Honoring the Ancestor, the mentor of not knowing
One day she let me know her. Her power overflowed in me. She had always been here with me, immersing me in ancient lived wisdom. She made herself known through the stones, the moon, the dandelions, and the ravens. She is made of cycles. Her stories are in me, and I honor her deeply. She still lives within the land, whispering to me, nurturing what I do not know, allowing me to change, to see in the dark. Her knowing thrives in the shadows of remembrance, in the deep web of co-created reciprocity.
She awakens me to the things that have no definite form, the ever-changing cosmic-consciousness. The Ancient One connected me to the metamorphic web in flux and the more than urgent human questions.
With old affection and tenderness, she welcomes me into the unknown, intimately cradling my bones and swaddling my heart. Softly but fiercely bringing me to my responsibilities, birthing the guardianship for life, guiding my intent to new languages, formulations, and dreams. One day, she let me know her. It was the first day of my life when everything came to life again.
Her old shawl covers the living ruins of memories, while her ferocious, wrinkled, and warm hands move with care and love. Old feet that long to walk experience the earth at every touch, knowing its vibrations. She continues to open new territories for me. Places that have always been here, those that I have always carried in my heart but did not see or recognize, for they were beyond what I could sense.
She nourishes me with impulses to follow my instinct, determined to activate the core of life. She teaches me the materiality of entanglement and reciprocity, through space and time, pulsing with a deep relationship. We embrace each other through the ages. This legacy and connection have awakened the ancestral thread of communality. The vital, visceral nucleus, that raw power of guardianship, is connected again.
One day she let me know her, and her power overflowed in me. I praise your legacy!
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[Disclaimer: all these words and weaved concepts are birthed through my lived, biased, and always limited perception of things, not supposing to bring any absolute truth.]
By Sofia Batalha
Mammal, author, woman-mother, question weaver and dismantling global-colonial-technological-capitalism one day at a time. Awkward prose-poet with no grammatical knowledge. Pilgrim through inner and outer landscapes, remembering ancient earth practices, in radical presence, active listening, ecopsychology, art, ecstasy, and writing. Author of seven books, editor of the free online magazine, Wind and Water, Re-member the Bones Podcast, and Beyond the Sea Conversations — all in Portuguese.
More information: sofiabatalha.com