Maybe we are our memories, but we are not the inanimate objects our culture teaches us to imbue with these micro-histories. If part of the role of poetry & storytelling is to keep alive memories & ideas then perhaps this explains why they feel sidelined to ‘entertainment’ in our capitalist society. Who needs an abstract poem when we have a tangible object to hold and store, and eventually forget about? Living in a tiny space forces us to think differently about things and people and our relationships with them. We have less stuff (and earn less now we’re on the road), so we’re forced to be particular with the items surrounding us (& money) this is not a bad thing! We are rich in time & inspiration. Being so close to nature, watching her evolve every day & synching with that vast creative energy means we don’t need to fill a void created by the absence of nature: there is an indescribable calm permeating our lives, the sun rises & sets with infinite grace, the moon does not hurry to be full, our thoughts expand to fill the sky like clouds. Slow travelling across this land we call home, we continue to blossom & die, our memories leave & return like migrating swallows so that each time we are reborn.
This poem is from the Rebel Sun collection 🌞.