Grandma smiles at her. "The light has not departed from you. Never turn from the knowledge of it, little piece of my heart."
"Oh, let me come to you."
"If you were to come to me, a sliver of light would be absent from the earth. You are sent down into the cold dark world to bring it light, though you are but a reflection. In many times and many places you will not see the light that you bring, for it is hidden from your eyes so that others may receive it."
We are all bound by a covenant of reciprocity: plant breath for animal breath, winter and summer, predator and prey, grass and fire, night and day, living and
dying. Water knows this, clouds know this. Soil and rocks know they are dancing in a continuous giveaway of making, unmaking, and making again the earth.
Our elders say that ceremony is the way we can
remember to remember. In the dance of the giveaway, remember that the earth is a gift that we must pass on, just as it came to us. When we forget, the dances we'll need will be for mourning. For the passing of polar bears, the silence of cranes, for the death of rivers and the memory of snow.