An Expression of Life

This week's teaching was shared by Daniel Elliott, a Mentor with Culturally Committed and a cherished Elder of Stz’uminus First Nation. Daniel’s words are often woven with quiet wisdom, humour, and deep reverence for the land and spirit. What follows is a story he offered in his own voice—a moment of stillness, grief, and profound learning, witnessed during a sweat lodge ceremony. His gentle reflection reminds us that even the smallest parts of creation can open our hearts to something greater.

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"An expression of life—a signature of our very existence—is written and echoed in the abundance of our world, if we listen.

One day, my Elder and I were waiting for a group to arrive for a sweat lodge. I was feeling anxious because they were late, but no concern showed on Elder JC’s face.

The story fire was lit. Grandfathers glowed, readying themselves for the healing that would take place inside the lodge.

Then Elder JC noticed something small on the ground near the bench.“Come here, look!” he exclaimed, his voice full of excitement.

We both lay on the bench, flat on our stomachs, so quiet we weren’t even aware of our breath. As I looked, I saw a small inchworm making its way along a stick. Time froze.

It wasn’t lime green like the ones I was familiar with—this one was brown and white. If it stopped moving, it looked just like the stick it was crawling on. You wouldn’t have even noticed it.

After a while, JC sat up and said, “I’ve never seen this kind of inchworm before.”“Same,” I replied.

As it slowly made its way into the woods, JC stood and said, “Okay, I’m going into the lodge. Let’s start.”I was surprised—there were no people. But I said nothing.

I closed the door, and he began the ceremony.

At first, I thought, Huh… okay?But then—to my amazement—the lodge felt full. Full of ancestors. Their presence was strong.

I later learned that JC needed this time to be with his late grandson, who had recently passed into the spirit world. This was not meant for others. It needed to be this way—for him, and no one else.

I had tears outside the lodge as firekeeper—scapios—songs, drumming, and prayers of grief came softly through the coverings, muffled but felt deeply.

The inchworm taught me that all of creation is before us, is us, and surrounds us.I shared that moment with JC—a teaching he gave me without ceremony, simply because I listened.

It reminded me how something so small—a worm—can show us a tiny piece of creation. And that tiny piece is just as important as the whole.

When people don’t show up for a ceremony, it can feel heavy. But sometimes, the space that’s left is what’s needed for something else—something sacred.

That day, grief and loss were held and transformed for my Uncle in a way that changed how I see the world.

One of my Elder’s names is Ah Neetz Ah Naws—"Belongs only to Creator."That name carries a simple elegance: we belong to all of creation, and to Creator.

That day, an inchworm drew me closer to finding both."

~ Daniel Elliott

Daniel’s story is an invitation to listen—to the land, to our Elders, and to the unexpected teachings that show up when we slow down. Whether we’re gathered in ceremony or simply lying on a bench beside someone we trust, moments of connection have the power to change how we see the world. May this teaching stay with you, and may it guide the way you move through grief, silence, and presence.

🧡 Kim