Currently, through the spread of the coronavirus, we are in a special situation where our interconnectedness with the rest of the world is particularly clear. It is not only people and animals far away who are in crisis, it is the whole world that is affected by the situation. We are inspired by others. The way the authorities and inhabitants of other countries are handling the coronavirus has an impact on our own way of dealing with it. We know that we must learn from all the wisdom we can access.
For my own part, the words, images and stories from Achaivayam in northern Kamchatka continue to come to me. For a year in total, I have been enriched by the opportunity to live with the Chukchi, a shamanistic reindeer nomad people who inhabit northeastern Siberia. I was there in my role as an anthropologist, where I, among other things, investigated how these people are trying to learn to live life in the wake of, and the continuous encounter with, major social changes. I was also there in virtue of my own personal search for a wisdom that concerns the aspects of life that we could call spiritual, the non-material, non-tangible aspects of life.
And right now I experience an increased need within myself to be in touch with that type of wisdom. The oldest Chukchi people I know in particular know that life is a constant movement, that nothing in life is predictable, that man is a small part of the whole, and that life is constantly being created in an interaction between an infinite series of phenomena and life forms. Something else that is far ahead in the consciousness of these people is that we must all die. And that in order for us to live, something else dies. This, they say, is a necessary part of manifest life – that is, the life we can see and touch; people, animals and plants, for example. Behind this life is an existence that the Chukchi call Va'irgin, and which is described as the creative force of life, that from which all physical life springs.
The way manifest life is born, lives and dies, according to the Chukchi, depends on relationships. It is the quality of the relationships between people and all other living things on our earth that determines how lives are lived and how they end. When the people I know from Achaivayam slaughter one of their reindeer, it is done in deep respect for and gratitude to the animal for the life that is passed on. At the same time, it is done under the same detailed rituals as when a human dies, rituals that according to the Chukchi ensure that the life that continues after death can manifest itself again in a desirable way.
When crossing a river, one first asks permission, as the rest of us would do if we were to pass another person and cross into that person's private sphere; "Excuse me, is it okay if I just pass here?" When crises are experienced, whether it's a lack of food, forest fires, earthquakes or disease spreading uncontrollably, the Chukchi say that it is the result of an imbalance. That there is something wrong with the relational. One could perhaps call it an expression of a lack of relational competence.
A conversation that keeps coming to mind over and over again these days took place in 2012 on a hilltop in the Arctic tundra between a reindeer herder, Tankai, and myself. We sat drinking tea while we watched the herd in the valley and scanned the surroundings for predators, primarily bears at this time of day. Tankai spotted three bears on the opposite side of the valley, a mother and her two cubs. I tried to understand the relationship between humans and bears here; I experienced how the bear was used as an assistant in death rituals, heard how bears were referred to as ancestors, and at the same time I saw how an enormous distance was always kept from the bears.
Tankai said that once there was only the life force, the essence. Then life as we know it arose with manifestations of this life force. These life forms are constantly changing. He elaborated: ”At one time, humans and bears lived side by side. In fact, they were no different from each other and spoke the same language. Today, it is necessary for us to stay far apart. Both we and the bears belong here, but we each need our own territory.” After a pause, he continued: “If we listen and look carefully, and the bears do the same, then we can live together just fine. But sometimes the bears start attacking our winter supplies in the village, or attack the herd, or ourselves when our paths cross. We say that this shows us our own character. We are part of the relationship between us and the bears.”
And why do stories like this pop up in me now?
For a long time we have known that the way we live is not sustainable. Our blue planet, as a collective term for the countless life forms that make it up, is suffering overall from the way we humans, especially in certain parts of the world, choose to live. We have in a way violated the boundaries of good behavior for too long. We have not shown, and do not show, relationship competence. We have not asked for permission. We have not listened. Not enough in every case. We know we have to change our lifestyle. We know we have to take better care of the planet. We know we have to fly less. Drive less. Consume less. To name just a few examples. It is just so difficult for us to comply.
But what happens when you repeatedly violate your limits? Either you are wiped out in a way. Or you have had enough and push back. The Chukchi say that human conflicts with nature are an expression of other life forms now starting to push back, set a limit, and take their place. And even though I sit here, physically isolated from my friends and family, worried about what is happening, afraid of losing some of those I love especially dearly, afraid that the coronavirus will reach Kamchatka and many other places in the world where the health system is far less equipped than ours, worried about how we will all get through this, at the same time an inner confidence and hopeful joy emerges. Maybe this is part of a common human awakening process? Maybe because this virus affects everyone, we feel that we are all in the same boat. No one, rich or poor, is above or separate from nature. We are part of the whole. Perhaps this leads to increased access to compassion and love, gratitude for each other – and to the fact that we can feel love at all. We see how people sing from their balconies, sending collective applause for those who take one for the team: the doctors, the nurses, the drivers, the employees in the food stores to name just a few. We also see how people shut down their economic livelihoods to protect their fellow human beings. It is altruism. It is compassion. And then you can see how all of this is also a gift to our beloved blue planet, with all the many other life forms besides humans. Air travel and traffic are limited to a minimum. Smog, which has hung over cities with millions of people for years, is fading. Quite symbolically, the sun is shining here in Denmark after what has felt like months of rain.
As I sit on the forest floor with my daughter among anemones, spiders and erantis, embracing the time we have been given now, I feel a sense of hope amidst the anxiety I also experience. Life is so full of paradoxes. There is so much suffering present right now, so much death. And there is so much beauty, so much life.
Perhaps the coronavirus is teaching us something about the necessity of making room for everyone. There must be room for all life to breathe, and that space is created in interaction with the surroundings. Perhaps the coronavirus will become part of our journey towards learning how to live in a way that makes this possible? A journey in learning how to live more balanced. More sustainably. More compassionately with all life. That is my hope.
Jeanette Lykkegaard
is an anthropologist and has written a PhD thesis on life and death processes among the shamanistic Chukchi people living in eastern Siberia. Jeanette is particularly interested in the part of human life that is not immediately visible. She is part of the team behind Kontemplation, where she has participated in a number of courses and retreats. She receives teaching and practical guidance from Hanneli Ågotsdatter and Peter Høeg.
