Take me away to where the lake meets the sea. I hear the sun shines real bright and the birds sing real sweet and loud – apparently when Mama Nature sank into the earth she whispered a parting song to the breeze and it carried the words into their beaks. Is it a waterfall, where the lake meets the sea? I remember a Sunday afternoon when I was a 10-year-old girl with embroidered daisies on my swimsuit. My arms and legs outstretched, reaching for the four corners of the earth, a four-limbed starfish floating in the water, waiting as the waves pulled me under. I could hear my father calling from land, fear eating at his mind, but I was at peace.
There are words that the water cannot voice until you give yourself to the sea.
Language can manifest itself when you let the brown earth carry you to places that we pretend do not exist. There are movements in my hands and my legs that I can’t explain, reactions to sounds and images that I can’t control. I’m clueless about my existence but I know now that I can never find myself if I don’t give myself the time to reflect.
Outside of the waters, over valleys of trees left alone to live, we buzz around in haste, pushing and shoving, taking and never giving back. Our faraway ancestors are crying for the loss of light in life, because somewhere along the line we stopped communicating with the star that birthed us into existence, the land that fed us and the waters that bathed us. Somewhere along the line we stopped listening to our selves, followed our thirsts for ownership and power, and lost ourselves amidst the chaos of classification and categorisation. We succumbed to voices that were not our own.
Healing means listening to the sounds your body makes and silence is a secret that you can only discover in solitude.