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In a time when our many ill-isms, that include capitalism, consumerism, colonialism, are claiming permanence, how can we make room for that which we wish to grow? How might situating ourselves in our impermanence through collective conversation and lessons from our plant-kin shift us from a debilitating fear of death, towards the hope of transformation, and generative futures from within?
Death, what is my interest in you? I am human, born of the womb, formed of the earth. Am I barrowing learnings? Quite certainly a mix of everything I’ve walked everything, that’s come before time. Is a cycle, a snake passing through the garden, not Eden. But now, nothing has ever been perfect. The smoke was here before, but we’ve certainly learned how to light a blaze. By smothering indigenous ways of knowing. We pass knowledge with every breath, even the things we are trying to forget. Live within our bones, the marrow, the space between, like the pores between minerals in soils. Without which no air, no water. Can nourish, anew, a new being from the decay enfolding, folding, into layers of life. Once growing, now decomposing, into elemental forms, to recombine anew. Again, we cannot construct without death. We lay our foundations upon its floors, and stack brick. By brick, the clay that once was us, refried into sanctuary. Reformed into home, a new child is born, and life keeps writing it’s story. We our all the blocks, what will we grow? what will we create with our one wild death, if it is even one? The understory is an equal player in the forests of life. When I die, what will regain? Who will I nourish in my wake?
