entwineArts
  • Home
  • Spectres of Place
    • Black Saturday 10 year gathering
    • SALTBODY gathering
    • boya gathering
    • Vīvum Handmade Inks
    • peripheral spectres
  • Image Archive
  • Blog
  • About
  • Contact

Patient Soil

29/5/2019

 
Beneath
there are tender tendrils creeping
and tiny life forms
masticating
digesting
excreting out the transformed dead


we feed each other
we eat each other
we scatter and lay
and dampen and decay
and the tiny veins
take us over
take us down


slowly slowly
we cross the ground
until we are broken
and fall
slowly
slowly
we hasten towards death
transform our withering
we eat each other
we are fed


drift down through
the layers and be consumed
mycelial skin
coating
devouring
slowly slowly


the soil is patient
we are patient soil
we carry and are carried
across and down
we filter
it all
through us
and we are dispersed
in the quiet dark
of the earth
the mosses and lichens and liverworts
the microbes and tiny bugs
ants and shadows
break down
the
broken
and dead


we are steadily transformed
we are not waiting
we tend to this every moment
(solve et coagula)
the soil
feeds us
and we
feed it


it is patiently waiting
feeling our weight
as we move
across
and down


into the tender tendrils
the arms
and mouths
of the quiet
dark
earth


May 23rd, 2019

23/5/2019

 
serpent coiled
deep beneath
me roiling
I hear your hiss
no more
tell me
what do you know that I don’t
what do you know that I
don’t
what is in my home that I don’t know
when I go home
what will I find
that I don’t know?
The dead
there
all the clay pit holes
you coiled around something
not hope
no
that is gone.
a single star in the dark sky
spark
gold
at the core
what do you hoard
when I go down there
to look you in the eye
gold
I
am
terrified
you
could destroy it all
You tell me nothing
just hiss and I
am
terrified
you
could
destroy
everything
and I love you
anyway
I love you
because
I am here




I want to look at you.
and tell you this
and feel
the
shatter
split
scatter
dissolve


will I…?
re-member


these roiling
demons underneath me
no
they are not underneath
they are within me


on this hill,
this ridge between
smells like home but
different
this vault of sky above me
earth beneath
I, within
listening for the sussuruss
the utterances, your sibilances
grist
the sound of spirit houseless and ground
to dust
motes
and float we must
the body
remembers
the mill
grinds the soul
unshucked
four wheels carrying me
a chariot for
the waking dreamer’s ashes
travelling
crushed


This
here
this edge
Wurundjeri
Boonwurrung
Kulin
You are here
this is your country
and I hear your spirit
in every sound
your voice
elders, ancestors
you are
All ancestors
I know this ocean


sing
to me
and I will sing back










thank you

    J.L.Walsh

    ~ yearning and wonder ~

    archives

    March 2020
    November 2019
    September 2019
    May 2019
    February 2019
    January 2019
    December 2018

    Picture

    RSS Feed

My practice occurs predominantly on the stolen lands of Wurundjeri and Bunurong people, part of the great Kulin Nations. I offer my gratitude, thanks and love to the Elders and Ancestors of this place. I pay my deepest respects to the traditional custodians of these lands, waters and skies, and all kin, without which I would not be able to live and practice. Always was, always will be. 
nourishment ~ multiplicity ~ reciprocity
Copyright © 2020
  • Home
  • Spectres of Place
    • Black Saturday 10 year gathering
    • SALTBODY gathering
    • boya gathering
    • Vīvum Handmade Inks
    • peripheral spectres
  • Image Archive
  • Blog
  • About
  • Contact