Still thinking about grandmothers. About how this age changes a woman. How it has changed me since my grandson Arthur was born (swipe left). These shifts in consciousness feel nothing less than miraculous, & here I exist in this liminal space, being both grandmother & granddaughter. Time stretches out behind & before me like elastic. I can feel it thrum through the centre of my heart. The changes that have happened in the world since nana Ruth was born (see yesterday’s post) are nothing compared to those hurtling towards my grandson who turns two next month, when his great-great nana turns 100. It feels a visionary place to inhabit; a space that demands action, that requires me to do more than accept the fate of the middle-aged, peri-menopausal woman, consigned to the scrapheap of our culture’s indifference. I have sold or gifted 95% of my possessions & own no land or property; I would tread as lightly on this earth as a moth – aware of the consequences of each flap of my trembling wings as the sun descends & everything is bathed in twilight. I have had to unschool the mind; return to the earth & learn again from the ground up: from the hard skin beneath my increasingly bare feet to the last strand of newly silvering hair. I am neither scholar nor academic, there is no book that can teach this process, instead I’ve had to let go of all the ideas I’ve had about family & community & love, about work & ego & the creative life, so that I can fully immerse in this unlearning process. I have avoided all calls that might knock this river off course, even as I am unsure as to where I am heading, even as I am terrified of the end result, I know I must keep the faith & flow in this increasingly natural state across the landscapes of Europe until I have evolved (or devolved) into my wild self; until the wisdom of grandmother earth vibrates from each & every molecule of my being.