The wind rustled through the high grass on the top of the mesa on the Chimney Rock Trail at Ghost Ranch just outside Abiquiu, New Mexico. Lily and I paused, listening to the symphony of grass and looking out over Abiquiu Reservoir and the surrounding mountains. I couldn't hear anything else, just the grass swaying in the wind. It was a reprieve from the constant vibrating pulse of engines we can hear near our home. I breathed in and out. The silence was unsettling. A city dweller, I didn't know what to do with such quiet.

We kept walking and found a little nook tucked into a canyon behind Chimney Rock. We sat there, becoming a part of the silence. The fear melted away, and for the first time in my adult life, I became just another animal in a certain place and time. I didn’t have an agenda or something to accomplish. Without any intention, I had tuned myself into key of the landscape around me. My senses were heightened to notice any passing change in the flow of the time.

After sitting for a while, Lily and I looked at each other, squeezed hands, stood up, and walked down the trail toward civilization. As we walked, I felt the need to take off my sandals and walk down the trail barefoot, a simple act that I would have mocked myself for years ago. Ignoring how my old self would have responded, I heeded that call and took off my sandals. A shift occurred in me in that moment, something deep inside me had been reawakened. In that space, I had found another doorway to the sacred; a path out of the thicket of questions that had snarled me for months through a rewilding of my self.

Prior to that trip to Santa Fe, I had a hard time with weaving and spinning. Questions of commercialization and cultural appropriation hounded my work. How do I price something that I consider an object tied to a spiritual practice? What is the appropriate line on being influenced by but not appropriating other cultures? Why does my practice feel empty? These are paralyzing questions. The sorts of questions that suck the joy and peacefulness out of the practice.

I walked away from the practice for awhile due to those questions. I went to Grateful Dead-related and Umphrey’s McGee shows, a safe place for me to just be. I picked up the electric bass. I stared at the ceiling with my headphones on, listening to music. Yet, it wasn’t until I went back to the source of my practice in Northern New Mexico, the place I learned to weaver, that I realized that I had already found my way through the thicket of these questions to find new ways to approach my work. As is typical, the energy and rarefied air of that space provided the fodder to iterate into a new understanding of my practice and a new version of myself. The following are the stories of how I found my meandering path through those troubles and learned to create a new economy for my work, find connection with my ancestors, and practice an earth-based spirituality.

A Different Type of Economy

Through a lot of trial and error, I learned that I am not interested in selling my work or treating it as a business. I found the process of pricing my work, and thereby, turning a sacred object that I made with my two hands into a commodity that can be bought or sold is deeply dehumanizing. It turned my spiritual practice into a market exchange and led me to spending my precious time pondering questions that I was not much interested in the answer to.

One particular instance really drove this home for me. I found myself in a gallery pitching my work without having really interrogated whether that is what I wanted out of my practice. Did I really want to show my work in galleries? Is recognition from those places and the people connected to them what I am after? Over the course of a few months, I realized I don’t want to make for the market. I want to make for the universe, my friends and family, and myself. I wanted to water the seeds of slowness, reverence, and reflection in myself. That recognition was deeply freeing. It helped me let go of any intention of approaching my weaving and spinning as a business that can fit into the attention economy on Instagram.

In the space that emerged by letting go of those aims, I happened into a different type of economy for my work. After I decided to not sell my work, I have to admit that I was rather perplexed about what I was going to do with it. Naturally, the solution presented itself in due time. One day this past summer, I was conversing with a fellow deadhead (i.e., a fan of the Grateful Dead) Taka who lives in Japan after buying a Grateful Dead shirt from him. He complimented me on my work and expressed a desire to buy a one of my weavings one day. A stroke of inspiration bolted into my brain, “What if I gift Taka one of my weavings?” A feeling of happiness and wellbeing washed through me, which helped me realize what I should do. I sent Taka “Eternal Return,” which was a piece made in my woven language style that marked my return to going to Jamband concerts, fitting given our common love of Grateful Dead music. Gifting that piece to Taka felt deeply important as it marked me overcoming an impasse I had been struggling with. Rather than my work going to those who could afford it, I would now let the natural flow of the universe decide where the work would go. I continued to expand that practice in my life, gifting weavings to people who have helped me continue down this pathway of self discovery. Along the way, I stumbled upon a different type of economy for my work. I found a people-centered economy for my work that would honor its scared nature and help me nourish connections to others in my community.

Recently, I expanded how my practice fits into the people-centered economy by letting the universe decide who I will pass on weaving skills to. Three years ago, the universe called me to this practice. More and more, people are approaching me saying, “I feel drawn to this practice.” I interpretted these occurrences as a message from the universe that it was time for me to pick up teaching weaving again. Obeying this call, I started to offer to teach people to weave for free when they would express this sentiment to me. I bought their loom, provided the yarn, and taught them a couple simple skills that would get them started. While gifting someone a weaving is an excellent way to honor the scared nature of my own work, teaching people to weave plants the seed of a deeper connection to self and earth within folx. It plants the seeds of a new society based on reciprocity and balance with the natural world.

Addressing Wrongs While Seeking Wisdom

In February 2019, there was a wonderful article on racism in the knitting community by Jaya Sexton at Vox, which identified the whitewashing of knitting and the white fragility displayed by white knitters who demanded that people of color not make knitting about race when the issue of racism was raised. Reading this article and relating it to my own practice was really important, because it prompted me to to reflect critically on my own aesthetic and how I contributed to the whitewashing of other people’s cultures. What I found upon reflection didn’t make me feel good about myself. I responded with the same white fragility that these other individuals had. I realized that I had been seeking wisdom from outside my culture, because I had yet to do the work to excavate the wisdom from my own culture and ground myself in its lineage. Though uncomfortable at the time, this discomfort led to an incredible journey or self-discovery.

Viewing my work through a new lens after reading the Vox article, I started opening myself up to the idea that I was inadvertently perpetuating whitewashing and cultural erasure in my own work. While looking for more resources to inform this approach, Lily, my partner, shared Makiko Hastings’ excellent essay on the misuse of the term Wabi Sabi by white makers to market products and oneself. In the article, Makiko discussed how it is wrong and harmful to take the traditional Japanese aesthetic concept of Wabi Sabi and boil it down to a simplified maxim of “beauty in imperfection” to sell oneself or one’s goods. By using a simplified meaning of Wabi Sabi, Makiko pointed out that those individuals were personally benefiting by stealing elements from someone else’s culture, thereby erasing the deep cultural context the term is usually used in. I could sense how right Makiko was to say that this is harmful.

After reading her article, I realized the harm I had cause by writing and sharing the following haiku:

It could be better//or I could just let it be.// Wabi Sabi.

I, a white man, used the term Wabi Sabi to invoke the white-washed concept of wabi sabi, “beauty in imperfection,” in a traditional Japanese poetic form. My use of Wabi Sabi and haiku was not in culture, nor could it possible touch the depth of the true cultural context within which it is typically used. My use contributed to the larger normalization of the practice of appropriating the term wabi sabi for my own gain. When I used the term, people equated some sense of knowledge or wisdom to me and rewarded me in likes and follows, thereby making it appear as if I was someone to listen to. I felt that collecting those likes and follows allowed me to inappropriately benefit from this form of cultural appropriation. Building my network and being recognized as wise for appropriating elements of other peoples’ cultures is wrong, and I called myself on out on instagram to address the wrongs I had caused.

Gifted this new perspective, I scanned through the rest of my practice to identify other ways that I was benefitting from the normalization of cultural erasure. I recognized, with the help of a friend, that my discussion and sharing of my use of the Navajo spindle was another conspicuous example. I realized that sharing pictures of myself using a Navajo spindle on my account with accompanying haikus about that practice was wrong. Again, I had contributed to the normalization of cultural erasure. It did not feel right to me to be garnering any sort of recognition from using a Navajo spindle. I am not Diné, so I stopped sharing those photos. I will quietly appreciate the tool in my own time without feeling the need to talk about it as if It should garner me any sort of recognition. I don’t need to appropriate other cultures to gain attention.

The Question Beneath

“I imagine a world where non-native people who are seeking ritual and spirituality in their lives are reconnecting with their own ancestral ways and their own traditions. How beautiful would it be to see a revitalization of cultures and traditions that were rooted in other continents like Europe and Africa?” Jade Begay (@Jadethemighty) in “To Walk in Beauty” in the Beauty and Being Issue of Loam Magazine (@loamlove)

Stripping away layer after layer of other cultures I had used in my practice to garner attention, I was left with a question, “What elements of my own culture can inform my contemplative approach to fiber art?” The implications of this question left a gaping, Grand Canyon-wide void that was only filled with guilt and shame. Reaching deeper into that black, sticky muck of emotion, I saw very clearly that I had rejected my own culture because of the dramatic suffering it has caused to my relations in the plant, animal, fungal kingdoms and those who identified in different race/ethnic, religious, gender, sexuality, nationalities than me. I saw very clearly why I had sought wisdom outside my culture. I had feared that my culture had been consumed by the greed and speed that led my ancestors to create such suffering on this planet and that I would be unable to be draw on my ancestors as a fountain of wisdom.

Upon reflection, I understood that I was doing violence to my ancestors by reducing their cultural lineage to their inattention and harm they had caused. By only focusing on the worst acts of my ancestors’ history, I had ignored the strains of peace, generosity, and connection that my ancestors brought forth that have provided so much enrichment to the world. Dorothy Day, William S. Copperthwaite, Mary Oliver, Daniel Berrigan, John Paul Lederach, Eugene V. Debs, and countless other ancestors came pouring into my experience. I remembered how my teachers in my Jesuit high school taught me to find way to be a “man for others” and the contemplative skills to access the mysteries of life. I remembered my mom’s spiritual practice, which was this radiant synergy of christianity and earth-based spirituality. Yes, my ancestors have caused harm, but also, they have shown me a path to peace, contemplation, service, and connection to all earth’s life.

Taking this non-dualistic viewpoint on my white, Western-European ancestors offers me the ability to think critically about my ancestral path and refine the traditions that I will pass on to the next generation. I advocate for the messy practice of refinement that Sera Lindsey of SUNMOON Journal advocates for in her piece How to Look Backwards and Forwards: Ancestors, Descendents, and the Magical Glue of Now:

“Refinement is a birthright, but only when we do so with the fluff pulled from our ears, and the blinders taken off of our eyes. It’s easy to claim a right, or feel an ownership. And it’s not inaccurate. It can however be incomplete, which will only make us feel more lost in our search. If we are to create new, safer structures to live in, upgrade our recipes to be tastier and healthier, or make medicines of our family and ancestors using more readily available plants and herbs, we must humble ourselves to the past, study that which we came from, ask questions from our elders - and then listen. Even if we don’t like everything we hear or discover (which is likely, so prepare for all sides of understanding), it is real, and necessary to move forward with all the grace and strength that our blood contains.”

I, like all humans on this planet, have the power to shape the ancestral wisdom that will be passed down to my blood, land, and tradition descendants. I will recognize the harm that my ancestors have caused due to colonialism, capitalism, racism, sexism, nationalism, homophobia, and many more isms, but I will not pass on those traditions to my descendants. No, I will make a conscious choice to pass on a different body of wisdom I learned from them. By choosing those elements of the contemplative, earth-based spirituality that was gifted me by my ancestral line again and again in my daily life, I will slowly building up a grounded, just, compassionate, non-violent, magical body of wisdom that I can share with my ancestors and future descendants. One of the most important features of that refinement is a dedication to recapture the druidic, earth-based spirituality of my Irish, Welsh, Scottish, and British ancestors.

I Am Still Walking Barefoot Out of That Canyon

I didn’t stop walking barefoot when I left the canyon that day in Abiquiu. No, that was just the beginning of walking the druidic path of my ancestors. I started to put my connection to the web of life first in my life by giving more of my time to pay attention to the wealth of wonders that surrounded me. I let go of achieving things when I was outside. Gone was the agenda and in its place was the opportunity to bare witness to the ever-changing world by perceiving things through my senses. There was ample listening, staring at the ground, sitting on rocks, feeling the wind and sun on my skin, freezing to stare at a singing bird, and smelling plants.

The more I witnessed the more it became apparent to me that I was woven as another wild animal into the landscapes I was a part of. Have you ever sat still in a place long enough where the birds, animals, trees and plants stop paying attention to you and go about their business again? When I have been lucky enough to touch that natural soundscape, I felt the charged rhythm of the space emerge with a stark immediacy, like being teleported into another dimension. With a snap of your fingers, you are transported to this space of being just another wild animal in a place, attuned to any smell, sound, or disruption in your vicinity. It’s in those moments that I began the work of dropping the pretense that I am in any way separate from or superior to my relations in the fungi, bacteria, animal, and plant kingdoms. Indeed, we, all living relations on this planet, are all just so many wild spirals woven together into the great sacred flow of the web of life, nourishing each other and coevolving as we have for eons.

Once I discerned my connection with the web of life, I actively connected with it everyday. In my sitting practice, I picked up a practice of inviting my land, tradition, and blood ancestors to sit with me, and we visualized roots extending from our bodies. The roots spiraled around one another into a unified taproot that dove through the the foundation of our house into the web of life in the earth below. The filaments of the mycelium spiraled up to meet our taproot and wrapped around our taproot in a spiraling embrace. There we all rested connected in a circle of energy and nourishment exchange. Breathing in energy and nourishing offered by our relations in other kingdoms and breathing out energy and nourishment for those relations to embrace. Sitting in that deep embrace of giving and receiving with my ancestors and the web of life day after day, I began to be able to feel the Nwyfre, the magical current that druids recognize flows through everything. I started to see the oneness of the root of all spiritual paths. I felt the reverence of every significance-soaked breath. I started to see the sanctity of the constant cycles of life, death, and rebirth and how we nourish and draw nourishment from the web of life throughout our movements through those cycles. Nwyfre poured forth the light of insight throughout my world. As above, so below.

After discerning the Nwyfre, I started to conduct acts to show my dedication to living in communion with the earth and my ancestors. While sitting in connection with my ancestors and the web of life, I was very aware that I needed to acknowledge the original inhabitants of the land I walk on and conduct an act of healing to show my dedication to restoring balance to the lands I live in. I learned that I sit on the lands that have been tended for eons by the hinono’eino’ biito’owu’ (Arapaho), Tséstho’e (Cheyenne), Núu-agha-tʉvʉ-pʉ̱ (Utte), andOčeti Šakówiŋ (Sioux) peoples (Look for your land ancestors at native-land.ca). Sitting on a brisk November morning, I asked permission of the Earth on which I live to plant Showy Milkweed seeds, a native plant that would bring monarch butterflies and other pollinators to the land. The Earth joyfully granted permission and I planted the seeds. While planting, I was reminded of the richness of the land underneath my feet. As I sowed the seeds, the land willingly absorbed the seeds into its web of life. Rich, dark earth; earthworms; insects; and mycelial webbing rushed to welcome their new seed relations. When I finished sowing and settling the bed, I placed my hands on the earth to offer the earth gratitude and to bless this new connection to the practices of my land ancestors. The Earth met my hands with its own smile. I felt in balance with my relations and the land ancestors that came before me.

The Path

Towards the end of this journey of discovery, I finished the above pictured piece, entitled “The Path.” If my mom’s woven signature was a spiral, my woven signature is the meandering path. The meandering path is a perfect symbol for me, as I have always moved along a meandering path toward wisdom and connection. It’s hard to express how important it is to feel like I have found a symbol as significant as the spiral was to my mom. It is only fitting that I found this symbol in the throws of self-criticism, doubt, and a feeling of malaise. In the pressure chamber of one of the most pressing challenges where I questioned why I was spending so much energy weaving and spinning, an extremely resonant and meaningful symbol came through the fog to represent the new person I had become on this planet. The symbol represents my dedication to the path of creating a people-centered economy for my work in tune with the universe and embracing the earth-based spirituality of my ancestors. It represents my ability to continually interrogate my own privilege and be willing to address wrongs to practice right speech and right action. Finally, as with all my work, it represents the fundamental interconnectedness of all my work with my mom. Each day, I more embody her way of being on the planet. Her wish to learn to weave and the spiral symbols she left behind all have been key little clues that have led me to this meandering path. The spiral and meandering path are interconnected as one.