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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 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
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My practice occurs predominantly on the stolen lands of Wurundjeri and Boonwurrung 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
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