On silence, voice, & privilege
Even in the roar of criticism, I am called to make magic, to keep peace, to raise my voice into the shouting sky.
Even in the roar of criticism, I am called to make magic, to keep peace, to raise my voice into the shouting sky.
Tethers. Feathers. Facing freedom and forgetting it. Floating free and feeling tied down. Straining at my pen like ropes are wrapped around my wrists.
Earth Mother holds all without expectations or consideration of time or age or income. She sustains and adapts. She weathers the wild fires. She writes in her pajamas and shares because she is called to share.
Daily people ask how the book is doing? Truth? I have no idea! There are layers of people (publishers, distributers, sellers) between me and the results. The reach may be large or small, but I know the magic is deep. Readers have told me so, but at 3:00 a.m. silence (i.e. no feedback) speaks way louder than words.
"There’s a coffin behind you.” Ananke whispers then takes my arm and nudges me to the side of the cobblestone path. A woman keens on a rooftop. Pomegranates lay broken open at my feet. Four men shuttle past, a simple wooden coffin on their shoulders.