoming the Vase: Reflections on the ETV Pilgrimage
to Washington D.C.

By Laurelyn Baker

Read the story Here

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