Unearthed

I take the shape of a peasant woman digging up rocks and find, hidden deep in soil, skeletal fragments laid like bulbs in the ground. Uncovered, the bone pieces form the pattern of two humans, a mother holding her child, entwined forever in a karmic bond. My seeds like rain fall onto their remains and I bury them in earth once again, prayers escaping my mouth. We are all shaped by wind, we are all shaped by wind.

Objects of Desire

My theme for this week seemed to be things. I saw snippets of shows on people who are overwhelmed by their things, listened to songs about people and their things, got a book at the library about people and their things. And watched 'Into the Wild" where he lets go of all his things except for survival needs. There is a part of me buried inside of me that has the extreme survivalist mentality, but for the most part that is balanced by all these wonderful facets of my ego. However, there is something to using what you have. At my friends graduate exhibit there was a sign, something like 'what if nothing was waste'. I go through moments of consciousness with what I use & buy and how I dispose of it to moments of ignorance. A lot of it fueled by my lifestyle and where I work. This consciousness, it is a consciousness I work towards having to all aspects of my environment, especially my immediate universe. When I clean and organize my home, I feel like I am living in a conscious ecosystem.

Last post, I was speaking of how it takes time to develop 'home'. It is the same with community. Some places I sense community happening around me, but I am not deep in. Other places feel like a wasteland to me. Where I go to work there is a very young community, but also there are still remnants of the farmers fields that not too long ago graced the area. Driving to work yesterday, two birds swept down the wind current over my car and flew directly into a field ahead of me, the field was full of tall grasses and yellow flowers. It was so beautiful. We seem to never of had the ability to live with the land by ourselves. From the beginning we were taking the skins of other animals to keep warm.

It is raining, and I am craving my garden. I am craving the earth. I am craving silence, and being solitary, and being within loving embraces. I broke open a maple twirler thingy and inhaled deep, it smelled of green and freshness. That scent sits just so in the nose. It is something I could breath for a very long time.

Old Artichoke Flower

It has been a long time since I wrote. In this time period, we have finished renovations on the top floor of our home and moved upstairs, I have become a (not religious) vegan, I have quit caffeine and I have joined the Y. I am also writing in my paper journal daily and aiming for a poem a day. Many changes. Only now are we getting settled in our new apartment, with many more projects and days together organizing, weeding, and making home.

A home grows slowly. There is a certain feeling I get when I think about my grandparent's home into which I was born in Poland. They had been living there since the war and there was a feeling of permanence. The home I was born into was full of seasons, deaths, births, celebrations... the energetic imprint of life. When we moved into our new apartment even the walls were new. It was hard for me to get a sense of home. Only now is it beginning to reveal itself. I look around now and I am starting to get a feel for this place. It does not feel strange anymore.

It seems like all of this healing all of a sudden entered my life. For years I was in modes of suffering. Even though I still have back pain and hormonal issues I feel like I am finally in a place of healing. I love life, I love the earth, and I love waking to each day. I feel a deep strength within, like a deep well from which I draw.

I promised to post poems. Here is another old one, that some of my friends will remember. It is about the relationship I have felt in the past to such things as land, language and others.

Captive

There is a word in another language
that expresses the pleasure
one feels in being
dependent.

In another speech
there are endless words
for the wind outside my window,
for the rain against my pane.

Nestled in this sound,
in this earthen lullaby,
I begin to shed
my language.

But then my tongue gets in the way,
my throat constricts
and I remain
wanting to name,
to be near this body,
this land.