Okay, so now that we’ve paved paradise and put up a parking lot… and then put a farmers market on top of that (and called it macaroni), where are we, really, this Thanksgiving? Was this land really made for you and me? And if so, why?
Sure the ghosts of Native Americans haunt and hover around our feast-laden tables and around the strip malls and tract homes that may have once been sacred lands, but where do we go from here if we are to live free of fear, guilt, shame and desire? What might we learn from the spirits that surround us and inform our country’s karma, spirits which may well be our country’s karma?
In the context of impermanence, who can really be said to “own” a land? Druids, Saxons, Gauls, Brits, Germans, Yanks, Indians, Native Peoples? And what about when the icy fingers of glaciers tighten their grip once again upon a land truly owned by no human being? We may, for all we know, ourselves be the spiritual descendents of vanished beings who have returned to inhabit confused western bodies and minds, to inherit the wind of this place and time. Perhaps this might help account for our country’s general state of stuckness and malaise.