In the face of the unspeakable, we stopped speaking, forsaking the ability to summon each other and ourselves, and the responsibility to keep singing the world into being. And to keep from being disappeared, we made ourselves disappear, bit by bit -- until we were barely there at all. But this was not the end. ii. Long ago, our ancestors, too disappeared. In the face of the iron blade and the iron plough they descended into deep waters and hollow hills. In the silence between our heartbeats, in the moments before we choose to breathe again, we hear the echoes of their songs. iii. Their is nowhere we can hide from history. Even the dead must watch what unfolds. But having abandonned who we thought we were, we find ourselves in the dark cavern of remaking, and the rhythm of our hearts becomes the trance that turns the stars into the constellations that will guide us into a new world, birdsouls carrying the seeds of forests and meadows and orchards yet to come.
Thank you! This poem speaks to the deep indigeneity of all people who remember their ancestors evolved their intelligence with deep reverence for the teaching of the Earth and all our present relatives. I drum, like the sound is a trail back to the reindeer hide tipi of my foremothers, where they are holding me to their breast and offering me their trust...
Thank you! This poem speaks to the deep indigeneity of all people who remember their ancestors evolved their intelligence with deep reverence for the teaching of the Earth and all our present relatives. I drum, like the sound is a trail back to the reindeer hide tipi of my foremothers, where they are holding me to their breast and offering me their trust...
thank you Sean
💚
Wow, you truly have a gift.
The crowd of witnesses is the larger and more enduring perspective of any time, thank you!
I really like this one, thankyou )
So beautiful, thank you
Yes please: "birdsouls carrying the seeds of forests and meadows and orchards yet to come."
Thank you.