I like to dig.
Maybe it’s a Texan thing. I like to dig in dirt, rocks, water, ideas. I like to dig into paper, mark-making with erasers. I like to dig into a rigid diaphragm. I savor the pulsing area that is reclaimed. This space that is left holding nothing…this space that is left holding everything.
I love to listen deeply here.
And because I feel as though I was born with a shovel in my hand, I have made it my life’s work…this digging into the different realms of being…emotional places, physical places, spiritual places, cognitive places.
Yes, I also like to plant. Though, in my work…I prefer to help you with the shovel part of things…so that you can remember the empty area…the endless spaciousness inside of yourself.
And…..this is what it is like….me holding the shovel for you….
The Shovel and the Shaman
i gather the strength
of the wind in my hands.
i press it intoyourchestintoyourheart.
my hands are silent and wide.
i feel them sinking into your flesh, leaving a devastatingly tender path to your grief, to your joy.
it feels endless…
stars dripping from a night sky.
it is the grief of so many generations,
that settles quietly,
into your body.
it is this unspeakable place
being in your skin, at long last.
and staying there.