Bless Us, Ultima

Recently I have been reading some of the things my kids are reading.  I liked Bless Me, Ultima, by Rudolpho Anaya so much I was sad to see it end (like so many things in life and especially in parenting).  At the core of the story is a boy’s coming of age under the spiritual wings of his mysterious grandmother, Ultima—a healer, a curendera, a wise old woman, a being eternal and at one with nature, but not always with the evils of man.

I felt so disoriented and melancholy at the book’s end that I had to take a nap; I consciously wished to dream of Ultima, and then I did; carrying red and yellow chairs into my parents’ living room in the house where I grew up, directed by Ultima, she confided in me that she must speak to everyone (implying this was hard and she was weary but it was her task and she accepted it).  I could feel her strong wrinkled hand in my own, eyes piercing and kind, me still boy-like at fifty compared with her.  She sat upon black stone, ready to receive guests.

I awoke feeling blessed and free.  I can speak to a few people and I can hear from a few people, but Ultima blesses us all, Ultima knows better than us the mysterious source of being, the presence of the river, the juniper and what happens below it and further down at the roots; Ultima knows the owl, she knows the golden carp that swims god-like from the thicket awing children who still see with the eyes they were given.

The boy in the story, Antonio, has both moon and sea in his blood.  His father drinks too much and is restless in the context of difficult times, but late in the story Gabriel says:  “Understanding comes with life, as a man grows he sees life and death, he is happy and sad, he works, plays, meets people—sometimes it takes a lifetime to acquire understanding, because in the end understanding simply means having sympathy for people.  Ultima has sympathy for people, and it is so complete that with it she can touch their souls and cure them—”

“That is her magic—” (says Tony)

“Ay, and no greater magic can exist,” my father nodded.  “But in the end, magic is magic and one does not explain it so easily.  That is why it is magic.  To the child it is natural, but for the grown man it loses its naturalness—so as old men we see a different reality.  And when we dream it is usually for a lost childhood, or trying to change someone, and that is not good.  So, in the end, I accept reality—”

Ultima’s last words to Tony come softly, with her hand on his forehead:  “I bless you in the name of all that is good and strong and beautiful, Antonio.  Always have the strength to live.  Love life, and if despair enters your heart, look for me in the evenings when the wind is gentle and the owls sing in the hills.  I shall be with you—”

I don’t cry that easily, but tears welled up when I read these words and I cry again as I type them (asking for understanding if I fail to honor Ultima properly, or Rudolfo Anaya’s words, although it’s hard to imagine that he doesn’t wish Ultima’s blessing upon us all).  Much like babies cry when they hear other babies crying, resonant art inspires our own creative selves to sing our song while healing art vivifies the healer within all of us.

Bless Me, Ultima is a lovely book and worth the read, but its message is universal, and is whispering in the swirl of dreamy life that surrounds and envelops each of us and weaves all of us together.  Join me in finding Ultima in the river and the cloud, in the bird perched upon the wire, in the butterfly resting on the leaf, and in the touch and eyes and questions, the pulsing life spirit in all our collective children.  If we make use of Ultima’s blessing, perhaps we shall deepen our sympathy for each other and all our kids, for to truly feel loved we must feel understood, understood in our dreams but also in our anguish, our insecurities, our heartbreak and sorrows.  This is my clarion call as collective parents:  seek to truly understand our children and how they feel rather than (or at least before we) try to fix, heal, problem solve, therapize, medicate or change them.

Perhaps Ultima is the spirit that hovers between us all and connects us with each other, with the past and the future, with all of nature and with the mysterious and unknowable source of all things and even of nothing at all.  In this spirit we may suffer, but also relish the blessing of our existence.  Ultima talks to the plants when she cuts them for medicine, she thanks them and asks them to give their healing power.  This seems wise and understanding; we Americans squat on land that has many spirits rambling about, perhaps they implore us to honor nature, commune with it.  Great American spirits such as Emerson and Whitman seem to plug into Ultima’s wavelength, likewise with Bob Dylan and plenty of us quiet parents noticing the beauty of fall colors and the smells in the rustling wind, the feathery echo of spreading wings.

In this spirit I seek to understand, growing as I go; I thank you for reading my words and I strive to receive the spirit of those who cross my path silently as well as those who speak up.  To any who care to tell whatever’s in your heart, not just to me, but to any and all of us, gathering here and there, in no particular place, but in the spirit of something beautiful and yet ineffable, please tell us your pain and your fear so that we can strive to better understand and thus love you (comment, email, blog and leave the link, or simply think and trust the vapors carry it across)—striving for compassion together in the service of what simply is, which includes our world and all our children.

Namaste, Bruce