I hear it all of the time.
“listen, listen, listen”
It´s in the movement of the leaves on the trees as the wind gently rustles through them.
It´s in the quiet beat of my heart just before I fall asleep. It´s in the ripples on the lakewater, the call of the raven, in the embers of my woodstove, my feet on the land as I move forward through the brushes “I listen, I listen, I listen” my feet say, my mouth is firmly shut, I try not to pollute my brain with news and social media, this circus we unwillingly participate in; the stoning of the last humans on earth.
“ragebait”, “clickbait”. Death.
… “listen, listen, listen” something else says.
It demands my attention.
The crystals fell out of my ears again making me lose balance. It comforts me that I, at least, seems to be suffering from one of the more poetic human diseases.
We all have small crystals in our ears, ear stones. THEY observe our equilibrium. THEY make us stand tall.
If they fall out of their designated destination within us… we lose balance.
We suffer vertigo.
All because of these tiny, tiny crystals within us.
I like to imagine the crystals as stars. Reminiscences of stars.
Also I saw a bat not long ago. It crawled out of winter hibernation from between the stone walls of my root cellar, it looked like a newborn baby, skin stretched out over bones, some sort of slime.
Not to mention the god Heimdal who sacrificed one of his ears in the well of fate- only to be able to hear the grass grow and the wool on the sheep grow, guarding the gates of the gods his hearing is essential.
Something about sacrifices. Something about mutilation.
Odin, the one -eyed god, Heimdal, the one- eared god, Tyr, the one-handed god.
Something about losing part of yourself to gain more insight, wisdom, knowledge (everything comes in three´s)
“listen, listen, listen” I hear and I hear it in the slow rotting of the mushrooms on the forest floor, I hear it in the speedy spiders running over warm autumn rocks, I hear it in my ears, my ears, my ears, in the sunset.
Still stretched out like a rubber band between the red and the blue, still a warrior, sorry.
I have come to think it is because of the listening. If you listen past the rage and the click bait and the indignation of our times.
I have come to believe there is something real actually communicating with me.
Took me a couple of years to figure it out.
The scope of it.
I was liveblogging on facebook during the blockades, I made videos and took pictures.
I told the story and here it is.
My arm is not broken but it is still hurting, even today, from when a policeman grabbed me and dragged me away from the railway tracks we were blocking. I was, I am shocked. To be confronted with the power and the control – psychically. For real. The dominance of the culture.
I have cried a lot recently. I have cried rivers.
“listen, listen, listen” the oaktree whispers, and the bright orange berries on the rowan trees. “listen, listen, listen” and I do.