For several years I have been longing for the wisdom of elders. Recently, while sitting in a circle of women ranging in age from 30-something to 60-something, I heard a similar longing voiced by all. In my own self-absorption I failed to realize that women older than myself were also feeling the ache of the lost elders.

In general, I think our society has forgotten the value of elders, and in so doing, many elders have forgotten, or never realized, their own value. In a world where youth is privileged is it any surprise that elders have forgotten their value? Without our listening, encouraging ears, elders are unlikely to share their wisdom with us... and in this present world, we desperately need their voices.

When I speak of elders, I do not only mean people older than myself, but people who, through deep self-exploration and the overcoming of hardships, have gained a level of wisdom, strength, and clarity of sight so that their presence in the world serves as a guiding light  for future generations.

An elder I am friends with recently said, "We are all elders to someone." Those words resonate deeply, and are an important consideration. Often the term "elder" connotes someone much older, but the truth is that anyone, either chronologically older, or experientially older, can be considered an elder. And so, we all have insights and wisdom to share; some simply don't recognize their value, or are not given the opportunity to share their wisdom. That being said, I think it is important to value those older than us, and listen deeply to their heart song. There are many songs to learn, many skills to be preserved, many stories to be shared in those who have lived for many moons.

Today, we stand on the threshold of a world disintegrating at the hands of pollution, corporate greed, and wide spread apathy. Even so,  many are beginning to wake up, and I think those awakening are doing so because of the support of ancestors (seen and unseen) and elders. One reason we have fallen so far from a place that honors the earth, human life, and personal interactions is that we have devalued our elders, and in so doing have failed to allow them to convey their wisdom. Arrogance has told us that our stories are more important; our desires are more valuable; our insights more significant. We have lost their stories, their songs, their wisdom. We have forgotten that though a body changes, the spirit is eternal, valuable, and wise. I believe when we turn our attention to listening, encouraging, and honoring our elders' wisdom we will see that our elders will flourish with a vibrance ready to sew their seeds in the fertile soil of our hearts and lives; and from these seeds a new earth will begin to rise up.

So, how do we call the elders forth? How do we remind them of their value? How do we encourage our elders to share their wisdom with us? 

We can sit with them in circle. A circle of two perhaps. We can sip tea, or coffee, do artwork, or ask them questions about relationships, children, our fears, our dreams. If we listen, if we share, if we make time for them, I believe the world will shift, our hearts will open, and a world in harmony will spring up stronger and more sustainable than ever.

 "...it is up to us learn how to sing again in that ancient way, so that we might be the ancestors that our descendants will sing to."    ~ Craig Paterson of Temple Wind Flute

I began creating beadwork twenty years ago. I first saw daisy chains being sold at a Grateful Dead show in Buffalo New York, and decided I wanted to make those. I went home to Plymouth, Massachusetts without a clue in the world. I found a craft store, purchased a sewing needle, sewing thread, and two different colors of seed beads. I decided I was going to learn to do this. I mean, how hard could it be? Right?

Fearless, and determined, I began clumsily stringing beads and attempting to weave them together. The beads kept breaking. The inflexible needle would not bend the way I needed it to. The thread would stretch, or snap. Finally, after hours of struggle, the piece that I willfully created barely held together. I realized I needed to learn more. 

Not long after this, I began traveling across the country. I packed up my needles and thread, a desire to learn beadwork, and a soul hungry for adventure. I still remember the warm Colorado day, and the patient young woman who gave me a flexible beading needle, and showed me how to wax the beading thread. She taught me the pattern in the picture above, and I was hooked. From there, others taught me peyote stitch, and with the information I gathered I began stringing my own creations riffing off of basic patterns. Once I began flowing with the magic of creating beadwork, I learned there was more to learn. Beadwork had much to teach me: patience, introspection, when to rest, how to dream, and when to let go. 

The rhythm of beadwork lends itself to introspection. More  times than I can count, I recall beading and dreaming, or working other thoughts out in my head. I would find myself wondering, contemplating, journeying to different worlds. Then a bead would break, or my thread would get tangled, and I would find myself frustrated, and that is when I learned that there was a time to rest. A time to close the tin and take a walk, or sing a song. And after a project was created, it would be time to give it away, or sell it. Keeping this idea of making the piece for another always in my mind, I would weave my work with intention and prayers for the receiver... whoever that turned out to be. In some way, it made it easier to release.

When my first daughter was born, I made her a beautiful medicine shield with a peyote stitch necklace. Last year, I gave it to her so she could wear it. Ever since she was born, I dreamed of the day when she would be eager enough to want to learn. For years, I have patiently waited, and dreamed of my daughters coming to me, and asking me to learn beadwork. 

Last week, the day finally came! It was later in the evening, before bed, and I found myself on my bed with my 18 year old, and my, soon to be 12 year old, teaching them beadwork. They both chose beautiful colors, and as I saw them bent over their tin of beads, carefully selecting each colorful glass bead, I had the realization...The day has finally come! 

More than anything beadwork has taught me patience. After all, the piece is created bead by bead. One bead, after another bead, woven together and through each other, building a work of art. And that is how life works, how motherhood works. Each day is a new day. A new color you are stringing along onto a collection of other days. Some days are vibrant, others are pale. Each contrast creates a sharper image. And finally, you realize after stringing the days together patiently, lovingly, that a piece of work is completed. Not all of the work you will ever do because there is always more to work on...always more to create. 

Bead by bead, day by day, I built a relationship with my girls. I built the opportunity for them to come to me, to learn from me, to share with me. They have watched me create. They have worked with me, and I with them, on various projects. Over time, our collective experiences brought us to the moment I have waited for for many years. Thank you Sienna and Sharlotte. Thank you for letting me be your mother, your teacher, your guide, and your friend. I love you so much, and am incredibly honored to be your mother, and to pass along my love of beadwork. I hope it teaches you, as much as it has taught me.