Dem Bones, Dem Bones

"Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones..." was one of the songs I grew up with. I didn't know the background or origin of the song then, but it was fun to sing. I probably heard the Delta Rhythm Boys singing it on the Ed Sullivan Show. The song was based on words from the Bible. Rereading that passage, I was moved by verse 11, "Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off." (Ezekiel 37:11)

Today, Dem Bones carries an entirely different meaning when I hear it. That desperate cry echoes through every oppressed and war-torn land today, but this post is about dem bones. My first interest in bones took the form of dreaming that I was excavating ancient sites and finding old bones when I was quite young.

The little girl looked up suddenly, like there was someone there, but there wasn't. Maybe it was the spirit of someone long dead. She'd had some experience with not so welcoming spirits and looked around cautiously. She resumed her digging. The dirt was mainly clay so it was tough slogging to poke at the earth to see if she could find an ancient relic or bone. She was on a 'dig'. They'd done their homework and knew this was the place they'd find bones. What would those bones tell them? The air was electric with anticipation, but, of course, they were only starting the dig. It would be a long time before the hard earth gave up its secrets.

Dem bones had more to share with me as I grew older. I began excavating the bones of my life when the careers I chose didn't seem to match my yearning for something more fulfilling. Actually, that excavation spanned years as I uncovered the bones of my existence. I followed dem bones into healing work, Reiki, and shadow work. Dem bones rattled as I questioned everything. What was calling me? What was my life's mission? That little girl digging in the dirt was only eight year's old and had no idea that years later she'd be excavating her own life and following clues about who she was.

I'm reminded of something I heard at an important time in my life, and when I say 'heard', I mean it ricocheted through my mind and body like a Ping-Pong ball on steroids.

"You may have to become another version of yourself to realize [your dream]." Giovanni Marsico

"Why do I need to find another one?" I mused, a little miffed. "I've already tried fourteen versions." My whole life had been choosing different versions of myself to see if they fit. Nothing seemed to hold my interest through the test of time. Excavating was different. I loved digging in the dirt, the thrill of a tiny fragment that others would just throw in the spoil heaps was so alluring. There were tiny fragments that could almost speak about how they lived, how they died, their sex, where they came from and any trauma they'd suffered. Old bones were fascinating.

I was right back in my dreams again cradling the trowel in my hands. The little girl had been reading a book about finding old bones and the stories they told. These stories, though, were just stories because she knew there was only so much archaeologists could tell from ancient bones and burial sites. They couldn't resurrect their actual life, but the stories were so compelling and drew her right into the life of the bones. A favourite piece of jewelry placed in the bones of a right hand was a gift from her father. It spoke of love for his wife and his first born. Food, flowers, and other mementos were acts of love and remembrance placed carefully to assist the soul in death. It was easy to imagine and those were the stuff of her dreams.

Digging to reveal my own bones was much harder than digging in the dirt and imagining. Dem Bones, the song, talks about connecting all the bones together from the toes to the shoulder bones and, in the end, dem bones get to walk around. Connected, dem bones could move forward. That's exactly the point. I wasn't moving forward at all. I was trying on professions like they were suits I could through on my own spoil heaps if I didn't like them anymore.

It took a lot of digging to locate all the parts I'd hidden inside. Gradually, as I dug through my stories, patterns and unfortunate events, I realized there was a bigger pattern emerging. On my walks, I sometimes saw a racing canoe in the estuary. There were usually five or six people in the boat all paddling together. Now that's moving forward, I thought. They seemed so connected, like there was one rhythm they were all hearing. For most of my life, it felt like I was in a boat going somewhere but my paddle was fighting the water and dem bones were not connecting at all.

Like the archaeologists laying out their skeletons, I finally began laying out the pieces of me so I could make sense of what I'd found. As I did that work, gradually, my brain connected with my heart and my soul connected with the rest of me. I had help in many ways, some you'd expect and some definitely surprising and amazing. This has been my life's process begun years ago as I dug in that clay looking for bones. The yearning I felt to find something significant in the ground morphed into a yearning to find my purpose.

I have no regrets looking back. The story of my life began with a yearning, continued with digging up the dry bones of who I was, and ended with being connected in ways beyond my own imagining. "Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off." (Ezekiel 37:11) That cry reverberates throughout the world still. Today, the bones are telling us to connect with ourselves and with others for the benefit of all. Dem bones are the bones of our ancestors who are reminding us to learn from the past. In our connection IS hope for the future.