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PART 1 “Rocks Are Our Oldest Teachers” Everything starts in the middle. Consequences of the roads before, pave the way for what comes next. Always in the middle. This piece started two years ago. It’s not finished. It’s in the middle. I wanted to answer her question: Where do you come from? But without words. I could’ve written this piece with thousands of words. Hundreds of metaphors. But I made the decision to: Turn away from words. The only languages I’m fluent in are colonial ones. It’s been enough of their phonemes. Enough of their syntax that binds. Turn away from words. I look instinctively towards my hands. What could they do? My ancestors made these hands. They author with me. My child, too. All hands on deck! I’m here in the middle. Between generations. Consequences of the roads before, pave the way for what comes next. Always in the middle. This piece is not finished. It’s in the middle. The ContinentsContinue reading
