13/11/2025
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Sometimes we discover something uncomfortable within ourselves
a place that has been asleep
Buried, forgotten
A dark grove in the psyche
where no light has reached in years.
Centuries. Lifetimes.
There are whispers
Old, subtle lies that once took root
and grew into a forest of forgetting.
Part of us would rather stay asleep in that shade.
The ego fears what waking might undo.
But awakening comes any which way
Eventually
Anyway
When we begin to pull at the whisper-roots
the hidden spinsters of soul
to trace spirals downward
into the rich soil of our own fertile fallow
fertile darkness,
we find they are not only lies
they are also medicine.
Strange, gnarly, twisted medicine.
Roots carrying memory
roots holding nourishment.
And so we dig.
And we dig.
And we wake.
And we wake.
Wake dig dig wake
Until beneath the tangle
we begin to feed feel
Feel feed again
the life death life force
abundance of soul.
Artist unknown
Words: Stasha Ginsburg
The Wild Remembering
