Please introduce yourself and/or your project. Please give a brief relevant history.

Thank you for this invitation to speak on such important topics that are near and dear to us as artists and human beings. Returning is the collaborative project of Thuja and Heron, who will be answering the following questions individually. We reside in the South Salish Sea region of the Cascadia bioregion on Turtle Island. Returning was created in 2021, but we have been involved in the underground music scene of the West Coast for many years with many different bands and projects, and draw influence from a multitude of music genres, as well as Butoh dance, land defense movements, and indigenous teachings.

What does the word “Animism” mean to you? Does it find life in your project or in your day to day movements? This can be as literal or abstract as you wish.

Heron: Animism signifies the belief that entities such as plants, rivers, or stones possess a spiritual essence or soul. It is a term that only superficially captures a profound perceptual understanding foundational to the shaping of languages, cultures, traditions, and ethics among communities across the planet. To me, it serves as a stepping stone in seeking intimate, place-based knowledge. Personally, I perceive a consciousness within all things; unseen threads weaving together everything breathing and non-breathing. Our language confines us to conceptualizing the world within its limits, yet I’ve experienced a “felt” world interwoven within our collective existence. Beings around us sing out, share knowledge, and now, especially, cry out as we confront humanity’s shadows. After years of solidarity work alongside indigenous activists, culture bearers, and elders, I’ve reoriented much of my Western perspectives around what is living and what is lifeless. A Squaxin Island Tribal member once told me that her people view stones as a “nation” of beings. And to many Coast Salish peoples, root-bound life such as cedars are considered no less a relative than a brother or sister. Everything has its rightful place in this complex web of relationships, and the lessons I’ve been shown, by both human and more-than-human teahcers, informs the way I move through this world, always. In all aspects of Returning—such as instrumentation, lyrics, movements, and aesthetics—our relationship to the living world in its multitudes is always present. Within our world, we honor beings such as water, clay, fire, and even ash. These elemental forces guide us through the ceremonial movements that have become foundational to Returning’s physical manifestations.

Thuja: Animism is a kind of “catch-all” word that is now used to try to describe many different traditions and beliefs. It is most essentially a way of being in relation to the world; that for the vast majority of human history was the only way that we related to the Earth and the cosmos. It’s a strange thing to be alive in this time, where belief in the inherent life force of plants, animals, stones, and stars is considered fringe and/or naive. Like all things, these currents are constantly in flux, and I am sure that there will be once again a time where most humans on Earth are animists…. For me, thinking of animism as a kind of basic relationship practice has been infinitely more helpful than trying to find a “school” or specific belief system to belong to. The first step is the most difficult; for modern Western people, acknowledging the inherent life and spirit in the world around us means letting go of the story of human supremacy, the centrality of the human narrative on Earth. Once we accept our place in a vast web of lives and energies, the world truly opens to us in powerful ways. I cannot claim expertise in this realm, but my spiritual journey from complete scientism/ atheism to where I now reside has been immensely fulfilling and healing. It should be clear that a practice of animism has been influential in the creation of Returning; our lyrics, imagery, and live performances are dedicated to calling in the more-than-human to aid our work. We feel most at home playing under trees and stars, our bare feet directly touching the Earth. This is not only a part of our own practice of spiritual growth and re-connection, but a means to show the path for others, and invite them into a deeper conversation with both human and non-human spirits that surround us.

Do you talk with spirits or deities? Do they answer back?

Heron: The spirits of all things are ever-present, observing and listening. They speak to me, through me on multiple levels. Through stillness and calming the mind, through Earth medicines and brief moments of emotional catharsis, I’ve found connection with spirits both physically near and just beyond the veil. I think the spirit world is far more complex than most people realize, and I believe our inate ability to comprehend this world is like an atrophied muscle, nelgected through years of the systematic erasure of place-based relationships. This is something I actively strive to restore within myself.

Thuja: I am certainly a pagan, and a student of history and mythology, but have what I would call a more “academic” knowledge of the spirits and deities of old Europe. I have never been “visited” by any of these, nor have I actively sought their help or counsel. Here I feel conflicted, as part of me is interested in deepening the relationship with the Old Gods of my ancestors, and becoming more open to visitations and direct connection with those spirits. And yet, there is another part of me that feels that they are deeply tied to cultures and physical places that are not my own, and that there are spirits of the land, water, and sky here in Cascadia that deserve my reverence and recognition. This internal spiritual conflict is what drives me forward, oscillating between both viewpoints, sometimes exploring both simultaneously. It’s impossible to speak on this topic without giving a voice to a deep sense of loss and abandonment that I feel in regards to my lack of connection to the spirits, and how that relates to the choices my ancestors made in their own lives and journeys across the Earth. It’s a daily practice to remind myself that the Earth is alive and sentient, that the land will listen if I speak properly, that the spirits are listening and watching. This practice, along with the practice of forgiving the amnesia and carelessness of my ancestors, is a significant part of my personal contribution to Returning. To answer your question more directly: yes, I speak to the sacred circle of cedar trees in a nearby forest, I speak to the creatures I disturb while working in the garden, I speak to the roadkill deer as I carve open her body to feed my own. I do this because I believe that they all have spirits; not necessarily grand or ancient, but absolutely worth my respect and acknowledgement nonetheless. I do not expect a response, nor do I ever receive one in the moment, but occasionally deeper reflection at a later time has revealed messages and forms of communication from the non-human world that have encouraged me on this path. It is a small step in restoring my connection to the living Earth, and healing the estrangement that defines this strange time that we are all living in.

What is the season of the year that resonates most deeply with you and why? Do these vibrations appear in your work?

Thuja: Autumn is the time of year that feels most inspiring and contemplative to me. All the growth of the year, all of the striving and reaching towards the light, meets its end and is fed back to the great cycle of life. We witness the literal decay of the natural world, and the ways in which Earth feeds on itself. Fallen leaves become forest loam, mushrooms sprout from the rotting corpses of trees, the salmon return and give up their lives on the banks of the river, a feast for the surrounding animal and plant life. Even our chosen name for the project makes it blatantly obvious that Returning is strongly influenced by autumn and its place in the wheel of the year! We are committed to honoring these cycles, and specifically paying homage to the darkness and decay that must occur for life to continue.

What do you dream of destroying?

Heron: Everywhere we go, remnants of extractive history scar the Earth. Here at the southernmost reach of the Salish Sea, young forests of second and third growth stands are reminders of past exploitation when the land was viewed as limitless. Today, industrial logging operations still scar the bioregions of the northwest coast, while pollutants contaminate our sacred waterways. Internally, we battle extractive technologies that distract us from our innate harmony with our living world. We have become spirit-sick and severed from our elemental knowing. We have become the very hungry ghosts, wendigos, and demons that should have inspired us towards lives of wholeness and reciprocity. I dream of a world where we heal the wounds of our landscapes out of a sacred duty, out of a deep undying love and not more green washed capitialism. I admire and reflect on these words of restoration from Potawatomi botanist Robin Wall Kimmer: “We need to restore honor to the way we live, so that when we walk through the world we don’t have to avert our eyes with shame, so that we can hold our heads up high and receive the respectful acknowledgment of the rest of the earth’s beings.” Returning is a dream of wounds healing and civilizations burning. It is a reflection of the internal wounds we carry and the strength in our hearts. It is a way to inspire others to stand agianst the forces that extract, control, colonize, divide, and profit; demons that must be excised from our world before they proliferate and destroy all that is sacred.

Thuja: My most perennially reoccurring dreams of destruction revolve around permanent and far-reaching dismantling of industrial resource extraction technology, most especially the means to clear-cut and bulldoze vast swathes of forest. The words of Edward Abbey and the founders of Earth First! still ring true for me, despite assertions coming from some corners of the “environmental” movement that would seek to tarnish their names and legacies. As a much younger (and angrier) anarchist, I saw targets everywhere, and felt that almost anything could be destroyed with enough zeal and militancy. Age and experience have helped me see more of the complexities of the web that holds up this insane and harmful system, and in more recent years my path has been more generally directed towards a creative and generative orientation. But I still resonate with the famous line from Mikhail Bakunin: “The urge to destroy is also a creative urge.”

What do you dream of creating?

Thuja: I don’t believe that this is something that I or any other individual could create, but I dream of being a part of a culture that is directly tied to the land and natural cycles, that has somehow managed to free itself from the deeply harmful effects of capitalism and “progress.” A culture that holds the sacredness of the living earth at its heart, that prioritizes the health of the lands and waters before material gain. Obviously, this dream is not truly my own, as there are numerous examples of human societies all over the world that have never stopped living in this way. But the culture that I inhabit is so incredibly removed from any of these ideals, it feels like something entirely new must be created. To reach that point, there will need to be some immense and even apocalyptic changes to the current order….

Why do you create? What do you hope for?

Thuja: The inception of Returning, from my perspective, was a visceral response to the fear, alienation, and technology-worship of the Covid era. I watched as my community was splintered and riddled with lies and distrust. The desire for safety, for an escape from mortality and the “dangers” of living, coupled with a massive leap in technology addiction and obedience to centralized authority was sickening to me. Everywhere there was fear of the body, and fear of the bodies of others. I felt an urgent need to create something that would tell a different story, that could shine a light down a different path. With our bodies; these mortal and fallible vessels, as well as the musical abilities we had been honing for many years prior, we sought to tell a story of separation, fear, and violence in the human experience, but also of the need for deep connection and wholeness. Such was our desire to express and embody this story, that we had not even settled on a name when the first Returning performance occurred. During this same era, both Heron and I participated in a forest defense campaign that was strongly influential to the creation of the project. We witnessed firsthand the efficiency and inhumanity of the industrial extractive machine, and how the police state is fully incorporated into this machine to pacify any meaningful resistance. We saw a large swathe of forest near our home decimated in a matter of days, and had to come to terms with the fact that this disgusting practice is ubiquitous in our region. We also witnessed the complete disintegration of the community that spearheaded the campaign itself; falling victim to the infighting, identity politics, and manipulative power tactics that are all too common in leftist groups in this time. All of these experiences were eye-opening and inspiring, even as they were depressing. It became clear to me that my tendency towards militancy and ferocity had to be channeled elsewhere, lest it consume me. This led to the creation of the music that would become Severance. However, this new creative cycle of Returning is certainly different in terms of our inspirations and intentions. We are compelled to examine our relationships to the sacred, and how these relationships make up the fabric of our lives. We want to reorient ourselves and all who partake in our offerings towards a sense of awe and reverence; for the web of life that sustains us, for the people that love and nourish us, for the connections we hold with the spirits, the otherworld, the Creator. This new work is brighter, more ecstatic, yet no less fierce than our previous offering. We are eager to share it with the world….

What does the word ‘ritual’ mean to you? Do you incorporate any rituals into your daily life? Your practice? Your performances?

Heron: Many see our work as ritualistic, but I view it as more of a practice in ceremonial storytelling. We all possess stories—historical, fantastical, cultural, personal, or initiatory—which we can share through voice, movement, or music, creating sacred ceremonial spaces. Returning is a vessel through which threads of both old stories and new pour forth in a maelstrom of vital energy.

Thuja: Ritual is a pillar of any spiritual practice. It can take many forms, but it is always an act done with a specific intention, and in a specific container. In reality, the manifestations of ritual have so many permutations that it’s no wonder many people are confused by the original meaning, while others remain deeply suspicious about the use of ritual in public performance spaces. I have many personal rituals that I observe, none particularly worth describing here, but Returning is an entity built on the observation of rituals in a public context. Our intentions have changed over the last few years, but only in small variations, and the overall container remains the same. I personally feel that the rituals that Returning has utilized have always been primarily for the benefit of the performers first and foremost, with added benefit if our audiences find connection to them. This approach keeps us grounded to what is vital and authentic for both of us, and avoids the pitfalls of including others in a ritual with magical intentions without their knowledge. In all honesty, I hope that the rituals of Returning can grow to encompass more of our audiences in the future, and provide even more connection and benefit for those who join us for the live performances. It’s also true that each part of a Returning performance is a ritual in it’s own small way; from creating the print document that is distributed at every performance, to the physical transformation we undergo to enter the performance space, to the water cleansing that must occur in some form after the performance has concluded. All of these smaller rituals comprise a whole that has only been growing and deepening as time goes on.

Do politics enter into, inform or speak through your creative workings? What are your thoughts on the responsibility to, or freedom from politics within your creative process?

Thuja: I have always been a political person, and since my teenage years have been interested (sometimes morbidly so) with the political currents that shape our world. As stated before, I have a strong tendency towards anarchism, and up until a few years ago situated myself somewhere on the far-left of the political spectrum. The Covid era, my experiences with participating in radical leftist organizing, as well as the current schism in the environmental movement around “green energy”, have all led me to deeply question the project of the left and it’s so-called vision for the future. Beyond any reductive political labels, I am a biocentrist, and a lover of the Earth. Conventional thinking places these sentiments amidst a slew of other progressive values, but I am increasingly convinced that there is a deeply conservative core to all successful land defense and anti-globalist movements. Much more important than my complex political orientation is the firm belief that the root of this great sickness that consumes us is not political, not economic, but spiritual. It is not a lack of knowledge or proper data or even money that keeps our “leaders” from making decisive actions to protect our lands and waters, or work to end homelessness, or any number of other symptoms of this great sickness. We have no spiritual core as a culture; and thus nothing to adhere to, no place to gather and affirm “these things we hold sacred.” The various projects of leftism (including anarchism) are largely rationalist and atheistic. They have no means of addressing this void that will continue consuming us (and the rest of life on Earth) until we come, once again, to a spiritual understanding that holds all life as sacred. This is the vision to which Returning is dedicated. We are committed to exploring human connection with the sacred, and to the non-human web of life, for which our concepts of politics and “right and left” have no meaning. We place ourselves in a continuum of past, present, and future peoples working to nurture and defend the sacred in both humanity and the Earth: not just artists and musicians, but the witches, medicine people, land defenders, plant and animal tenders, ancestral skills practitioners, etc… We want to look beyond the rapidly changing political tides of our time, towards truths that have more weight, more history, and more depth. In this seeking, we hope to light a path for both ourselves and our audiences, towards a more spiritual and steadfast orientation that can provide an anchor to, or safe haven from, the polarity and volatility of modern political thought.

What does the word ‘community’ mean to you and how does it influence your process and practice?

Heron: Community to me embodies shared space, connections, ethics, influences, stories, and interests—between the human and more-than- human. In a healthy community, diverse perspectives thrive, nurturing shared aspirations while consciously rejecting extractive or exclusionary ideologies. My hope is that Returning serves as an immersive component of our community where one might experience a degree of catharsis or even a transformative experience or vision. We belong to a lineage of theatrical storytellers, and I hope to keep passing on this light to more seekers through our live offerings.

Thuja: We are comprised of our relationships, just as they are comprised of us. For me, community plays a major role in everything that I do as an artist and organizer. All that I create is meant to be shared, most ideally in the live setting. As a pagan, celebrating the wheel of the year on the holy days means gathering with other folk around food and music and firelight. These are ancient, and I would say inherent, qualities of human existence. As stated above, both Heron and I are a part of a disparate and diverse community of musicians and artists spread across the West Coast of Turtle Island. The gatherings that this community has coalesced around, like Cascadian Yule, Stella Natura, and Thirst For Light have been deeply influential to us, and have provided the central axis from which to tether our various creative cycles throughout the years. We have created entirely new works of music for these gatherings, sometimes performed a single time and never seen or heard again. I look to our community and these gatherings as a respite and antidote to current American culture; that would have us separated in our little bubbles, staring blankly at our little screens. When we come together, our magic grows in strength; the ripples into the world grow larger, someday making waves….

Any last departing offerings? Anything you would like to talk about that wasn’t covered?

Heron: Our bodies hold vast webs of sacred knowledge. To know the world around us, we must first know ourselves. To heal our world, we must first heal ourselves. Forever seeking, forever returning.

Thuja: Thank you Bees, for the interesting and difficult questions. I’m sure our distinct answers present quite different views of Returning and our paths in the world. This project is itself a living entity, constantly in flux and bound to cycles beyond our control, like the land from which we draw our strength….