Unfinished Business

In the introduction to Anatomy of the Spirit, American author Caroline Myss recounts a personal experience that profoundly altered the direction of her life. Upon arriving in Alaska to start her summer job, she shared a brief tea with Rachel, a woman in her early eighties of both Russian and Athabaskan heritage. The following is an excerpt from their conversation.

Caroline writes: Following my gaze, Rachel said, “See that blanket on the wall? That blanket is very special. In the Athabaskan culture, being a blanket maker, or a songwriter, or having any occupation, is a matter of great honour. You have to have permission from a songwriter to sing a song because his songs contain his spirit. And when you are a blanket maker, you are forbidden to begin weaving a blanket unless you know you will live long enough to finish it. If you find out that you need to die” – mind you, she said ‘need to die’ – you must perform a ceremony with someone who will agree to finish the task for you, because you cannot leave one part of your work unfinished before you die. Otherwise, you leave a part of your spirit behind.”

Rachel continued, “That blanket was almost finished, when the Great Spirit came in a dream to the woman who was making it, and told her to prepare to leave here. She asked the Spirit if she could live long enough to finish the blanket, and the Spirit said, yes, she would be given that much more time. She died two days after finishing that blanket. Her spirit is in that blanket in a good and powerful way, and it gives me strength.”

Life is simple, Rachel said. “You are born into life to care for each other and for the earth. And then you receive word that your time is coming to an end, and you must make the proper arrangements to depart, leaving behind no ‘unfinished business.’ You must make your apologies, pass on your tribal responsibilities, and accept from the tribe its gratitude and love for your time with them. Simple as that.“

Rachel paused to pour our tea, then began again.

“Tomorrow night I go to a ceremony, a potlatch ceremony. A man is preparing to leave the earth, and he will give to the tribe all of his belongings. He will lay his clothes and his tools in a long dish. The tribe will symbolically accept his belongings, meaning that he will be released from any tribal responsibilities, so that he can complete the work of his Spirit. Then he will leave us,“ said Rachel.

I was dumb struck by Rachel’s serenity and matter-of-fact attitude, especially her calmness about death. Where was all the fear about death to which I was so accustomed in my own culture? Rachel had just blown up my entire world as I understood it – in particular, my concept of the spiritual dimension of life, or God – yet, she was as casual as a summer rain. I wanted to dismiss the truth she offered over tea as nothing more than primitive beliefs, but my gut feeling told me she knew a God that was far more real than my own.

“How does this man know he is going to die? Is he sick?“ I asked.

“Oh,“ she said, “he went to the medicine man. The medicine man looked at his energy. His energy told the medicine man what was happening to him.“

“How does the medicine man know these things?“

She seemed shocked at my ignorance. “Tell me,“ Rachel said, looking directly into my eyes. “How is it that you do not know such things? How can you live without knowing what your spirit is doing and what your spirit is saying to you?”

Written by Caroline Myss.