walk like the land can hear you
walk like the land can hear you
like the land feels
every imprint made upon her
walk with reverence
walk with care
remember
how your ancestors walked
before all of this
moments before, I was outside. when I was outside, I was watching the deer. and they were watching me. sometimes I can conceal myself, and so they do not know I am there. but, they are very good trackers, and they teach me about tracking. I freeze in mid-air once I notice their eyes upon me. I can feel their eyes upon me as I retreat and am walking back home.
I stumble across it. it is huge, and calls out a gasp in me. it is covered by a branch, and I fall to my knees, with a weeping that comes from wonder. I press my hands on the ground, and I start singing. little whispers of melody peak out of my mouth. in between deep breaths. I am calling out to the one who left this here. I am calling out to them, in gratitude, because they mean so much to me. I wonder about the moment a bird decides to let go of their feather. I am curious if it is anything like letting go of a lover, or a friend, or an old shirt that no longer fits the expression your soul is longing to perform.
I hear this one, in the night. they wake me up out of dreams, and I have been listening to their song for many months. I have only caught glimpses of this one in between trees. following them, as they fly from tree to tree in the dusk. huge, but only seeing their wings, really. that was before I had my binoculars. I keep my window open at night, hoping I will hear them. sometimes I hear them, very far away, and sometimes, they feel so close.
I am in love with them. I feel their heartbeat sometimes in my own chest. I call out to them from a deep pool of longing. I see their eyes when I close mine.
I am watching the deer again, and this time, I am stumbling out of my front door and into their feeding rituals. I get still, and watch. there are three stags. they all carry their antlers differently, reminding me of how it is possible to carry power uniquely. I sit and watch them for a while. letting my heartbeat quicken and then slow. allowing nature to regulate me. allowing my awareness to expand across the tapestry of aliveness I am surrounded by. the pines are watching too. and the yarrow. and of course, all of the birds.
in one sharp moment, one of the stags rears up and goes to hump another stag. I am TICKLED. like purely tickled to the bone. I carry this with me as a reminder. a reminder that it IS OKAY to love who I love. for so long, I have denied myself that permission.
I watch, inside myself, how I am always drawn to things that are "not allowed". I get curious about my relationship to rebellion. how really, when I was a child, rebellion was my blood song. everything I touched turned into a big "fuck you" at authority.
I see that this has a lot to do with my relationship to my mother. I grieve this relationship. I grieve how I have been taught to hate my mother. I grieve how she was taught to let go of her dreams and accept disempowered service. I grieve for how I did not believe my mother loved me until I was 22. I grieve the trauma she inherited from rapes before her, ruptures before her, wars before her. I grieve my sensitivity and my mother's sensitivity, and how there was no space for her to learn how sacred it is. how instead, she learned to hurt people because she was hurt. I grieve this. I may never stop grieving this.
hunger calls, and I am back "inside". watching now, from the window. sometimes it is nice to have some kind of barrier, boundary. my nose picking up on the peppermint J put in the oil diffuser. my hands reaching for the pots, the water, and the earthen shapes borne of a womb that will sustain me tonight. I sigh. I pray.
may there be more than this for those
who are to come
or maybe this is just enough
suffering is inevitable
may they have strength
remember the stories of resilience
may their songs be held
in circles of
growth and decay
in circles of
love, trust, & rest
from the archives, circa 2017