Return
For life, like water, will always continue in movement. And so, a river runs through me. It sometimes sounds like a flute. It is the journey on the path of least resistance from the mountains to the sea. It nurtures the relationships between beings and ecosystems. Flows with the wonder of prepositions. They help shape time and space. They hover in quiet just above the moss, asakuam. Rhizomes unfurl toward scant light—ferns, masozial (they move best when not seen). It is not just the wind in the branches but how too, it blows—above, into inside—kzelômsen. Actuality moving through essence. It turns through sun, moon and month, kisos. Becomes memory, ritual, ceremony. The music returns me to the body: I hum letters with stomach, mouth, breath—feel their reverberations in my chest. It is a dance, incantation. The movement of spirit through space, together, kassiwi. How these thin places amaze me. Maybe one day, I will return.
Song Language Music Naming Subjectivity Translation Emerson History Erasure[violence] 427 Child of the Bear Indian Words Intention Rivers Preservation Body[music] Thresholds Dialogues Water Return