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2/14/2025 0 Comments Live with BeautyThere are those early flashes of memory. For me, the smell of the puppy. The grunt as I lift him. I still feel his warm fat belly pressed into the cup of my palm. His smell. His warm milky, dust-ridden smell. I remember pressing my ear down into the amber wood of our dining room floor, straining to hear below me in the dark. Flicka, our German Shepherd half-mutt, would give birth in the adobe caverns under the house. Impatient, I would go down there with a flashlight and my brother, looking for Flicka and her dirt nest with her treasure of squirming pups. I’d always choose the black one. The smallest. The runt. Blackie, I named him and I would hold onto him fiercely as he grew fat in my lap. The last to be chosen. The last to be pulled from my hands. I remember the light in the morning. The dew drops glistening. The silky stripe on the lizard’s crown. The glimmer of phosphorescence left by the snail. I remember the smell of geraniums, the sharp red taste of petals, the snap of the calla lilies' stamen, the yellow dust on my thumb. I remember the taxo coming to fruit. I remember the capulí. Fat. Black. Juicy. The colibrí hovering. And I wonder, do genes have memory? And if so, what memories do they hold? Does my body remember the song of my grandmothers singing to their Swedish cows? Are there cows today in Sweden who still, in the spiral of their being, remember my grandmothers’ song? What imprint of beauty do we still carry? What beauty will we leave behind?  I wove the frame in class with Camola Valarezo from recycled materials against cardboard backing. Photo by my brother Tod Swanson of me in the backyard of our house in Quito with Blackie in my lap and my plastic bucket and spade. I was 4.
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 Cotopaxi amidst other volcanoes. Author of photo unknown. What does it mean to be kin to a river?  The Pastaza River near Shell Mera. Photo by Ondřej Žváček What does it mean to be kin to a forest?  The Yasuni forest protected by the Sani Isla Community. Photo by Lisa Maria Madera. What does it mean to be kin to the sea?  AQUATIC DANCE A seal lion chases a school of Salema fish off Isabela Island in the Galápagos. Photo by Enric Sala. From https://www.nationalgeographic.com/animals/article/160321-galapagos-marine-reserve-park-ecuador-conservation 10/16/2021 0 Comments Headed out on PILGRIMAGE... FLASH COVID DETOX 2 DAY HEALING RETREAT. Headed out to hot springs. Headed out to Baños with my kids. Taking greetings from Guagua Pichincha to their mother Isabel. Ready to soak in Tungurahua’s healing waters at dawn, watch her dance with the cloud rivers of the Amazon at sunset, Visit her comadre the Virgencita de Baños in the basilica and see all the new gifts her devotees have brought to celebrate their accomplishments and pray for their kin, bathe in the spray of the Rio Verde at the Pailon del Diablo, hang out with my children, drink hot chocolate, colada morada, eat tangerines off the trees, pick aguacates, hike through cloud forests to look for orchids, hummingbirds, tanagers and dantas AND best of all visit dear long lost friends. 
 From our friends at Wikepedia: The Kauaʻi ʻōʻō or ʻōʻōʻāʻā was a member of the ʻōʻō genus within the Mohoidae family of birds from the islands of Hawaiʻi. The entire family is now extinct. It was previously regarded as a member of the Australo-Pacific honeyeaters. This bird was endemic to the island of Kauaʻi. Click HERE to listen to the last male Kaua'i bird sing for his beloved who will never come. I have so many questions:
What do our brains look like, when they are formed in relation to bird song? What happens to our brains when they are not trained by bird song? What will our brains look like, our trees look like, our cities... look like? in the absence of birds? In the absence of song? How can we hear the voices of birds that are no longer singing? What does it mean to d/evolve? How will this affect our psyches? How will this affect our ears? What will our ears look like? When we no longer hear? 9/22/2021 0 Comments Sometimes... I think
I should cover up the words black them out with a pen redact them or give you a trigger warning in advance. I don't want to frighten you or the children by mentioning unpleasant facts. Sometimes I think that if I speak slowly * space the words out let them fall on your ears in small pieces of meaning you will be able to take them in. Our bodies are already overwhelmed traumatized paralyzed shot through with anxiety marinated in fear. Perhaps some chocolate cake? a warmed piece of pie? or coffee? wine? lots of wine? to coax you to whisper in your ear THE CHILDREN **our children** ARE TERRIFIED We aren't running away from their fear my dear We are simply collectively hiding from our own. Here **my hand** this match my candle. |
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