There is an assembly of crows building a nest and gathering in the trees above. I will ask for their cries and caws to fill the space of deathless longing in me.
For the sound and sensation of wind through the trees to become mother to my grief. Grief-Mother.
And the hot sun lighting my skin to play the part of Presence.
There are sirens now, blaring in the distance. Someone needs help. We still need help even when we stop.
I am thinking of other, full-bodied Sirens calling sailors off course, singing men off their mission.
And wondering, what is my mission and how have I strayed this far? Or, maybe, this is exactly where I need to be.
I press into the Earth with my toes. Does she know I wept on her floor yesterday? Does she remember the touch of hot tears falling and seeping in, or was it just rain to her?
Oh, such a mix of emotions conjured by your words. I want to comfort you. Keep writing--we want to hear more. You are not alone.
The depth of your lament is palatable, powerful. I sought some solace from the crows building their nest for their future family, a future we feel is illusive in these sad days. I sought solace in the warm earth, but could not say for sure that she knows tears from rain. Just like Mary I want to offer comfort. We can avow that creativity's muse often comes from anguish. In anguish is where we need to dwell if we are awake today. I like to believe that it is our anguish which will lead us out to a better place.
Arundhati Roy's voice and words are soothing.
Sending you love.
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