this rattling
of where we are (going)
We are amidst a deep rattling. Its bounty offers a clearing.
Agitate and release. Exfoliate and shed. Dance and fall. Notice and let go.
We are in the rattling. And we are the rattle.
There’s nowhere to hide.
We are being invited (or pushed) to dislodge what’s no longer needed.
To rattle it away.
Clear things out. Thin the veils. Excavate the truths. Reveal the portals.
I found a parallel portal while writing this essay: I came to Tennessee to go into a cave (March 2022) and found the job of meanings is done. I am learning to listen to water and found that it’s all matter (March 2023). I fell into a glimpse and found that “us” and “everyone” is also the matter of everything (March 2024).
There is here. Then is now. This used to feel like an idea. Not anymore. I know this in my bones and shedding skin.
Nothing is new and it’s always new. Simultaneous and spiral.
Each moment, each question, each nudge, each wish is an invitation to remember who we are and why we’re here.
We are rattling to remember.
Each remembering is a portal—a seed—to where we are (going).
Where we are (going) is here.
Where we are (going) is now.
Interconnected, porous, forever, speck.
We are—together—creating something new.
Right now, you are creating. We are creating. We are creating new patterns, new pathways, new paradigms, new ways of being.
Don’t be distracted by the noise of the rattle.
Don’t get caught in one story of the spin.
Let the rattle rattle how you see.
Let the rattle rattle you to let go.
Let go of the fixing, blame, and control.
Let go of “them” on that “side” over “there.”
Turn your pointed finger to yourself, look it in the eye, take the fullest breath your body knows,
and exhale all the way out. Let the winged ones carry it away.
Fall to the ground and bow.
A spider will find you and show you the way home.
Home is where you are who you are, as everything.
Home is where we are (going).
Nothing is too simple or too small.
Everything is always only simple and small.
And everything—monsters, wars, heartbreak, joy—is us.
There is no them. There is no later. What feels too big is also small.
Amidst the noise and mess of the rattling, may we…
Gather with trees.
Stack stones on a shore.
Hum with bees.
Play with children.
Write to the moon.
Make tea.
Stir soup.
Draw a song.
Smile at our neighbors.
Laugh with squirrels.
Uncount the stars.
Roll in soil.
Be wrong.
Sweep the floor.
Breathe all the way in and all the way out.
May we be where we are (going) together.
May we not be distracted from this.
May we sing and dance and praise and story and weep and hug and laugh as we proclaim this is what we are creating.
*
As listening awe, Melissa
The rattling of water carves earth. We are mostly water. May the flow of our tears carve a song for a more beautiful world.
We are rattling to remember.
We are here.
Don’t be distracted by the noise of the rattle.
We are here, too.
Everything is always only simple and small.
I met this tree in Norway and I forever remain in her arms, feeling her trunk rough on my feet and her dreams rattling in my heart. Thank you, tree.
