the movements that made us human
"I have felt myself gradually return to a state of being fully alive through these ways of living. And it is here, within the collective memory of all we have known and have forgotten that the possibility for our future lies. We must reclaim what the indigenous soul remembers: how to live here in a good way, a respectful way."
Several years ago I took a class at the Miwok Archaeological Preserve of Marin on the Point Reyes Peninsula.[1] The course was on flint knapping, the making of arrowheads and spear points from obsidian and flint. We gathered under a cluster of oaks where anthropologist Bill Mulloy taught us the beginning movements in making a “blank” from which an arrowhead could be fashioned. His skills at working the stone were impressive. We watched enthralled as he studied a piece of obsidian, turning it over and over in his hand, looking for the right place to make the first strike. When he was satisfied, he moved with a confidence that produced many workable pieces. Then it was our turn. We were told to choose a “hammer stone,” a river rock that we could use to break off a selected portion of obsidian in the hopes that it could be worked into a point. Wearing gloves and protective glasses, each of us novices made tentative strikes on our black stones. To the sound of breaking glass coming from all directions, our furtive efforts led to some small successes and many failures.
At some point during the movements he was teaching us, somewhere between the raising of the stone and the striking of the obsidian, as I flaked off each tiny sliver of glass, some old memory awakened in me and came flooding back with a rush. I was making gestures that others who had lived before me had made for over a million years. It was old, so old, and yet it felt fresh in my body; in this moment I was making a movement that had been encoded into my cells. For a long time after, I reflected on that feeling and realized that many of the movements that have given shape to our human natures are no longer being enacted. I wondered what happens to our humanity in the absence of these gestures. And more, what are the physical actions we currently perform doing to the shape of our beings, actions like playing Game Boy and Nintendo, typing on keyboards, texting, or driving cars? These movements are completely new to the body memory and often leave us in discomfort and pain. In fact, by performing them we often suffer from a wide assortment of "repetitive stress syndromes" such as carpal tunnel.
After hundreds of thousands of years, ancient movements like the flaking of stone became settled into our bodies and were the means by which we passed on an extensive system of relationships and knowledge. In addition to the making of flints, our deep-time ancestors practiced basket making, cordage, trapping, tracking, storytelling, fire making, the skinning and tanning of hides, the gathering of an amazing assortment of foods and medicines, the making of ornaments from shells and pigments from plants, the creation of toys that instructed children, and the sharing of communal dances and rituals. An entire array of movements that were shared from generation to generation helped to make us who we are today, and now, within a wisp of a moment we have all but ceased to make these patterns with our modern bodies. Something is silenced in our beings by this absence.
Much of what I felt when I made those knapping gestures with the stones has been confirmed by my participation within a wide variety of other practices that are the commons of the indigenous soul. I have felt the same quickening in my soul while participating in community rituals, while sitting around a fire exchanging stories, while singing with others and while sharing meals. I have felt myself gradually return to a state of being fully alive through these ways of living. And it is here, within the collective memory of all we have known and have forgotten that the possibility for our future lies. We must reclaim what the indigenous soul remembers: how to live here in a good way, a respectful way. We must once again remember the movements that made us human.
[1] The preserve, known as MAPOM, works to educate the public about the first inhabitants of northern California. The local indigenous people in Marin were the Coast Miwok.
At some point during the movements he was teaching us, somewhere between the raising of the stone and the striking of the obsidian, as I flaked off each tiny sliver of glass, some old memory awakened in me and came flooding back with a rush. I was making gestures that others who had lived before me had made for over a million years. It was old, so old, and yet it felt fresh in my body; in this moment I was making a movement that had been encoded into my cells. For a long time after, I reflected on that feeling and realized that many of the movements that have given shape to our human natures are no longer being enacted. I wondered what happens to our humanity in the absence of these gestures. And more, what are the physical actions we currently perform doing to the shape of our beings, actions like playing Game Boy and Nintendo, typing on keyboards, texting, or driving cars? These movements are completely new to the body memory and often leave us in discomfort and pain. In fact, by performing them we often suffer from a wide assortment of "repetitive stress syndromes" such as carpal tunnel.
After hundreds of thousands of years, ancient movements like the flaking of stone became settled into our bodies and were the means by which we passed on an extensive system of relationships and knowledge. In addition to the making of flints, our deep-time ancestors practiced basket making, cordage, trapping, tracking, storytelling, fire making, the skinning and tanning of hides, the gathering of an amazing assortment of foods and medicines, the making of ornaments from shells and pigments from plants, the creation of toys that instructed children, and the sharing of communal dances and rituals. An entire array of movements that were shared from generation to generation helped to make us who we are today, and now, within a wisp of a moment we have all but ceased to make these patterns with our modern bodies. Something is silenced in our beings by this absence.
Much of what I felt when I made those knapping gestures with the stones has been confirmed by my participation within a wide variety of other practices that are the commons of the indigenous soul. I have felt the same quickening in my soul while participating in community rituals, while sitting around a fire exchanging stories, while singing with others and while sharing meals. I have felt myself gradually return to a state of being fully alive through these ways of living. And it is here, within the collective memory of all we have known and have forgotten that the possibility for our future lies. We must reclaim what the indigenous soul remembers: how to live here in a good way, a respectful way. We must once again remember the movements that made us human.
[1] The preserve, known as MAPOM, works to educate the public about the first inhabitants of northern California. The local indigenous people in Marin were the Coast Miwok.