OFFERING

Offering: Returning to Sacred Reciprocity

In a world of endless getting, what does it mean to give back—to live in a way that honors the living world, the ancestors, and the unseen forces that sustain us?

In my lifelong spiritual pursuits, I have been seeking to return to a harmonious relationship with nature—to feel interrelated with the animate world - in the sacred hoop, in the reciprocity of life. Gleaning from my father and the six generations of Appalachian farmers before him, I was taught never to take more than what is needed, and always to give back when something has been taken.

Growing up in a consumer culture, I carried a persistent pang of guilt around the practice of taking, taking, taking—and getting, getting, getting. Getting stuff, owning stuff, buying stuff, making money… then keeping it, hoarding it, protecting it, even insuring it so that it would not be taken away.

I have watched this endless accumulation create a widening separation—the consequence of using everything and everyone (including ourselves) to get what we want. This “strategic campaign” of acquisition has had a profound impact on all of us—human and otherwise, and has even caused a separation from our own hearts.

We are all desperate for ways of living that move us beyond the constant striving to consume. The sacred practice of offering gives us a tool to shift our consciousness and our actions in the world.

The Beauty and the Burden of the Earth

The generosity of our living planet—Pacha Mama—is staggering. She makes her resources seem infinite: fresh water forever running, fruits and medicinal plants forever abundant, fertile soil endlessly renewing. But our appetites and our eyes are being forced to see that this Mother Earth is not infinite.

What have we truly offered her?
Too often, the answer is nothing.

Offering as Gratitude

I want to speak about offering to the animate world—a living exchange with the forces that sustain us.

Many of us were told we should have gratitude. But gratitude is not an obligation; nor does giving imply something expected in return, nor is it a means of controlling another (as is often a part of our Western teachings). One of my idols, the great Lakota leader Sitting Bull, once responded to a white reporter who asked why his people loved and respected him. Sitting Bull turned the question around: “Is it not true that among white people a man is respected because he has many houses?” When the reporter replied that was indeed true, Sitting Bull said that his people respected him because he kept nothing for himself. He was known to give even the clothes off his back.

The essence of the give-away, the essence of the Native teaching is that giving is not loss but liberation.

True gratitude is a recognition of alignment—a felt sense that we live within, not apart from, the natural world. It’s the moment when you feel merged with the greater life that surrounds you—the joy of music, laughter, children, art, the forest, the river. You feel yourself as one beating heart in a vast universe, in rhythm with a greater pulse.

Like that moment when you offer a prayer or a song—perhaps standing at the lake in Black Rock State Park, early morning, watching fog lift from the water and listening to the geese. And suddenly, you are enraptured, singing softly,
“Good morning, beautiful family. Good Morning beautiful ones. Good morning Brothers and Sisters. Good morning Grandfather Sun. We rise, we rise, we rise like the morning sun. We rise, we rise, we rise like the morning sun.”
That is an offering.

Gratitude itself is a force of nature—an offering in motion, a current of alignment and connection.

Ceremony: The Doorway to Reverence

Ceremony, for me, is the most direct way to return to this state. Ceremony is a conscious dropping down, a time set aside to find reverence and magic, to feel a loving connection with all that is greater, elemental, alive, and often unseen.

Recently, I attended a Moon Dance ceremony in Eureka—four nights of prayer, dance, and offering with women from across the Americas: Mexico, Quebec, Winnipeg. The dance, rooted in Nahua, Teotihuacano, and Aztec traditions, gathers hundreds of women to pray for the healing of the world.

There, I witnessed and participated in acts of offering that wove prayer, movement, and gratitude into one living expression:

1. Offering to the Ocean:
   Fifty of us gathered by the waves, offering flowers, cornmeal, tobacco, sage—singing to the great body that holds us all. If you’ve lived by the ocean, you know that deep sense of coming home: the rhythm of tides, the salt on your skin, the wisdom of waves. When we offered to her, we entered her oneness.

2. Offering of Song:
   All through the night, we sang and drummed—to the night sky and the moon, to the four directions, to the fire, to the winds. These vibrations are felt by other living forms—not just humans. Science now affirms what ancient cultures have long known: water, plants, even atoms respond to vibration. Everything we perceive as solid matter is, at its essence, vibration—energy in motion.

   Once, when I was pregnant in Los Angeles, I couldn’t sleep above the roar of the freeways. I played the sounds of a mother’s womb to soothe myself and my unborn child. The plant hanging above my bed not only doubled in size and began to bloom. The plant was receiving the vibrational soothing, healing, and protection from traffic noise as much as I was.

3. Offering to the Ancestors:
   At the Moon Dance, we placed photographs of our ancestors on a great altar. Each woman called out the name of one ancestor to the North, creating a living bridge between the worlds. I placed a photo of my mother—“Woman of the Year, 1985-86”—a warrior for rivers, for trees, for women’s health and rights.

   Whether or not you believe in an afterlife, you move the lives of your ancestors forward when you honor them, call their names, and share their stories. We are the dreams of our grandparents manifested. Here in the Appalachians—land of story-weavers—what greater offering could there be than the telling of their tales?

The Science of Offering: Vibration and Healing

We are made of vibration—spiritually and scientifically.
Every atom is a wave, every cell a rhythm, every heartbeat a drum in the great symphony of existence.

Offerings—especially those made through music and communal sharing—are preventative medicine. What we Westerners have often forgotten is the link between offering and healing, between sacred reciprocity and health.

When we make offering a daily practice—whether through song, prayer, food, flowers, tobacco, or stories—we enter the energetic frequency of gratitude. This state of being is fertile ground for healing, even for miracles.

Preparing to Make an Offering

To begin, take a moment to ground yourself. Step outside. Feel the pulse of the earth beneath your feet.

1. Find a place that speaks to your soul—a quiet clearing, a beloved tree, a stream.

2. Gather natural materials: flowers, leaves, tobacco, stones, feathers. Infuse them with your prayers and intentions.

3. Offer them with an open heart.

When you hike the trails, bring food, crystals, songs, or prayers. Offer them to trees, rivers, and waterfalls. Over time, this will become one of the sweetest parts of your day—a way of remembering your place in the great circle of life.

Closing: We Are the Offering

Every time we sing, pray, or remember those who came before us, we participate in the great reciprocity of existence. We become both giver and receiver, both prayer and answer.

We are all offerings—vessels of vibration, gratitude, and life itself.

Try gathering a bowl of autumn flower petals, a bowl of tobacco, a bowl of cornmeal… and offer these to your first late-autumn fire.
Watch how the flames receive them—their smoke rising like prayer, like remembrance, like gratitude made visible.