I watched a trail of ants, spinning and
tumbling down their path, carrying broad Cottonwood leaves and small sticks.
Such purpose, such steadfast motion
with minds and mighty bodies that always obey.
No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to be nearly this good.
At least, in this moment, I don’t consider myself to be.
Yesterday, or was it last week,
something I feared might happen, happened. Not the first time,
nor the last.
How is it that
we can never prepare ourselves for the vast sinking feeling, of taking an extra step upstairs in the dark?
I felt my boots trying to leave the ground and my heart
pumping hard.
Is there a word for a certain grief that cuts into your gut, but you’re not sure what you’ve lost?
I wonder when we will leave behind the antiquated view of separation between mental health, physical health, spiritual health, and community health. We know that all of our systems are interrelated — when one piece is ill, the whole becomes infected. When one is in chains, we are all in chains.
My stomach always suffers in these times of darkness. I’d rather lie
in a field of thistles for several days and
let my thoughts marinate in the thick tangles of my pain than listen
to the throbbing needs of my body.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do, however, know how to weep, to kneel in the tall grass, to look up.
The sparrows keep me company, and they understand.
They remind me to be idle and blessed,
to leave my bed and start anew and
keep sharing with the world who I am.
With their short blunt beaks drinking the air and smooth black crowns,
they tell me things. They remind me I am
not what is seen through the eyes
of men.
Healing often does not take place within the confines of four walls — rather, out in the world, with hands holding earth, earth holding our hands and knees in the soil. Mi madre mía ella es buena, valiente, cómo la luz de la amanecer
When will tending to the milpa together become common practice for navigating depression, used as treatment support for diabetes, and recognized as community healing?
When will sitting in fields, making music on the riverbed, listening to birdsong be a crucial component to serving the whole person, the whole community (non-human included), rather than just a part.
Eventually, I’ll need to act, to pry open my mouth with honesty.
I know, I know, I mustn’t
suffer in silence
the way I know to best.
I promise I will soon.
But for now, I hold myself as tenderly as
I hold the caterpillar crawling in my palm, the way I wish I was held
when I too was soft and young.
I will try to not cast blame, not even on myself.
Our individualistic domination culture must perish, along with the twisted illnesses it creates. My prayer is that some day, con resistencia, we are all whole and healed, con tierra y libertad. Juntxs somos más fuertes. El pueblo unido jamás será vencido
Did you feel it, too? That ache in your side
that told you you can’t? Did you listen?
What a painful gift is this life. A beautiful, messy, priceless and painful gift!
My weeps have slowed and my breaths deepen, sometimes with shudders, like an infant that’s been startled awake. I can
feel my balance returning to me, as well as my hunger.
I notice the ants again, continuing their work as if nothing in the world is wrong. Still they haul and stumble along
just as they were at dawn.
Perhaps I am nearly as good. At least, in this moment, I will consider myself to be.