<- Back

01a

In Muddled Light

2023

What is revealed in the unfolding of traumatic events when considered within a larger cosmic tapestry?

A moment (->) when passed, is considered to move behind us. And for as long as we can remember, we know that to look back is to view what has gone. And if a moment is yet to come but we are aware of it, that is something we look forward to.

But what if the moment that's passed connects to the moment yet to come?

Trauma is bound to time the same way the sun is bound to burn. There is no restriction to the leaking of trauma; so when it appears on this plane it does not pass like other moments. So within that sense, If we remain stationed we observe it all. Stuck in a bondage of constant influx, perpetually present. In this space of trauma - looking back often does not mean passing. It means seeing what has been following. And looking forward does not shift onto something new.

Instead looking forward mirrors what’s been behind you. As if wavering through the deepest depths of sand. It's crushing. It's debilitating in a way. A stretched arm from behind surpasses you - its grip is the trap you can’t ignore. But I’m warmed by the possibility that there is a way to shift this one sided relationship with trauma happenings. And it’s the same warmth I believe a flower must feel when the spring arrives.

And if we stay here.

In the spring.

In the muddled light which spills between the clouds and leaks onto the trees - out from the shadows. I believe that the grip that once held us bound could weaken. If we begin to imagine our existence and experience as that of a plant - a flower; we could find ways to slip out of that grip. My belief is mirrored by the reality that plants are absorbers. They are in ways a reflection of the stimuli around them. They have the ability to absorb water, nutrients, gases, and minerals from their environment, and this absorption is vital for their growth, development, and overall well-being.

Though it is not guaranteed that their environments are readily available to emit these essential elements; I wish for us to collectively make a speculative observation in which they do. And I would like us to contain that observation in a seed - and clasp our hands around it.

Now, like plants - we as people are also absorbers. The human body has various mechanisms to absorb essential substances needed for survival and optimal functioning. These absorption processes are integral to maintaining the body's homeostasis; which is the ability to maintain stable internal conditions despite external changes. Take these observations between the human and the plant as a navel, a direct passage to a desired methodology which unravels this bond that traumatic pasts are capable of.

This life has its webbing - clear sound - direct physics - open space

This life is cast in a netted mesh - made of plasma - made of the ether - made of the past you

This life is connection - rivers - soil

This life is all wrapped. Pushed out and eclipsed by another matter. A matter which resurrects - a matter with an openness only time could see. If my comparison is hard to digest - allow me to pass you over to the archetypal plant to assist with another.

…

You knocked on my shell
The knock spoke back to you and said - I am whole
I'm filled with life - a working machine - a technology not stopping

I point to my heart - and tell you how this is what the sun speaks to
Then i point at my roots and tell you that what you do to me down here comes up to here
That’s when I held your hand and took you over my head

Zipped open the ground and let the light bleed in
Like a slow siren

“You see that muddy puddle?”

My finger points to the glowing body, the only thing able to reflect the light around us
“The water from that puddle will find its way to me, and then it will feed me”
We dip back under and zip the ground back up til we are back at darkness
Like I said, life isn’t guaranteed for me. And in a way that’s what we share. Me and you. Flower and human.
A promise that we won't always see the sun go down. But a guarantee that what we take from the sun will last us.

Did you hear that?

That’s the trapped air between both our hands holding. That’s the same sun we shy from.
That’s the same hand loosening its grip off of us.