“One by one, we make our way to the swamp below.
It is in this dark place, where they tell me
that the Darlingtonia grow.”
The Darlingtia’s begin to sing.
They are a choir of ancient peoples
speaking a language I do not think I know.
There voices familiar,
they are each calling out,
anchoring me to the earth.
There voices become clearer.
This is a feeling I am familiar with,
a sound that resonated from within me.
I am afraid.
I do not dare move.
Their wisdom transcends me.
They have taken me over.
The Darlingtonia are questioning me.
I am being baptized.
I am being threatened.
I’ve been caught trespassing.
I am an intruder in a an ancient ceremony.
I should not be here.
I have been here before.
The earth groans.
Moving and straitening,
She is stretching out her bones.
They are in my head now.
They speak to me.
Calling me out.
Saying my name,
They are telling me to leave,
I am stranger.
I am there sister.
I am rooted to them forever.
Their voices are growing inside of me like tiny crystals gems,
They are making sure that I will never again be able to forget them.
They are building themselves into my walls.
They are forming stalactites.
Together they are a million hungry voices,
shouting out, all at once.
They are laying out my history,
feeding me my past.
I am full of thunder.
My veins wet with river
My teeth, rabbit bone
They are telling me to remember.
To be sad.
To dig into the earth.
To reveal what is lost.
To tell the truth.
that this is there place.
These are holy grounds.
These ceremonies happen.
These songs are for the frogs and beetles,
for the crickets and the reeds.
These songs are of the Darlingtia’s.
These songs are being sung nightly.
But I can not hear them anymore.
Somehow I do not fit.
I am now alien.
I have always been.
They are telling me to leave.
They are telling me to stay.
Telling me to look inside myself,
To remember that my bones are basalt,
my hair Usnea.
I must grow my roots into the ground.
I will drink the earths red magma.
I will pull down the heavens.
I am remembering
the taste of ocean,
and the kiss of sky
They are telling me to leave now,
but I do.
February 6, 2012 at 10:21 AM