This is the time that they'll speak of us in the future, saying:
"They Remembered".
We Re-member Ourselves Now
as whole-bodied, soft-fleshed water people.
We reclaim our hearts,
and our tender, round infant-faced memories,
from empty pre-packaged promises,
from the ache of isolation.
We steal back our freedom and our future from the numbed fists of black-oil gods,
from the digitized world we mistook for reality.
We breathe new life into the places we've ravaged in our relentless quest,
in our rest-less-ness.
We come Home, finally to Rest.
Right where we are
with the great weight of the Grief of the World.
We save the seeds that have been passed on to us for thousands of years,
And plant them, water them with our tears,
seeds that have kept their own wisdom of how to grow in places that've become thirsty.
We learn to speak again words of Beauty and of Kindness,
To value what's alive over what's dead,
in a world that's far slower,
where joy is commonplace,
and each of us is sovereign.
Where the land remembers itself green,
and our multiplicity begins to mend its way back from the edge of extinction.
Let these be our teachers now:
Flowers. Mycelium. the Forest underground + canopy.
The infinite family of our extended relations.
We are not alone.
We are the Once and Future Vision
Of Our Ancestors
By Pooja Prema, Rites of Passage Project Founder & Artistic Director
Photo by Janine Strong
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