Gestare Art Collective

I can smell the dirt         fallen leaves                               slowly beginning to decay           it's the                                         smell of earth                                                   preparing for winter                                                    there has been frost in the air              frost on the ground             each frost thinning the veil   between the living                        and the dead

my skin is damp and cool

i see water before me       it's dark surface                 still and calm          they are waiting          i feel them      those who have gone before            they are waiting       i feel the presence        is it the moisture on my skin      is it the touch of the beloved dead           is it the breath of one who lived and loved with me in this world

is it the breath of the ancients           those who             walked this land before me           those who carried       the secrets            those who carried the threads                              that are still within my cells                         the       imprints         of       my          ancestry

across the water forms        emerge slowly from the veil  light lingers from the bright stars   as we wheel and spin through the galaxies               turning ever turning         the wheel of life               turning ever turning      beyond the veil         turning ever turning                       for the ancient ones are always with us                           i feel them            i feel their love        deep enduring     love        love for all beings         love for me as i walk    carrying within me      the threads of their wisdom          their teachings

we are always with you            we are always with you

here's the love again           love oozing through my skin love flooding into me            love flowing through me    love pouring over me                       love all around me love above me                                      love beneath me

we are always with you                we are always with you

in this world of despair and confusion      where grief     is tangible on the breath of the wind                               in this world where                                           poverty              hunger             injustice                         rage        violence         war                        rage about us in this troubled world                                                     how can the love be

we are always with you                we are always with you

sink into the mother                 this planet earth she will survive               she who holds             the threads of all beings           she who holds the genetic imprint           of every living thing   she knows them                   she loves them         and             beyond time                    she will endure                               for you         your role is for this time        the wheel turns     you come in and go out turn from life to death you too will become compost                            feeding the mother                           in death     as in life

she is always with you              she is always with you

so it is            the impermanence        the cycle  the seed         the growth       the harvest      the decay        feeding the seed for the growth         the harvest          the death              the decay 

she is always with you               she is always with you

i feel them turning away now

        they are always here         and they are not here        they run in my veins          they beat in my heart      they flow in my tears        they rest in my flesh                            as i live my life                        as i love my life                 as i remember their teachings                    for        what is remembered               lives

 

I am in my maternal grandparent’s house in Toronto, a journey in itself, the house being their singular place of absolution after immigration. I wonder now, how it really all was—in my lifetime, my grandma almost never went out, except for the food shopping, or a walk to the mall for underwear and blouses. My grandfather’s journeys were to work and back again. He carefully tended the yard and worked at carpentry in his shop garage thereafter—a contemplative daily life of chores, meals and T.V. This house was home in Canada—they’d never travel or move anywhere else. Grandma was always longing for Ireland, that other place of hers/ours, though I’ve never been. Her focus always on what could be achieved, or wasn’t, by the family around her, away from her. What was I to achieve, or wasn’t? I was always on the move, could move, did move. I travelled all the way to India, alone, but can’t go to Ireland. I am waiting to go with them. Now they themselves are gone, and I am gone far way. All the way out West. Gone anywhere,

and lost—to me.

 Trance begins - I re-enter this house of theirs, of my childhood, its empty husk holding traces of their presence. Their belongings and suffering and love remain like a shrine to what was and what could still be. It’s like family land, settled, unsettle-ing, how to re-enter, re-claim? I didn’t have much of a voice with them all, no asking, only to listen, to be. How to unlock the door of this house? How to unlock my own wounding by the wounds of my mother, their daughter. I am looking for it, the winning of lesser-known arguments—the winning of love.

I lie down on my childhood bed. It’s the room I used to sleep in, grandma always made the bed warm, lighting up its electric blanket, flannel sheets for winter. Grandma comes into the room to see me, putting a finger over her mouth, she gestures “Shhhhhhhh….” I explain why I am there, the sense of this house, its continued presence in the family. I tell her of my circumstances and wonder where our family is? No action is being taken, or given, the way of this—something is locked, or held. I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to know, maybe it’s not my job to get it. But I still wonder about it. Grandma says “Shhhhhhhhh…” Her finger still over her mouth she hands me a key. I feel shivers in this exchange. The key is real—its cool metallic touch. I put it in my pocket. I’ll know when to use it she says without words. “Where is grandpa?” I burst into sobs feeling his presence of love. I don’t see him, just feel he is there. “I miss you grandpa”

Trance ends – I leave the house, key in my pocket. I’ll know when to use it.