The Murmur of the River

This is a personal expression of my experience of the current climate and no way intended to tell anyone how they should be with what is going on.

As a young woman when moments felt too tough to be in my body. I would often orient myself to the land. Somewhere in Piedra Blanca canyon, covered in the dusty earth. Among a puddle and a rock. My dad would take his car full of children from our apartment complex to the beach and we would play and for that time be in our own world of ocean and sand. My best friend and I started an ocean camp where we would bring local kids out on the water and feel the joy of their new found relationship with the sea. All these experiences have shown me a power beyond the human construct of daily life, of the struggles, greed, and state sanctioned violence.

Yesterday I hummed at the river, with the crickets and current. And as overdue bills and the grief of families torn apart that hit so close to home loom overhead. I can also feel the murmur of the river. A feeling that transcends my one body but becomes all that around me - she moves, the land shaping and forming canyons, the water encircling my daughters toes, the polished stone.

A reminder about land and movement - of the Gaviota hills that welcomed my mother from Mexico and welcomed my daughter earth side. Of the mountain lion walking in the golden grass by the Gaviota caves– right next a highway that takes many of their lives. Of the nature of tides, currents, movement among borders and highways and how incredibly natural it is for animals (humans alike) to move. To find something more easeful and abundant. To find something less violent. I hear my mothers words “I didn’t come here because I wanted to, I came here because I had to”

I have apprenticed with grief for many years. After I found out that it was the reason for my use of alcohol, grief became a big teacher. And there is a part of me that is so connected to it and the way it moves and also there is a part of me that recognizes when I have been drowning and cannot stay here and that it is time to hum with the water and recognize something bigger – to move in an internal sense. When what is being asked of me is to not disregard the grief but stay connected to a greater feeling - a greater body of water. This is beyond something I can narrate or try to control but a deep pulse of life that propels me forward into connectivity and care. I recognize I am in no way able to support connectivity and care if I am not connected to my body, the earth, my family and my community. This is where the power stems from. This is my personal responsibility.

I believe that we each have a gift and role to play in our evolution. I see that in my daughter so much; that she was built for these times to come and that brings me ease.

I am sad. I am angry. And I will continue to hum with the river and carry all that with me as I walk this life.

To the insurmountable resilience of refugees and immigrants and what it has taken them to come to the United States and build a life. To the resistance of violent forces that aim to tear families apart and have been doing this for decades. To the reconnection to culture, language, and land that has been taken.

This is a personal expression of my experience of the current climate and no way intended to tell anyone how they should be with what is going on. I think part of this is recognizing we are all different and support these movements in different ways and capacities.