It’s been quiet here, so time for a brief message.
…on another shore
dropped, swept away, startled, and at times dismayed pulled from winter to summer, I find myself: uprooting is painful, and especially so for an animist, even if I find myself with beauty on all sides and Brigid on every airt. At any rate I am in a transition, a spindled state where the skin is thin, where the unexpected, the unknown, the Other lies waiting.
Elder care precipitated this radical move. There were other yearnings and conditions including my partner needing a new start–and invisible hands pulling too (certainly ancestors working), a whole underscape, weaving, compelling this vast journey into motion, but I will leave it at that at least for now.
I awaken to birdsong and the wind in the leaves, and also lie awake in the middle of the night, hearing the noise of trucks on the highway, a highway that wasn’t always there (of course).
Out of the city, out of the ‘city of man’ as the philosopher Georges Bataille would term it, I’ve been propelled, although the virtual city follows us everywhere these days, like some kind of fungus made of electrons, delaying as much as it can the collapse on the horizon.
If this should sound overly dark, let me leave off with these haunting otherworldly birds on a Mid-Pacific island: