By Hedy Tripp
2011 Tribu Tur Participant

The West has lost the wisdom of its ancestors. As time stretches I, too, know that loss. Memories slipping away when I cannot speak freely about my experiences in other lands as western civilization stigmatizes, sensationalizes, and demonizes the existence of spirits and ancestral worship. Spirits are not ephemeral ghosts. In the Philippine archipelago, where there are no seasons, the spirits give life to nature’s tremendous powers of water, air, wind, and fire. The indigenous people of Mindanao recognize them. Animating the inanimate. Naming the power.

The haunting rhythm of the kulintang and the pounding of recycled-metal barrel drums entreat the ancestors to take human form. These spirits slip into bodies in throes of supplication. Minds explode. Or float down rivers of molten silver, on the Mindanao biday, in the blessed darkness of the Philippine night, trees filled with a thousand fireflies, throb with synchronized light.

A tiny one-room village house perched near the river - the destination for our small group, part of the Kularts Tribu Tur in 2011. We had to traverse mud-slimed borders of rice fields to reach the home where the Shaman would be communing with the ancestors in a healing ritual ipat spanning 3 days and nights. Young men, respectful of me as an elder, held my hand so that I would not slip into the river. I washed my feet at the door’s entrance, leaving outside the droppings of scraggy village chickens. The rooster and his hens were lucky enough to escape the day’s slaughter. A small biday, traditionally crafted with bow, stern and deck, hung from the roof timbers, swaying slightly. Musky human smells pervaded the room. From the kitchen came spicy aromas of bubbling food. Spellbound, I sat quietly in a corner. Soon the gongs and drumming began. The Shaman came towards me, his smile and touch released my body from this earthly dimension. My senses followed. Images of spiraling ribboned lights, crystal water spraying with abandon. I screamed and laughed, flailed, and flung my arms wide. Orgasmic heights invaded every cell. Throes of ecstasy coursed through the vessels of my mind. My friends held me down. My spirit writhed, unrestrained. This other realm had no time or constraints.

A clear night sky floated by the spirit boat festooned with red and yellow ribbons, bearing gifts. An egg, a leg of chicken, a crocodile of rice, for ancestors sitting at the bow. I sat with these ancestors; my head cradled in wisps of arms. The ancestors talked of life. How food was only physical; the egg meant the beginning and end; the chicken leg signifying my global travels; and the crocodile, the animal essence of the river. That fragrant stream flowing down endless generations, to the sea, between life and death. I did not want to leave, but some power called me back. Those who held me down felt the clamminess of my flesh, and the trembling of my body.

At the ipat, the Shaman used a virgin inflorescence of the palm to ward off evil things, begging forgiveness for guilt-riddled dreams. I watched them lay their hands on infants, newlyweds, the sick, and the dead. I continued asking questions, writing notes, and drawing pictures. Generational wisdom and healing. Seems so simple. Yet this wisdom is denigrated by white supremacist cultures intent on eliminating what they cannot or will not understand. Ancestral spirit possession. I now shake the dust from my copious sheaves of papers. I will not lose these memories despite the influences of American culture. For the West has lost the wisdom of its ancestors as it recapitulates historical trauma, and writhes in turmoil on foreign soil.

Hedy Tripp is a an award-winning poet and writer currently living in St. Cloud, Minnesota.

She served as Editor, Rice, Rupees and Ritual: Economy and society among the Samosir Batak of Sumatra (Stanford UP, 1990) and Production Editor, Petroleum News Southeast Asia. Her previous work has appeared in Lyricality; Kaleidoscope, #MinneAsian Stories, Minnesota Women’s Press and Seeing the World Through Women’s Eyes (Women’s International League for Peace and Freedom 1996)

Hedy has been a columnist for the St. Cloud Unabridged, Asian American Press, Minnesota Spokesman-Recorder, The Peace & Justice Journal, and the Honolulu Star Bulletin. Hedy’s op-eds appeared in the St. Cloud Times and Southern Illinoisan.

Hedy is passionate about writing. She draws from seven decades of her life experiences as a Southeast Asian/Eurasian woman immigrant from Singapore.

Some of Hedy’s favorite authors include Carolyn Lu-Lien Tan, Wendy Law-

Yone, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Nobuko Miyamoto, and Maya Angelou. When she is not writing, Hedy enjoys being a botanist gardener and spending time with family, especially her two grandchildren.

Ancestral Spirits of Mindanao